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."

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

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! 
?

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.

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