Friday, March 31, 2017

Art piece by Anne Aka






This was an activism project I did in my Art 2 class for black history month. The assignment was to choose a person who inspires you and supported activism, then make art influenced by them. I made a broken-winged bird to represent a poem, "Dreams" written by Langston Hughes, a black poet and social activist: "Hold fast to dreams/ For if dreams die/ Life is a broken-winged bird/ That cannot fly". I used newspaper, acrylic paint, chalk, sharpie, sponge, and paintbrush on this piece (newspaper painted over). First I drew a circle in the center, then paint the outside of the circle purple using a sponge. Later I paint the inside of the circle yellow and sketch the outling of the bird. Next I glued down scraps of newspaper to create a texture for feathers, and painted green over the scraps. Then I used green, purple, black and red chalk to get in small details of the bird and the ground. Lastly, I wrote a poem outside the circle and the author of the poem with a green sharpie. I do not have a title for this artwork.

Monday, March 20, 2017

Endless Love by Kaitlyn Alves


Endless love

My love for you is endless
When we touch, the gates of heaven open
And I am welcomed by your warm embrace
My love for you is endless

Waking up next to you makes me feel safe
And when you leave your scent lingers
Like a fresh apple pie on a sunday morning
Loving you was what i was made to do

And when we grow old together
You’ll always be by my side
Loving you makes me feel 16 and carefree again
Forever and always me and you.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

eucatastrophe by Katy Doherty


This photo is titled "eucatastrophe." It was part of a photo essay for my photo 1 class, where the subject of my essay was winter.This photo was taken with a mirror, which I used because I wanted to use the compositional strategy of framing. The reflection also represents how nature is reflected in all of us. 



Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Imitation of I Saw a Mountain by Tallulah Fair


We are the photographs, we are the last witnesses.
We are memories from mothers and grandmothers
From Rome, Berlin, and Paris.
And because we are only made of paper and ink
And not of blood and flesh, each of us avoided the hell fire.
We images-- that used to hang in the hallways of a struggling families home
Or with loving fathers and grandfathers in the wallets they carry,
We the snapshots from simple jews, from teachers and nurses,
From beaming children of the world, just beginning their education
On achieving occasions, graduating and even until the time of giving birth, to a wedding, to an anniversary
Or quietly-- to a funeral.
Unceasingly we dull. We fade into blank space.
The hangman never had a chance to snatch us, into his sack of loot-- now we wait.
Let everyone imagine our beauty and ponder, which goes up in smoke with the sky,
Along with the remains of our keepers who once were.