Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Final Reflection

1. An analysis of my work throughout the class:
  • I am poem: this was our first assignment, and our first piece of writing that we shared as a class. I've always found that writing I do about my personal life is some my weakest work. This was no exception. When my writing starts to jar my emotions, it begins to derail itself. My sentences transform themselves into ranting run-ons and in the process lose their power.
  • Undercurrent: This object inspired piece was our second post to blogger, but the first that I felt my writing voice really emerged. I picked a shell as my object-of-choice, but rather than writing about cliches like a mermaid or sea life, I chose to write a loosely related and tragic story. 
  • Welcome Home:  While working with writing inspired by colors, we were challenged to write a story in which each paragraph alluded to a different color. Originally, this story was going to be similar to Undercurrent with its dark tone. However, I recall being very entertained by the shocked comments on this piece and its sudden, cheerful ending. 
  • Family Tradition: While working with dream inspired writing, we all were instructed to write out the details of a dream we've had. Afterwards we had to select one sentence that stood out from our recollection. Afterwards, each student chose two of those sentences - one to begin their story with and another to end it - and wrote a creative piece of writing to connect the two. Mine, of course, took a dark turn. This story alluded heavily to 70's slasher films, which has always been one of my greatest creative inspirations. However, the story ends with a twist, as the reader discovers the narrator is actually a member of the murderous family that lives within the house.
2. Classmate's work Analysis:
  • Child's Play by Echo: Because I know Echo, I know that some of the events in this story are true. However, I think its interesting that without knowing the author, it would be difficult to determine whether or not this childhood recollection, and brief self reflection, were works of fiction or not.
  • Poem of Peace by Haley: We were assigned a project in which we had to write a post inspired by one a famous photo from this millennium. In the picture that Haley chose, you can see the joy that can come from sticking up for what you believe in. I think her poem is incredibly applicable to modern culture and youth rebellion and empowerment. 
3. Having a blog has allowed me to collect my thoughts in a formal manner. Most writers thrive with notebooks, but being a writer who despises my own handwriting, having a blog where I could just comfortably type out my work was incredibly handy. The name Charli Bit Me for my blog came from an old viral video, in which a baby bites his older brother's finger and the boy starts to cry out over dramatically "Charlie bit me! and it really hurt!". I don't know if anyone besides the required commentators read my work, but that's alright. I still had fun making them. I don't know if I would continue using this blog, only because it feels more class-related than personal now, but I would consider starting up a new blog in the future. I would continue to post my jarring, often horrific stories to my personal blog.

4. Journaling has always been a difficult task for me, considering I despise hand writing my work. I much prefer typing my stories. It is because of this that most of my full-length stories were not drafted or included in my journal throughout this class. I tended to stick to putting in more artistic writing pieces in my journal, like our blackout poetry and collage inspired work. 


5. Put on your rouge. "We'll be late if you don't hurry!" His sister's persistent pestering never ceased to unnerve him. Yet something within her words churned his mind. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His pale, lanky body stared unimpressively back at him. A shiver ran up his spine. His mother was gorgeous. She'd had three husbands and sucked each of their bank accounts dry before moving onto the next unlucky bachelor. His sister was a prodigy in the same skills. She only dated sports stars with sports cars. He was so unalike the women he shared his blood with. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be wanted. 




6.I suck in a sharp breath, as my lips curl into a smirk. "See, Nosferatu and all these classic movies all have their unique twists, but they all share one similar assumed inaccuracy..." I lean in closer to her and whisper into her ear, "We don't feed through our heads."
At that moment, the giant mouth on my stomach opened up and ripped a chunk out of Jennifer's torso with its rough, sharp teeth. 


7. I hope that in the future I'll have more free time to devote to working on comics and graphic novels. I also have an idea for a fantasy story that I really would like to eventually put into words. Writing creatively is almost therapeutic for me. I often use it as an escape from reality when I'm overworked or emotionally drained.

8. Even though this class is ending, that doesn't mean your creativity has to end with it. Even if not all of the topics we wrote about really interested you, I promise from just reading your work throughout the semester that you've grown as writer (probably without even realizing it). Everyone in this class has the potential to do something great with their writing. Wherever you go in life, just remember to bring your creativity with you!




Tuesday, December 13, 2016

FOOD for thought

Carrots

Fresh or boiled it doesn't matter,
They still make me gag,
The only acceptable way to consume them,
Is masked in a cake,
Or a glass of V8.

Carrots are dirty, bulbous roots,
Rabbit food, 
I've never liked them never will,
No wonder my eyesight is so awful. 

I pick them out of my Chinese food,
and leave them on the side of the plate. 
Even a nibble is enough to send the putrid taste across my tongue. 
So I carefully remove any slivers left over. 

Please believe me when I say I'm not a picky eater,
Every once in a while I give carrots another try,
In hopes that my tongue will have changed its mind,
but no avail. 

Tell me a Story / Children's story Draft

Arby the Luchador

In Mexico City there lives an extraordinary girl named Arby.

Arby loves birds, climbing trees, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, but most of all Arby loves...

Lucha libre!

Arby dreams of being a pro luchador when she's older,

but for now she's still trying to prove herself to the boys from the neighborhood.

"Girls can't wrestle!"
"You're too soft!"
"Go back to playing with your dolls!"

Arby didn't feel like playing anymore.

Eventually, the boys grew tired of wrestling each other.

They knew all of their moves. Every fight was the same...

...And they missed their friend, Arby.

So they decided to go visit her and invite her to wrestle with them!

Little did they know, Arby had been quite busy.

She'd organized an entire wrestling league with the girls from the neighborhood.

"Hey, boys! You wanna play?"

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

About the Author

Avatar made in Papa's Cheeseria
Charli Keniley is an eighteen year old writer and artist who currently resides in Springfield, Missouri with his father and two dogs, Marmie and Romo. Charli has a strong passion for design and plans to pursue a higher education for a career in this at OTC and MSU. His favorite genre to write in is fantasy/fiction, especially horror-themed, psychological thrilling short stories.


Monday, November 14, 2016

Books for Kids!

The book I read in the library was The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. 
The book has 55 pages. 
Key characters include: The velveteen rabbit, Skin Horse, the boy, Nana, the doctor, the fairy, and the real rabbits. 
The main settings in the story are: The toy chest, the boy's bed, the garden, the burn pile behind the chicken coop, and the woods. 
3 sentence summary: A boy is given a toy rabbit for Christmas. He takes it everywhere, and sleeps with it every night, until he becomes very ill with scarlet fever and a doctor says all of his toys must be burned to make him well again. A fairy saves the toy rabbit from the burn pile, and with the power of the boy's love she turns the toy into a real rabbit to happily live in woods for the rest of forever.
The book includes animal characters and does not use rhyme.
"Once you are real, you can't be ugly to the people who understand." -Skin Horse

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Child's Play


The actions that make me feel the most nostalgic for my childhood are visiting places from my childhood, sorting through old, printed pictures at my mom's house, and playing video games that I used to share with my older brother.

When I was a child, my parents fought a lot. I don't remember the arguments in excruciating detail; only that they were very violent. Things got better for us after my mom left.
My dad has eight brothers and sisters, so family reunions for the Kenileys are always intense. Before my Uncle Marty passed, the entire family would throw huge barbecues at his house because he had a backyard pool. My papa would work the grill, while my cousins and I swam in the water until our fingers turned to prunes. Then we'd play Foosball in the basement until our parents dragged us out.

When I was a kid I had a few years where I had intense, out-of-the-blue nosebleeds. They would start out of no where, and blood would just continually pour from my nose for a good few hours before it would finally stop. Our family doctor excused it as allergies. Eventually I grew out of it.

Keeping it Real (Like Dan)

Three tips I would give to the parents of teenagers are:
  1. Do not go through their room without permission. Just don't do it. You might find something you wish you hadn't, and your teen will be eternally ticked that you violated their privacy. 
  2. Give them their space. If something seems off about your teen, and they're not being especially open with you, just give them some time to themselves. They may come around to sharing later, or they may not. An important part of forming strong trust is them not feeling pressured or forced to tell you everything.
  3. Set limitations, have clear consequences. Make sure to have regular conversations in which you compromise on things like: curfews, date rules, check-in-times, and chores. Also in these conversations make sure you're clear on potential consequences for breaking the rules that you set.

Someone is a "hottie" when they can make me laugh, make me think, or bring something fun and interesting into my life. I'm a sponge when it comes to new experiences and love to be surprised. 

Something most people don't know about me is that I'm the caretaker of a disabled veteran. My father served in the Navy in Desert Storm. He broke his spine while serving, and as a result he now spends his days in a wheel chair. He and his last wife separated in 2012, and I'm his only child that still lives in Missouri. So I'm in charge of caring for him.
Some of the best pickup lines I've heard were: 
  • "I'm not a photographer, but I can picture you and I together." 
  • "Do you have a band-aid? Because I scraped my knee falling for you." 
  • "I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way."

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Movie Quotes

(In reference to the increasingly gender ambiguous club-scene style) "1,000 years from now there will be no guys and no girls, just wankers. Sounds great to me." -Mark Renton in Trainspotting

"When I'm around you, I kind of feel like I'm on drugs. Not that I do drugs. Unless you do drugs, in which case I do them all the time. All of them." -Scott Pilgrim in Scott Pilgrim Vs the World.
Relationship advice to Juno from her father in the movie Juno.
-Julian "Frankenstein" McGrath speaking to the character Sonny Koufax in Big Daddy

Friday, November 4, 2016

"Reel" Life

I cannot pinpoint my favorite movie to just one. It usually varies between a select few depending on my mood. A few movies that I have consistently enjoyed over the years include:

  • A Clockwork Orange
  • Trainspotting
  • Scott Pilgrim vs the World
  • Big Daddy
  • Blue is the Warmest Color
  • God Bless America
  • Juno
  • The Outsiders 
  • The Fundamentals of Caring



















I don't usually care for sports related movies or modern Adam Sandler comedies.
My boyfriend is a manager at Vintage Stock, so we get free movie rentals. We watch a lot of movies.
I'm not picky about my environment for movie viewing, but I can't stand it if people talk or are on their phones the entire time.

The online survey said that I am:

  • 33% Extroverted
  • 33% Agreeable
  • 50% Conscientious 
  • 8% Emotionally Stable (Yikes)
  • 58% Open to New Experiences
It also said that my reasons for watching movies were:

  • Artistic: 85%
  • Pleasure Seeking: 80%
  • Socialization: 80%
  • Boredom Avoidance: 70%
  • Sensation Seeking: 65%
  • Escapism: 60%
  • Information Seeking: 50%
  • Catharsis: 45%
  • Aggression: 35%
  • Nostalgia: 30%

























If my life were to be made into a movie, I would want Brianna Hildebrand to play me, because I think we kind of look alike with my new haircut. A few major plot points would be:


  • Jumping around from place-to-place as a kid because of my dad being in the Navy.
  • My parents divorce and my mom moving half way across the country.
  • Chopping off all my hair for the first time.
  • My month long trip to France.
  • Finding my dog in a parking lot when she was a puppy. 

I'm still not sure how the ending would go.

Extraordinary (Scare/Share)





























She didn't ask me out directly. Her friend did that for her; the one with the blonde ponytail and the bouncy tits. "She says you're different from the other guys or something-" She fidgeted on the heels of her sneakers in the impatient way that girls like that do, "No offense, but I don't see it... So you'd better be a complete gentleman when you take her out. No creepy stuff."
Jennifer was a pretty girl, but only a few social connections away from being considered a plain Jane. She didn't have a lot of substance to her despite her studies and her mannequin-like looks. It was easy to tell her cliche romantic history from a few conversations with her. She always went for the bad guys - the chiseled jawline - no wonder she called my slightly pot-bellied stomach cute. The girl was desperate for a turn around.
A few days after we first became acquainted, I drove Jennifer a few towns out to a popular Hipster date spot - the drive in theater. The night autumn air was crisp, and the theater was playing a "Monster Mashup" the entire month of October. Nosferatu was playing the night we arrived.
As the movie drudged on, Jennifer and I would occasionally make chatter about how aged the production was or how the song on the radio would never quite match up with the scenes on the screen. 
"Do you think a vampire would really look like that in real life?" She suddenly asked, as Count Orlok made an appearance in a narrow doorway.
I just smirked at the absurdity of the question. "No. Of course they wouldn't."
Jennifer's interest was perked by the confidence of my answer, "Oh, no? and why not?"
"They wouldn't be that ugly." I quickly chuckled, "Haven't you seen Twilight?" I added, making more fun of the situation. 
Jennifer crossed her arms and gave a mock pout. She was obviously displeased with my dismissive response. "Well, I think a vampire would be a very ugly thing." She said with an underlying tone of seriousness, "Anything that sucks the life out of the living has got to be gross looking."
I raised an eyebrow, but sat in silence for a moment. 
Only the slightly off-station radio sounds filled the void before Jennifer cleared her throat. "Uhm..."
"Well what if you were on a date with a vampire?" I finally asked, "And you just didn't know it?"
Jennifer's eyes widened, but finally her face settled into a small smile. "Well... I think I would know if I were dating a vampire..." She whispered playfully, "Nosferatu has some pretty gruesome fangs."She leans into me suddenly and wraps her arms around my neck, "It'd be hard to kiss you."
I suck in a sharp breath, as my lips curl into a smirk. "See, Nosferatu and all these classic movies all have their unique twists, but they all share one similar assumed inaccuracy..." I lean in closer to her and whisper into her ear, "We don't feed through our heads."
At that moment, the giant mouth on my stomach opened up and ripped a chunk out of Jennifer's torso with it's rough, sharp teeth. 

Diamond (Photos of the Millennium)

It was a busy week when the wave came in,
Half the city was destroyed,
Half of the men didn't show up because they'd lost someone,
Mourning tends to drag down work ethic in that way. 

It was so strange,
Seeing street corners I'd known since I was a child,
Reduced to piles of salt stained rubble. 

We dug through the debris for days,
But rarely found bodies,
Let alone survivors,
We wondered how many had been swept out to sea.

It was on the fourth day,
When our moral was drained, 
And our arms were tired of digging through the building remains, 
That we heard you cry.

I thought it was a trick at first,
But as the other men began to take notice, 
We all jumped up and began to dig. 

When we found you, 
Nestled safely in a pocket just under a few rocks and a piece of ply wood,
You looked untouched,
It was remarkable,
A little diamond in the rough. 

Friday, October 28, 2016

Flea Market Photo

Character Profiles:



Marjorie J. Hanes
Born: July 23, 1844
Hometown: Bracey, VA.
Occupation: Halfway house operator and reformer for troubled young women.
Hobbies: Reading, writing, political studies, feminism.
Fears/Worries: Conservative Politics
Goals: Women's Suffrage

Ethel M. Rutherford
Born: January 13, 1878
Hometown: Richmond, VA.
Occupation: Student
Hobbies: Cooking, sewing, beauty, singing, drawing.
Fears/Worries: Being compared to her sister, food, not being able to find a husband.

Marie N. Rutherford
Born: March 4, 1880
Hometown: Richmond, VA.
Occupation: Student
Hobbies: Dancing, Smoking, Drinking, Promiscuity.
Fears/Worries: That she won't be able to return to Richmond.

The room was quiet other than the sound of forks scraping against plates. Only two, however, when there were three present.
"Why don't you eat, girl?" Asked the mistress. Ethel snapped out of her daydreams and stammered an apology. Her younger sister snickered. "Do not laugh at your sister." Scolded the mistress as she cut another piece of her meal. "I'll ask again, but not more, Ethel. Why don't you eat? You prepared this meal and you did so well. You should taste your work."
The older sister swallowed and looked down at her stomach. A slight roll sat in her line of vision. Rude thoughts filled her mind. "I eat enough, mistress." She finally answered.
"My sister is dull," Marie, the younger sister, added with another giggle. "She wants to be beautiful and slender like me. I get all the boys back in Richmond and they call her a piglet." She stuck her nose up and honked for emphasis. She was the only one laughing, but by the volume of it you'd think the joke was hilarious. Ethel's eyes were brimming with tears now.
Mistress Marjorie's eyes narrowed. She wiped the corner of her lips with a napkin. "Ah, yes. Your parents told me about your promiscuity. That's why they sent you girls to be reformed by me. To become real, husband attracting women." She glanced between the girls. "While your sister may be lacking the confidence to shine on the outside, she has the skill to be a home maker." Marie's eyes widened and her giggling stopped as the mistress went on, "She can cook a full meal, sew a hem, clean a home... You can do none of that, Marie. You only know how to spread your legs. You'll never find a man like that. Only other women's husbands." The younger sister's face turned a deep red. She stood from the table and stormed upstairs angrily. The mistress only smiled as Ethel looked to her.
"Mistress... That was quite rude..." She said, bewildered.
"Ah, yes it was my dear. However she has tasted her own sourness now." Mistress Marjorie patted Ethel's hand before continuing to cut at her meal. "You both have many things to learn, and this summer is going to be a long journey for us all."

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Photo Treasure Hunt


Something Beautiful: This arrangement of flowers on a windowsill in the library. It looked 
pretty sweet with the light shining in on it like this. #MorningGlory. 
Something Square: The tile flooring on the second story landing of the lunchroom stairs, aka, a
 total cop out because we were running out of time. Ft. Echo's feet. #WhatASquare. 



Something that could catch the attention of a child: The Dr. Seuss illustrated classic, and another total cop out, El Grinch. #AntiChristmas#XMAS?
Something that looks like a face (that isn't one): A (cop out) light socket. #pokerface
Something Round: My friend Zoee holding a fake grape we found in the art closet.
#LooksLikeRiffRaff


Someone I Aspire to be More Like: Once again, my friend Zoee, because her art style is very cohesive and admirable. As the kids say, #Goals

A Unique Angle: Zoee climbing down from shelves in a closet full of mannequins. #UniqueToSayTheLeast

A Book: My pal Zoee holding open a book about planets to a really rad page about gaseous giants. (Thanks again for help with half these pictures Zoee) #BigRedPal


Something that Frustrates Me: Self Explanatory. #IHateSweat
Something that causes Nostalgia: The curvy, wrapped wire of a landline telephone will never fail to remind me of my childhood. I can still envision my mother absentmindedly twirling the tight curls loose between her fingers as she chattered into the receiver.  #HoldONImONThePhone

Someone Who has Taught me Something: Mrs. Peck has never failed to be understanding, inspiring, and motivational in my experience with her. #SheWillHateThisPictureThough
Someone Who Makes Me Smile: My best friend, Ashlee Atnip, never fails to be there to listen to my troubles even when they start to sound like a broken record. They're a true pal, and an incredibly talented writer. They help me grow. #RideOrDie



Something Handwritten: A portion from one of Hannah Duckworth's painting's found in the portfolio room. #ArtIsCool


Something That will Always Remind me of Going to Kickapoo: This was the least offensive representation of our school mascot I could find during the treasure hunt, and that should say something. People should not be mascots. There are reasons that I've never been to a football game during my four years at Kickapoo. As a Native American I honestly feel unsafe, misrepresented, ignored, and beyond ready to graduate so I can finally be out of this appropriating environment. #NoRelief
Something From Nature: A tree in the front parking lot captured from the library window. #Sanctuary


Thursday, October 20, 2016

Hopper Inspired

(A/N Free verse poem based on a painting by Edward Hopper.  Themes/TW: Substance abuse, alcoholism, pedophilia, child abuse, clowns, false accusations. Word Count: 140.)

McGoo

He bit the filter off the cigarette,
and smoked the cancer stick raw,
The way his face twitched,
Under layers of cracking paint,
Made it look like he was chewing the rolled tobacco.

The clown was not always this way.
He loved making them smile,
He never knew loneliness,
He had purpose.
Once upon a time,
McGoo was a loved, party clown,
He wore a fluffy wig and a big red nose,
His smile never needed painting on.

The clown's happy fantasy ended,
When rumors of him hurting the children spread,
The police visited Mcgoo,
Even when proved innocent, 
No one would hire him again.

Now everyday, the clown sits in the bar,
Smoking and drinking whiskey until the red is washed from his lips,
Until there's a stagger in his step.
His mind numb and tired.
His blood warmed.

Window Poem

(Inspired by the painting Marshall's House By Edward Hopper. Written using a sensory based verse template.)


Forests and hills roll on for miles,
To the left, my neighbor's car rolls down our shared gravel road,
He's off to work.
We wave, Goodbye!

The bird's nest on the windowsill is empty,
The chicks learned how to fly during the night.
I sigh, Goodbye!

Sometimes the grass looks like cat fur,
Soft, blowing in the breeze,
The glass is cold from the frost outside.
I pull a blanket more tightly around my shoulders.
I wonder,
What lies beyond these grassy hills?
Will I ever be the one to say, Goodbye! 
?

Friday, October 14, 2016

Art Walk Free Write

(A/N Pictures are not the prints described below, but evoke similar feelings)


Print One:
Upon first glance, you notice a foggy horizon dotted with lime colored bushes, that splits a beige and blue sky from a flat golden field. Sporadically planted saplings grow in the foreground with dark leaves.
Upon second glance, you notice the nodes of orange spread throughout the shadows of the foreground trees. You feel at peace, even though you know you should not be here.

Foggy horizon,
On a clear blue and beige sky,
split by golden fields.



Print Two:
There is a kaleidoscopic range of colors dripped and merged together. In some areas, the colors do not compliment each other and as a result look muddy to the eyes. This makes the painting feel like fall foliage at a glance. The colors have a milky mask that resembles flowers.

Kaleidoscopic,
Muddy autumn foliage,
Milky masked flowers.

Dali Narratives


Parched Reflection

The savanna was vast,
Stretching from one end of the earth to the other,
All life resided on its life-bearing borders,
Where the trees grew tall and the morning mists lingered thick.

On the east end of the savanna lived a tribe of grey people,
Whose living was so luxurious that their numbers grew crowded,
They sought to expand their village into the sands.

One by one they loaded their belongings onto their elephants,
Whose legs had grown tall to reach the leaves of the mighty border trees,
And atop of spindly, thin legs, they marched into the dunes.

And though they walked for days,
Nothing seemed to change,
The trees eventually faded from their vision,
But the dunes seemed patterned, repeated,
Mocking their journey.

Grey infants sobbed as the sun pinkened their skin,
But they trusted their Chieftain,
Who promised solace in the center of the sands,
So they continued to march,
 Even after their flasks dried to bone.

Crusted eyes widened at the blurry shapes on the horizon,
Chapped, grey lips called the good news to the others,
"Home, we've made it home!"
Their pace quickened, 
But as the shapes grew nearer confusion set in,

They met in the center of the sands,
Where it was said an Oasis was suppose to live,
But instead of water they found an equally parched reflection,
Another chieftain atop a long legged elephant,
Leading his people,
Whose skin was tinged blue instead of grey,
And who had marched from the West instead of the East.


Parched Reflection Cont.

The muttering soon began,
Thousands of doubtful voices, low but clear,
Asking where the water was,
Smiting the chieftains,
For dooming them in the savanna sun.

A mighty shriek pulled them from their judgement,
And just beyond a dune to their right,
Twitched a giant, charred tree trunk,
In the shape of a man's face.

Its roots jerked erratically, 
Thirst driving the demon's will,
When it shrieked again, 
It revealed its horrors,
identical, but smaller screaming faces,
Buried in the eye sockets and mouth of the first.

The peoples' shock was broken, 
By the small pattering of rain,
Hitting their shoulders,
As water soothed their cracking skin, 
They could no longer fear in that moment.

Until the screams grew louder,
The roots shot out and in an unholy show,
They drank every rain drop before they could hit the ground,
Or the people.

The people hid from the screaming demon for several days,
They could not go back now,
Without water they would surely die.

One day, the rain clouds were darker than most others,
Lightning struck the trunk,
Making it shriek, and further charring its bark,
But for a moment, the trunk did not drink the rain.

The chieftains worked together on a plan,
And together on a very dry day,
They chucked a torch into the eye of the demon.

The flames burned,
The shrieks bellowed louder than ever,
But eventually, the demon succumbed.
The screams stopped for good.

Rain followed the next morning,
Dark clouds brought enough to pool in different low points of the dunes, 
The ponds created the Oasis that was meant to live there,
And the tribes lived in harmony.


Thursday, October 13, 2016

Artist Bio: Salvador Dali


Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech Marqués de Dalí de Pubol, known famously as Salvador Dali, was born May 11, 1904  in Figueres, Catalonia, Spain. He had a long, experimental art career that earned him many fans, critics, and fame before his death on January 23, 1989. 


In his early life, Salvador shared a close bond with his art-supportive mother, Felipa Domenech Ferres. His father worked as a lawyer to support Salvador's mother and sister, Anna Marie. It is a common belief that Salvador was named after a deceased older brother, and that the artist believed himself to be a reincarnation of his sibling. 

Salvador's life was flipped upside down when his mother died of breast cancer. He was only sixteen at the time. During the next four years, and now lacking his mother's support, Salvador would be forced to interact more with his father. There was such high tensions between the two men that when Salvador finally moved out of his father's home, and into the dorms at Real Academia de Bellas Artes, he set up an art gallery devoted to socially stabbing his father. One of the most noted pieces from this display was a painting of the Sacred Heart of Jesus with the words "Sometimes, I spit on my mother's portrait for fun." carved into the frame. 

It is also known that this was about the time Salvador started branching out socially. During most of his stay at the university, he roomed with another aspiring artist that Salvador was quite fond of. That artist's name was Pablo Picasso. Together the two artists pioneered the painting technique called Cubism and shared surrealist ideas and approaches to their artwork. Salvador's art took off once he'd left the art academy. This is due to the fact that it was shortly after his leaving that he met his future wife, and muse, Gala. 


The face of War
Elephants


Sunday, October 9, 2016

Blog Reader Comments

Comments left for Mallory:
  1. Hey, Mallory! I completely relate to needing a comfortable place to read. Nothing beats a good spot that you can just lounge back and free yourself from distractions. 
  2. I liked your indepth outlook on jewelry and the different significance that can be paired with what I would normally view as a simple accessory. I can feel a lot of passion in your writing. Keep it up!
  3. In just a few short lines you managed to tell a story with strong emotion. Hemingway would be proud! Keep it up.
  4. I thought that it was a brave approach for you to use both the beginning and ending lines in the same story. I can tell that it took a lot of creativity to get from point A to Z in such a short story. Job well done!
  5. I love how positive your quotes are. They seem to capture the "silver lining" some of us forget to look for in bad situations. I also think that your blog customization is adorable. The multi color font choice looks great on your blog. Keep it up!
Comments left for Kat:
  1. I feel so much sympathy for these six words. It's unbelievable. I also love how open ended it is. There's no direct guidance, so it's free for the audience to interpret and link to their own tragedy. 
  2. I'm a big fan of macabre writing. A quick scroll through my blog reveals that instantly. I can tell you definitely got into this piece. I'm impressed by the descriptions, the formatting, and definitely the length of this story. I'd love to read more from you in this style!
  3. I like the mixture of positive and realist quotes in this post! It definitely reveals a lot about your outlook on life. Keep up the good work!
  4. The flow of this poem reminds me a lot of some of my black out poetry and recent posts. I've been focusing a lot on mental illness in my writing, so the rantish, repetitive wording of this piece is definitely appealing to me. Keep it up!
  5. I agree with your thinking on answer #12. I also think that describing a reader as someone with a more polished vocabulary is clever. I wish I'd thought of that! 

6 word Memoir


Blackout

Lapse in Faith

(A/N This is a self interpretative piece I pulled from a torn book page. A few common themes identified within it are: corruption, religion, cult worship, and doubt.)

"Ready for bed,
Repeat what she had said,
Devoted to the old religion,
The headstrong nature,
Stubbornness, resentful, and ill tales there would be.
Three of the four were too young,
Two of the boys were more likely to run,
Lord Strange, Mary, the king, the cadre of five older boys,
She tried to be comfortable,
She wondered."

Lost?

(A/N This short poem is inspired by memory loss and the tragic feelings that can accompany it.)


"His brain,
Backing into the night,
Shriveled,
You worry,
Memory so bad.
Lost?
Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad."