It’s late Friday night about nine o’clock; my boss tells me to go home early because have I have been working too much and not spending enough time with my daughter Ming Li.
I run out of the building thinking of my two year daughter. I can see her waiting by the door, crying to her sitter because she misses me. I can just she her squinty eyes tearing up.
I usually take the same route home everyday. Down Main Street, twenty block to High street, near the common. Today was different; I decided to walk down Tremont Street to take the shorter way home. While I was walking through China Town, a poverty stricken neighborhood in Boston, I hear a commotion down one of the scary dim-lighted allies. I turn the corner to see who would be causing all of the noise. My heart drops; everything from this point on seemed to be in slow motion. My long black hair was steadily swaying in the cool summer breeze. I clutched my brief case in horror because of what I just witnessed. I turned around the corner one more time and froze right were I was standing. Two men had just robbed and shot an innocent person passing by them. My head is racing, I am thinking about what they would do to me if they noticed that I saw them.
I screamed and ran down the street as fast as I could. The two men heard my cringing scream and chased me with their Colt 45 revolvers. While running I thought of my daughter Ming Li. She is learning to walk and she just sple her first word, "mommy." Ming's father Bruce Li left us before Ming's birth. I am the only person that my beatuiful daughter has in her life. If I am taken away from this earth then my baby girl would be put into an orphanage
I looked back and saw the two men; one was about 6'5" black and skinny probably about one hundred and fifty pounds. The other man was a scrawny white man with a dorky pain of avaitors who really needed a hair cut. When i saw that i was out of sight from the men I jumped and hid behind a dumpster near the city's park monument. I could hear the two men looking for me, talking about how if they found me I was as good as dead.
I heard a loud bang, and i screeched not thinking abou the consequences of it. The men heard me and leaped on top of me. All i could think about was what that noise was. Was the noise helpful for me? Or did the men make the noise in order to hurt me? When I could finally get a good look around I noticed a fleet of police officer around me, their guns were drawn at the two men now taking me hostage. I had a sigh of releif when I saw a police officer trying to make a deal with the criminals. As soon as I thought that the situation was over, I felt the cold metal barrel of the man's gun press up against the back of my neck. I remember the smell of gunpowder eerily close to my nose.
People say that if they get into situations like this they would panic and break down, for me, I just closed my eyes and thought about my life, my daughter, and my family. Suddenly one the men screamed out to kell me no matter what deal the officers had made with them. I heard the other man whisper "okay." I opened my eyes and looked towards the sky, thinking that this would be the last thing on earth I would ever see. I heard the click of the hammer pounding down on the metal gun. Then nothing, dead silence.
The bullet never came out of the gun, I ran to cop behind the tall pine tree. I knew that this was the end of what could have ben a disater.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Personal Narrative :/
I know this has nothing to do with my concept!!
The day you fell onto my seat was the day that I fell in love. I remember your dorky little smile when your dad and you pulled into the parking lot. You were the first customer all day. I was just washed and my wheels shined in the sun. I remember when you walked right by me, all I could feel was cold neglect.
Then as soon as I could finish thinking about how much fun I could have with you I could see you turn around and run over to me. You jumped on my seat and smiled to your dad that I was the one that you wanted to take home with you.
I remember the long anxious truck to my new home and the relief I felt when you first stared my new engine. I could see you staring my red handle bars and my bright loud engine, you had your red helmet and riding pads on ready to go and hit the jumps.
The engine roared as we were both ready to go, I remember your dad yelling to where the brake was. “On the left” he yelled, as I was about to take off.
Off we go! I remember the first time that you gently griped my handle bars. From this moment on I realized that you were hooked on me. I am very happy at my new home. I get washed regularly and I always have a fresh full tank of gas. I am so glad that I could be your first dirtbike.
Then as soon as I could finish thinking about how much fun I could have with you I could see you turn around and run over to me. You jumped on my seat and smiled to your dad that I was the one that you wanted to take home with you.
I remember the long anxious truck to my new home and the relief I felt when you first stared my new engine. I could see you staring my red handle bars and my bright loud engine, you had your red helmet and riding pads on ready to go and hit the jumps.
The engine roared as we were both ready to go, I remember your dad yelling to where the brake was. “On the left” he yelled, as I was about to take off.
Off we go! I remember the first time that you gently griped my handle bars. From this moment on I realized that you were hooked on me. I am very happy at my new home. I get washed regularly and I always have a fresh full tank of gas. I am so glad that I could be your first dirtbike.
The Declaration!
I chose graffiti as and art becasue graffiti is really misunderstood. People think of graffiti and think of vandelism. I think that graffiti is a really interesting concept to choose because it shows a story or a struggle that someone is or has gone though. The world is a graffiti artist's canvas, and has no limits and boundries. I am positive that I chose the right topic to fit my personality!
Graffiti Alphabet
Belive it or not this is the the basic Alphabet for graffiti artists... This is letters A-Z and also the numbers 1-9!
Also if you can think of any cool graffiti paintings or artist it would be really helpful!
Critique 1!
La TriennaleJean-Michel Basquait
Jean-Michel Basquiat uses oil paintings and spray paint to create all of his artwork. Basquiat was born in 1960 in Brooklyn, New York, which was where he had his first experiences with graffiti. Basquiat was basically thrown into fame by the age of twenty because he became known as the 1980’s most admired artist. Basquiat turned his culture and Brooklyn into his paintings which made him a self made millionaire in just two years. His art work can be sold from anywhere between $50 and $1500 for one painting!
Basquiat named this painting La Triennale. Basquiat uses a lot of modern culture in his work. It is hard to figure out what the painting actually mean, you have to really look deep into the painting to figure out what is accutally going on. Basquiat's painting bring you into the mind of an artist.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Narrative 1
Endless Morning
Basquiat Lite
By Jean Michael Basquiat
January 11, 2007, I wake up with the roaring ring of an antique telephone at 3:20am. My heart is pounding that it would wake the new baby. I walk across the room in a dark fog wondering who would call this early. As I answer, a strange scratchy voice takes over the phone; it was a voice that I have never heard before. Frightened and worried the voice murmured the words a mother would never like to hear come over the phone.
“Hello mam” the voice yells in nervous voice. “My name is officer Murphy and we ask if it would be alright for us to come to your house.” I agree, hang up the phone and go to check on the children.
I go into the baby’s room and find that my daughter’s fourteen month old baby is sound asleep. I then check on my oldest daughter Sam. The door creeks as I nervously await the arrival of the two officers. Before I can even check on Sam I hear the pounding on my front door.
3:36 a.m., I answer door. The face of my ex-husband drenched from the rain. His eyes are blotchy and his body is weak. I stare in astonishment because I realize that something had gone terribly wrong. There are no words spoken between me and my ex-husband, just blank stares of astonishment.
I am still wondering what the problem is. I get up to go check on Sam, as I get to her door more pounding on the front doors take over the house. I answer the door two see the faces of two white, distraught police officers with their uniforms in tatters and there eyes filled with tears. By this point I know that something was happening.
3: 45 a.m., I invite the officers to come inside and have a cup of coffee with me and my ex-husband. The officers refuse, stating that they have some very bad news for me. The officers sit me down on the couch; I take a deep breath and let the story flow from their quivering mouths.
“mam” the officer says. “There has been and accident…” the mother begins to break down; I fall on my knees with my hands on her face. I knew that something had happened to Sam. “Your daughter has been killed in a high speed car accident.” The words hit me like speeding train. “Sam stole your car and was driving down Main St. with no head lights on. I just wanted to stop her and correct her of her mistake when she panicked and sped up down the narrow road.” While the officer is talking I think about how life would be without my eldest daughter. I begin to feel dizzy and the minutes begin to feel like hours. I begin to hear the officer’s words again, “Mam, the car hit a fire hydrant, slide on its side for about twenty five feet, hit a rock and went air born into a parked car. Sam was ejected from the car and died instantly on impact.”
The officers left the house as I started to brake down. I fall to my knees and cup my face with my hands as I wonder how I would tell the family and her friends.
After the funeral and the wake passes I realize how much of an impact one child can have on my life. Losing a daughter is one experience a mother should ever have to go through. I had planned my whole life out before that dreary January morning. I had planned on growing old and being the typical grandmother who baked cookies and knit sweaters for my grandchildren. As I reminisce on my past dreams I realize how much Sam’s death will be an endless morning
Basquiat Lite
By Jean Michael Basquiat
January 11, 2007, I wake up with the roaring ring of an antique telephone at 3:20am. My heart is pounding that it would wake the new baby. I walk across the room in a dark fog wondering who would call this early. As I answer, a strange scratchy voice takes over the phone; it was a voice that I have never heard before. Frightened and worried the voice murmured the words a mother would never like to hear come over the phone.
“Hello mam” the voice yells in nervous voice. “My name is officer Murphy and we ask if it would be alright for us to come to your house.” I agree, hang up the phone and go to check on the children.
I go into the baby’s room and find that my daughter’s fourteen month old baby is sound asleep. I then check on my oldest daughter Sam. The door creeks as I nervously await the arrival of the two officers. Before I can even check on Sam I hear the pounding on my front door.
3:36 a.m., I answer door. The face of my ex-husband drenched from the rain. His eyes are blotchy and his body is weak. I stare in astonishment because I realize that something had gone terribly wrong. There are no words spoken between me and my ex-husband, just blank stares of astonishment.
I am still wondering what the problem is. I get up to go check on Sam, as I get to her door more pounding on the front doors take over the house. I answer the door two see the faces of two white, distraught police officers with their uniforms in tatters and there eyes filled with tears. By this point I know that something was happening.
3: 45 a.m., I invite the officers to come inside and have a cup of coffee with me and my ex-husband. The officers refuse, stating that they have some very bad news for me. The officers sit me down on the couch; I take a deep breath and let the story flow from their quivering mouths.
“mam” the officer says. “There has been and accident…” the mother begins to break down; I fall on my knees with my hands on her face. I knew that something had happened to Sam. “Your daughter has been killed in a high speed car accident.” The words hit me like speeding train. “Sam stole your car and was driving down Main St. with no head lights on. I just wanted to stop her and correct her of her mistake when she panicked and sped up down the narrow road.” While the officer is talking I think about how life would be without my eldest daughter. I begin to feel dizzy and the minutes begin to feel like hours. I begin to hear the officer’s words again, “Mam, the car hit a fire hydrant, slide on its side for about twenty five feet, hit a rock and went air born into a parked car. Sam was ejected from the car and died instantly on impact.”
The officers left the house as I started to brake down. I fall to my knees and cup my face with my hands as I wonder how I would tell the family and her friends.
After the funeral and the wake passes I realize how much of an impact one child can have on my life. Losing a daughter is one experience a mother should ever have to go through. I had planned my whole life out before that dreary January morning. I had planned on growing old and being the typical grandmother who baked cookies and knit sweaters for my grandchildren. As I reminisce on my past dreams I realize how much Sam’s death will be an endless morning
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)