Sue froze where she stood, frozen for what must have felt like hours. “You mean, he waited all of this time to paint his masterpiece and not only did he paint it for me but – he used his life to paint it.” Sue was overwhelmed at the thought, she was the reason Mr. Behrman had gone out that night, she was the reason he had passed away. “I caused his demise, my own selfishness did this!” Sue cried. Johnsy quickly took hold of Sue’s hands and said to her: “No darling, you did just the opposite, you showed Mr. Behrman what he had been looking for, for these years. You inspired his masterpiece!” Understanding then that Mr. Behrman’s sacrifice for her, was no sacrifice at all, his dream had been fulfilled and he had continued his journey. At that …show more content…
Her days consisting of sleeping, eating, and artistic pursuits, Sue became obsessed with preparing herself, so when that day arrived she would be ready to create her masterpiece. “You’ve progressed from bedridden to nearly sprinting around the studio in only a few days, you may need to slow down or I won’t be able to keep up!” Johnsy laughingly said. “Art isn’t made, it’s found deep in the far corners of the closets of our minds, right now I don’t even have the key to my closet!" Sue said, whilst simultaneously drawing light and shadow studies on her paper, no sign of slowing for an instant. “Alright, well let me know if you need a lantern, surely you cannot find your masterpiece in the dark.” Johnsy said, laughing and shaking her head as she walked …show more content…
In her time not spent preparing her skills, Sue was frantically searching for new opportunities to further her art career. Originally her endeavors were small, one or two pieces in a gallery, occasionally receiving a private commission, however one day everything changed. Sue burst through the door of the studio, running towards her room, nearly slipping twice along the way. “What is the matter with you, Dear?” asked Johnsy, rightfully confused by the sudden commotion. “I’ve found it! I’ve found my opportunity to create my masterpiece!” Sue exclaimed between breaths, after frantically heaving her luggage bag out from under her bed. “One of my pieces on display over at brown’s gallery caught the eye of an art collector. He said that it “Spoke to him,” so much that the wants for me to accompany him on his journey to Europe!” “Oh my – that’s wonderful!” Johnsy exclaimed, “When do you leave?” “I’m to meet the collector at the docks in the morning, we’ll be on our way by noon!” The two celebrated and packed all night, both overflowing with excitement for the journey to
The forest had gone.... and the Witch looked much younger. Audette opened her eyes and had found herself upon a brow of white lilies. The shape of the shrouded old woman seemed changed. Having turned around, and opened her mantle to the tearing gusts, Meliza revealed to the young lady two streams of shinging blackness and smooth white flesh. Audette stopped in her tracks.
Much of Walker’s art takes the form of visual narrative, telling stories with images and words. The artist has said that the genre of narrative allows her room to blend fact with fiction, creating new ways to negotiate past experience and imagine the future. Walker takes ownership of the
After walking into the museum, you see the first exhibit- modern art. Ripping off a band-aid quickly is a great example of how it felt moving through this exhibit “analyzing” this “art”. While walking around, each piece just got more and more complexing but what was more of a conundrum
After John harnessed the team to the wagon, he, Charity, and Charles loaded Uriah into it. She and Charles then headed to town with him. She left John and Martha Jane to watch over the younger children, with strict orders that they had all better be on their best behavior until her return. John was nearly twelve; she figured he ought to be capable of watching the little ones.
“After defeating the Cyclops Polyphemus, my men grew exhausted. They grew thirsty from rowing under the beating hot sun. Sweat dripped down their heads and the ship’s deck grew moist from the mix of the salty, seawater and sweat. We stopped by on a nearby island.
Weeks later, as Snowman stares into the familiar bright green eyes, he thinks back to what led him here, forgetting the fact that in a few moments, his whole world will be turned upside down.
Laurel nodded her head when she heard that Zinda would be willing to aid her in her efforts of keeping the city running smoothly. “With that attitude I think Ryder will love you.” She stated with a small laugh, her head shook from side to side. “Even before the outbreak I always had a hard time sleeping.” She reached her right hand up and placed it against the back of her neck, rubbing at it. “So it really doesn’t bother me all that much.” She nodded her head. She knew what Zinda said was true, that she should try and sleep more but that seemed easier said than done. She really tried to sleep at night sleep just seemed to elude her, it was never there when she really need it. Like the night they got back from the Farmhouse, all she wanted to do was fall asleep and forget the whole events that had taken place there. Sadly that didn’t happen, she stayed up all night thinking about how she could have done thing differently, that she should have stayed with Kate.
She was in her room, drawing an abstract depiction of something I couldn’t decipher. One of the many talents Vinyl had was drawing. Ever since Dusty had taken her to the art museums in Manehattan, she had been inspired by all sorts of artworks done by famous ponies. One day, she hoped she would be a successful DJ and an artist. She put her pencil down, took off her glasses. “Why not! I love spending time with ya, Octy.” Lately, Vinyl agreed to everything thing I asked. Not only that, just four nights before, she had asked me out to dinner, so I could get my mind off things. “Wanna lie down together and
Drenched and frozen, only the warmth from their mothers’ kept the young creatures sustained. The trees’ limbs hung low from the weight of the swampy atmosphere; causing the joyous ambience of the forest to restrain her passion.
If he had been human, everything would have been easier. Hal's life would have been so much better; he wouldn't have been forced to fight, or be controlled by the code in his head. He would have grown into a different, maybe better person. But then, they would still be stuck in the compound, still there when the bots had malfunctioned, and they may have not even escaped. Perhaps they would have died an untimely death and not have escaped into the wastes and would be left to rot in the desecrated compound, forgotten, and the only sign they were there were their desecrated skeletons, and even those would be ground away by the sands of time until they eventually became nothing. It was a pity that they would meet that fate regardless; Dirk would
After saying goodnight to Simon and Magnus, Clary quickly shut the door to the library. The hallway was silent and still as the ocean tide, she had heard Lilian call for her just as her best friends in the world told her their goodbyes for the night. Magnus had conjured up a portal which would take him and Simon back to the village where they lived. Simon lived in a simple but modest house, on the outskirts of town, on a farm with his Mother and older sister. Magnus however, resided in a small, comfortable loft just above the local clothing store.
“Nicole! Guess what,” my friend Melodie screamed from across the street, “Someone stole a painting at the Louvre. Come here it’s in the paper.” She hurriedly gestured for me to cross the street. I sighed disappointedly as I trudged across the street, pulling my furry coat around myself tighter. I glared at my slightly short friend; her short light brown hair was violently whipping around her head. Her light blue eyes were practically glowing.
On the day of september 1st, 1955 life changed forever for Joseph Hall going back as far as Joseph was a child artistry had been embedded in him from the beginning standing tall as a giant with pale white skin equivalent to the new york snow. the same new york snow he grew to know and love he had never lived nowhere else but, here in new york city. Every morning 10 a.m sharp Joseph stood in front of “Best Art Studio” imagining himself creating an assortment of creations for the world (Joseph)-Parish! Mr. Parish do you have a second ?” as Parish walks towards the Main entrance of his art studio building he looks back and stares back at Joseph as if he had seen a ghost it was that look you would give if you seen something odd that you couldn't explain (Parish)- “I see you're back ...again” Parish said to him in a stern voice.
Jane’s goal is clearly much higher than reproducing other’s works. She sees herself acquiring the skills of a professional artist. Jane
“Thank you, Dorothy,” I interrupted hastily, not eager to listen to another tangent. I quickly left the desk, making my way to the crime scene while mulling over everything I had learned so far. I reached it without incident, nodding to the few security guards I passed on the way. As I approached the patch on the wall where the stolen painting had been, I realized that Dorothy had not been lying, and a Van Gogh painting depicting people sitting at a table, eating potatoes, as the name suggested. Looking around, I saw nothing suspicious around the exhibit, and I turned to leave, disappointed; however, as I began to walk away, my toe stubbed against a loose tile on the ground.