Critique #2

"The Beauty of Sadness B&W"
Robert Jaffe

Looking at Robert Jaffe’s photograph entitled “The Beauty of Sadness B&W”; the viewer is immediately drawn to the down-turned flowers. Sadness is exhibited by the use of black and white photography. The overall feeling of the photograph is calm, peaceful, and relaxing. The brightness of the flowers against the black background creates a chiaroscuro effect. The neutral gray color of the stem exudes a warm, tranquil sensation. On the bends of the stem, specs of light appear to be kissing the top side of the stem creating a highlight. A similar effect can be found on the flower petal tips. There is a shade of black that distinguishes the individual petals from the bud itself.
When the viewer first sees the photograph, they are overcome with a feeling of sadness. The sadness appears first because the flowers appear to be wilting which gives a sensation of death. The stem growing towards the sky contrasts the sad thought of death because it gives the feeling of hope and life. Flowers are a symbol of life and happiness, so by having the two bulbs wilting, the photographer is able to convey a stronger message of heartache. Flowers are also given to people in times of despair such as a funeral, a surgery, or to beg for forgiveness. Just the sight of the flower demonstrates the need for condolences or forgiveness.
This photograph captures heartache at its finest. The death of the flower is inevitable and is implied by the wilting of the buds. Whether these flowers will appear at a funeral to symbolize death or at the bedside of a cancer victim to bring good luck, they exude heartache in a subtle way. Heartache can be as drastic as a death of a loved one or as simplistic as getting a bad grade

Short Story #3

"Barricade Rue Mortellerie"

I haven’t been allowed to see my father or my brother in over a month. It is just my mother and I and all the other women and girls who are on this side of the wire barricade. We all look awkwardly similar to one another; blonde hair and blue eyes. We also share our nightly silent prayer time which we must keep from them. Our shelter is made up of rotten pieces of wood, rusted slabs of metal, and globs of hay. The shelves, or beds as they call them, are made of portions of plywood with mounds of hay on top. There are only sixteen of these so-called beds for one hundred and fifty people. The whole building exudes a stench of mildew, feces, and filth. Showers are nonexistent; bathrooms consist of holes dug in the ground. To say the least, torture is a daily occurrence.
We are distinguished by our eclectic numbers and symbols carved into our wrists. We are ordered around by the men in the uniforms. They blow their whistles and yell constantly at us. If we don’t obey, we are severely punished if not worse. We work in the fields from sunup till sundown, sometimes even longer. We dig endless mass graves and continue to weed around the metal border where we catch glimpses of our masculine loved ones. But we mustn’t try to talk or touch them, for if we do, we will end up in one of those graves. This is one of the ways they torture us; make us see what we can’t have.
I am ten years old and I have already seen about 100 deaths. They are not so much deaths as they are mass murders. Many more people have died, we think. Nobody actually knows exactly what has happened to them. All we know is that they are taken, groups at a time, out into the woods. A few hours later, the men in the uniforms return without the group they had left with. Sometimes they don’t take the whole family; just the females, or just the males depending upon the offense. We don’t hear screams, or pleas for help, nor do we ever see anybody try to run away. We don’t know how, why, or even when, yet we think its better that way. We thought that until it happened to us.
The other women and I were out in the field pulling weeds that were so minute we had to tweeze them with two fingers. The sun was scorching down upon us; heating our thick clothing and making it feel as though it was melting to us. It was barely possible to see in between beads of sweat that trickled down our faces dropping into our eyes like acid rain. Despite the intense heat, they still managed to blow their whistles and bellow out orders at us like it was any other day. Except it wasn’t just an ordinary day, not for my mother and father at least. Ten years ago today they became man and wife and vowed to love each other for eternity. They were dieing to see each other; you could just tell by the look in my mother’s face that she wanted nothing more than to see my father for a mere minute. I’m sure my father felt the same way; that’s why he got caught.
Both he and my mother were weeding near the fence when he whispered to her “Happy anniversary Sweetie!” The sound of his voice made my mother’s eyes swell up, yet she was able to muster “I love you Jonah.” Just as he began to respond with a faint “I love you too, Ann” one of them turned and spotted him talking. Whistles sounded and many of them began roaring and sprinting towards my father. They tackled him to the ground and then pulled him to his feet. Then they went and found my brother and pulled him over to my father. Mother and I looked on in horror wondering what they were going to do to them. They began heading towards those dreaded woods; the woods where people entered but never returned. Mother was screaming and crying as she held me and tried to protect me. The men in the uniforms didn’t care about us or what was going to happen to my father and brother; they just continued monitoring the other laborers. I didn’t understand what was happening or why it was happening. All I knew was that my father and brother were headed for the woods, whether to be seen or spoken to again was unknown.
Mother knew they were not going to return. She knew that once they entered the perimeter of the woods, she would not see her husband or son again. She knew that whatever happened in those woods was torturous and deadly. She knew that her son would not live to see his eighth birthday, nor would her husband be alive to celebrate their next anniversary. Every since that day, mother has become quiet, depressed, fragile in a way. I feel as though it has made me stronger; more observant, proud, and strong. I live everyday knowing that they are watching over me; knowing that one day, mother and I will once again be reunited with my father and brother. We will once again be a happy family like we were before this whole invasion began. Every night during our silent prayer time, I recite the same prayer:
“Please watch over mother and I and all the other people who are still here fighting for our freedom. Please give me the strength to make it through another day and forgive me for prior offenses. And please tell father and brother that I miss them and think about them everyday and that I love them very much.”

short story #2

The salty droplets trickled down her face. Her hand quivered as the cold blade gently caressed her skin. Her bluish-purple veins reflected in the sharp object. She didn’t want to do this, but she felt as though she had nothing left. It seemed as though he didn’t care about the time they had together. He said he needed his space, his freedom, some time away from her to concentrate on school. She was going to give him the greatest distance possible. He would be able to have his freedom as she watched down on him from heaven.
She raised the blade and placed it across her wrist several times before finally breaking the skin. She moved the now crimson spotted razor away from the gash and dropped it on the floor. Numerous thoughts ran through her mind. Did she really just do that? Should she have done it? Did she really want to die over him? As these thoughts crowded her mind, tears began to fill her hazel eyes. She drew her legs inward and hugged them close to her chest. As she sat in the corner of the dismal bathroom, she started rocking back and forth. Tears streamed down her face like a leaky faucet that couldn’t be turned off. She looked down to her right, and through her watery eyes, saw her reflection in the blade. Just then she realized what a terrible mistake she had made. She knew she was stronger than that; knew she had family and friends who loved her too much to let her go. She could go on with her life without him; it would be tough but worth it. She hopped into the shower to wash away all the memories of what had just occurred.
Fearing she would be sent to a psychologist, she never told anybody about what had happened that day. She hid her scar with long sleeves, bracelets, and make-up. Although the gash healed a little everyday, it served as a reminder of how strong she was. How she turned her life around after almost ending it all. Since that day, she graduated school and got her dream job as an event planner. Within a year of earning that position, she arranged six weddings, two sweet sixteen’s, and one wedding anniversary. At last she was happy with her life. She was able to wake up every morning knowing that she was going to make someone’s special day memorable.
She started that day like any other. She took a shower, stopped at the local coffee shop, and then made her way to her office. She opened the building doors and said hello to all her coworkers. She sat down at her desk and began looking at a wedding catalog to get ideas for an upcoming ceremony. The bells on the door began to chime so she looked up to see who had just walked in. She leaned back in her chair and looked over towards the secretary’s desk. She froze and fixed her eyes on the couple standing near the door. She remembered those deep brown eyes; his silky caramel skin; his perfect bright white smile; his gel spiked black hair. She remembered the times they had together; how he dumped her; how he made her feel; how she tried to kill herself. She leaped out of her chair, grabbed her keys, and ran past him to her car. As she ran to the door, she made eye contact with him. The tears were pouring down her face, blurring her vision. He began to say hello but she was already out the door. She jumped into her car and headed for home hoping never to see his face again.
She burst open her apartment door and ran straight to the bathroom, not caring that she left her door open. She sat in the corner of that dreary bathroom just like she had weeks prior. She picked up the newly sharpened blade and began gently tapping it against her body. She thought about how disheartened she felt the day he left her. The tears came streaming out faster. She took the razor and made a slash next to her scar. She let out a scream. She thought about seeing him with his fiancé. Again she took the razor and marked herself, this time not feeling any pain. She finally felt good about hurting herself.
Twenty minutes later he walked up the stairs to the complex and saw her door wide open. He began calling her name as he walked into the apartment. He searched all around and eventually made his way to the bathroom. He opened the door and saw her sitting in that dismal bathroom corner.

Declaration

I hereby declare that my concept is heartache. Heartache can be defined as:

• Grief: intense sorrow caused by loss of a loved one (especially by death) wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn


• Very sincere and difficult emotional problems or stress en.wiktionary.org/wiki/heartache

I decided to choose heartache as my concept because heartache happens everyday to different people. People can feel heartache from the death of a loved one, loss of a pet, ending of a relationship, or failure to accomplish a goal. I will be using all different forms of art to portray my concept throughout my concept-folio. I hope to give viewers a better understanding of what heartache is and how to deal with it.

Mind's Eye Critique

Looking at “Two Paths”, the viewer immediately feels as though he or she is standing in a quiet, serene location facing an abandoned shack. To the left is an open path with specs of sand glistening from the sun’s warming rays. The path exudes a sense of calm and tranquility. To the right is an eerie, desolate path that hides in the shadows of the trees. The path feels cold and ominous. The trees and the grass that engulf the paths are different shades of green and brown. The artist’s use of these darker hues adds to the dreary feel of the path on the right.
The focal point of the painting could be the shack located where the two paths diverge. The contrasts of the bright colors against the dark colors of the woods make the shack stand out from its surroundings. Another focal point could be the path in the foreground of the painting. The path is made up of light shades of brown which stand out from the dark green grass that surrounds it. There is no right or wrong focal point, but only what the viewer decides to see first.
The painting could symbolize a decision in someone’s life. The path on the left, the blithe, more appealing path, could be the choice that is best suited for the individual who is faced with the two options. The path on the right, the frightening, dreary path, could be the choice that causes the individual trouble and is not the best way to go. The viewer must decide which path is the better one to take, sacrificing the outcome of the other path. All in all, the artist creates a scenario in which the viewer is the ultimate decision maker.

"Haymaker and Sleeping Girl"-Critique Number One

Looking at Thomas Gainsborough’s “Haymaker and Sleeping Girl,” the viewer is immediately sent to a quiet, tranquil farm that exudes the warmth of that beautiful autumn day. A wealthy adolescent girl is sitting against a fence sleeping. Her red-orange hair compliments her red-orange dress and sun bonnet. Pale, fair skin illustrates that the girl comes from a family with a lot of money. Standing on the other side of the fence is a farm boy. Dirty and tired from a hard days work in the field, he leans against the fence and admires his love napping. He is dressed in khaki colored pants and matching vest with a grungy white buttoned shirt underneath. In his soil-covered hands are a hat and a rake. His appearance and accessories show that he is poor and must work all day in the sun for money. The artist’s attention to detail provides the viewer with the subjects’ social class.
The focal point of the painting is the girl’s chest. The viewer may not be drawn to it immediately, but after scanning the whole painting the eye is attracted to the bare skin. Because her skin is so fair and white, the contrasting color of her dress makes the lightness of her skin stand out drastically. Once the eye is focused on the girl, smaller details begin to stand out. The basket draped on her arm and the dog lying next to her in the corner for instance.
This painting exudes heartache in an unconventional way. The different social classes are projected by the boy and the girl and show that they can not be together. As the boy observes what he wants most, the fence reminds him that he can not have her. The fence symbolizes the separation of social classes and how it is unworthy to love someone outside of your social rank. Although the sleeping beauty will never know of her admirer, the boy will always love her and will always deal with the emotional pain of not being able to be with the one he loves.