Artist Descriptive Writing

We continued through the museum by this time we broke off into small groups of our peers and I walked those halls filled with all that great artwork snapping all the photos I could and taking in every piece. It is a beautiful experience to be surrounded by such artwork, brilliance, and mastery of craft. I felt like I travelled through time and countries with each piece was a different feeling but none would compare to the ballerina. Before this I saw artwork and didn’t understand it’s depth and nor did I want to but after I realized the talent, effort, and story behind some of the pieces I realized art is the most intimate storytelling and expression. After this trip I was determined to find my place in artwork and after a few failed attempts with many forms of media I found Graphic Design. It was one of the most challenging but rewarding things I’d ever done in my life. Many times I found myself frustrated with the programs and the even sometimes the outcome but I just worked harder and harder and in the end when I finally did get the results I wanted it was the most accomplished I’d ever

I am forced out of bed before the sun gets the chance by the high-pitched screaming of my alarm. Working against the clock, my brain fights the last-minute task of arranging all my clothes into a suitcase. The taxi ride to the airport is all but a tired blur. With a long hug and a bittersweet speech from my parents, I am off on my own to break new boundaries. The airport and I are no strangers.

pointing arrows pointing outward. Right down the center of the backpack there is a aluminum

At the summit of a small hill the traveller shrugs off his backpack, leaning the bulky object against a moss-draped rock to prevent his life spilling out of the barely zipped pockets and tumbling down the grassy hillside. Facing the lowering sun, he raises his hands above his head, fingers interlaced, and stretches his aching shoulders. Conscious of the many years that have gathered in his clicking joints, the same way the dust of so many beaten tracks is embedded in his faded canvas hat. It was blue once, a deep inky blue like the twilight sky just as the first stars are appearing, but the years of sun and rain and snow have drained its colour to a dirty smog-grey.

There are many colors in this world. Cool colors, warm colors, neutrals, the entire rainbow and more. There are dozens of colors people can’t see with their eyes. But sometimes, if you look very closely, they’ll appear, usually when and where you don’t expect them.

The Descriptive Writing task in Unit 3 is worth 7.5% of the subject award and is marked out of 20. The mark given for each of the examples provided is supported by comments related to the criteria given in the specification for (i) Content & Organisation; (ii) Sentence Structure, Punctuation & Spelling. A notional grade is indicated in each case, based on the way that the same mark scale for Writing has been used in the past, and consistent with the uniform mark scale which will be used in the future to report results. However, it is important to note that in practice grade boundaries are determined when units are awarded, and that prior to this individual students’ marks are subject to

In a busy town of England, the weather was becoming windy and cold. The roads were busy as horses galloped and squashed the dirt on the ground, leaving their hooves dirty and moist. Citizens of England walked to their destination: ladies to a seamstress's shop and gentlemen to their business workplace. Many shops were open but there was one shop in particular that caught attention. The compact building was a art’s and craft’s shop, allowing artists to come in and buy their supplies. The shop went by the name of, “Archie’s Art”, and was own by an elderly male painter. There was even a small room in the back of the shop where artists could visit to practice painting or drawing. But why was this art’s and craft’s shop so interesting?

On July 14, 2015 I made a trip down to Celebration to see the art gallery at the Bohemian Hotel. Every single time I enter the town of Celebration I fall more in love. Well, today I realized that art galleries do not need to be big, to be impressive. As I arrive to the hotel I get to take in the beautiful architectural design of the hotel. Inside I get the pleasure of seeing more than 75 different art pieces. The whole reason I wanted to go to this specific location was, because someone had told me that there was glasswork throughout the hotel. However, the small yet impressive art gallery captured my attention more. The hotel had art pieces all over, but I got all caught up in a corner where local artists, Nina Buxton, Huston Llew, and Phillip Anthony; had their beautiful pieces of art.

I’m not exactly sure what I feel at the moment but lying here in my room, utterly alone, I’ve given it some thought and I’ve decided to begin my transition from the stage of grief to experiencing a cleansing. It’s time for a new me. Too long have I sat here in this cold, empty room, drowning in my tears. Too exhausted to function. Dark rings surrounding my eyes and hair resembling someone who’d been dragged through a bush. I refuse to spend any more days in self pity. Arising is arduous but somehow I manage to unravel myself out of the cocoon I had created. Feeling my toes sinking into the feather-soft carpet as I take the first steps as the newly found Evelyn, over towards the curtain. The velvet fabric compliments my skin as I gently tug and they inch open. Suddenly light floods in, filling the room, illuminating lost objects. Dust fills my nostrils as all my little nik-naks come to life. Slipping down my worn in sweats to change into something more presentable, a rush of warmth overcomes me. For the first time in months, to make myself breakfast, I shall go further than the bathroom.

Alessa woke up in a panic. Sweat was dripping from her face and her breathing was rapid. She looked down at her hands which were clenched onto the sheets on either side of her. She looked back up through her bedroom window which stretched from floor to ceiling. Outside the moonlight brightened the jagged peaks of the snowy mountains which overlooked the city of Athens. The snow that was falling made shadows on the floor and walls of her bedroom. Wind blew through the crack in the window and the drapes that hung from the top of her bed fluttered around her. Alessa inhaled deeply and then exhaled while taking in her surroundings. Her fingers unclenched from her sheets and her heart rate had slowly steadied. She intended to keep her mind blank,

I zipped up my sweatshirt as another train zoomed by. It was two in the morning, I couldn’t stop wondering why I wasn’t at home in my warm comfortable bed. I had thought about riding a train back home but there’s a lot of weird people who ride the subway at this hour. Another train zoomed past and I leapt on top, gripping one of the safety rails that hung off the side. The wind whipped through my hair as the train sped down the long dark tunnel. I closed my eyes against the whipping wind, pressing myself closer to the roof of the train.

What lies across the hallway is a door in which I tend to enter and exit through repeatedly. Both sides of the door tells immensely different stories of what you view on the inside and on the outside. All you can see and hear is silence and diligence in one side of the door but as you walk through the other side, everything becomes more louder, bolder, and alive.

At first, art was just a distraction, an escape from reality, which I begin to dread so very often, everywhere I went I felt like fear and isolation follow me to every corner of my life. Art allowed me to explore escape from reality and create freely. That very feeling intoxicated my mind presenting me the key to a door that would help me escape my mind and feel entirely free.

Cold wrapped around my body as I stepped onto the main platform at the waystation. This is pretty much the only human operated system anymore since robots were running pretty much everything now. The walls were covered in posters. Each one of them had a picture of some place that looked very beautiful, and calming, but things aren’t always as they seem to be. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going, but at that time I really didn’t care. People gathered all around with their belongings as the train crept to a halt and blowed my faded burgundy jacket. I noticed that I had forgotten to bring anything. Oh well. I hesitated on leaving at first, but just thinking about what had happened made me walk into the train faster. I, Alessia Carter, was really

I really don't care for this time of year. It's muddy, rainy, cold, warm, snow, sleet, sunny dry.You name it and we get it. Take yesterday it was sunny and 71 out . Loved it. Now today it's 45 and raining. Hate it. But that is what you get living in S.E. Indiana.