Forward: Fashion

        Fashion plays a huge role in society. Depending on just a setting, fashions of an environment can differ from another. As humans advance, artistically talented people with potential introduce new ways of dressing and beautiful new artworks that are somewhat wearable.

       The subject of fashion is so complex. Being original, and wowing your audience takes years of training and experience. Every designer has a story, and of course starts somewhere in order to become a well-known fashion designer in this world.

       I appreciate fashion. It has always been my dream to be apart of the fashion industry, and live up to fashion legends such as, Vivienne Westwood, or Alexander McQueen. Having a mother, who illustrates fashion, is a delight! I grew up surrounded by visual arts, and watching both my parents create art. I was born with a strong, artistic vision. And so, my inspiration began there.

Poetry Project: 1st Draft

Simply a dress

Exquisite.

1930's silk,

Covered with sequined flowers.

French designer's

Original.

Jean Patou.

First worn by

A beautiful

Young

Actress.

People starred,

People complimented,

People were jealous.

It was simply a dress.

Little black dress

In every

Woman's survival kit,

There is

A little black dress.

So simple yet so elegant,

A sensational

Black

Raw

Silk

Little black dress.

My Papa's Waltz: By: Theodore Roethke

My Papa's Waltz

The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt            When I first read this poem, I had the idea that the author was trying to express the theme of child abuse through his poetry. I believed that the author purposely wrote this poem in a way that seemed calm, but had a darker story behind it that he wanted you to think more deeply about.            But after reading the poem again and again, I realized that the author was being literal about the, "Waltz". "The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy.", This whole time, I thought that the author was implying that, the father in the poem was drunk. But if you really think about it, there is no proof that the father is drunk.            "We romped until the pans slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's countenance could not un-frown itself", This whole time, I thought that this meant that the father was still drunk and without realizing, he destroyed the kitchen.            I believe that this poem is basically just about a father and son, waltzing around the house. They are just playing around. The father is so clumsy that, he knocks down a bunch of pans accidently. although the father didn't mean to, the other probably was upset simply about the mess. The father isn't the best dancer which probably explains why he had missed so many steps while dancing. So, this poem could be about two things. A father and son, playfully waltzing around their home, or a drunk father who abuses his own son without realizing it.

Narrative Poem: Fashion Illustration

I sketched.
Non stop, my hand maneuvered
around the white sheet,
creating shapes, and
smooth contour lines.
I was in the zone.

It was almost like a dream,
so simple yet so complex.
I heard voices,
demanding my presence down stairs.
I ignored them all,
too busy to leave behind what I have already
accomplished.

The final touches.
It was divine.
It was complete.
I pin it up to the bare wall,
to watch it from a distance.
Another piece in my collection.

An Incident

The loud rays of the sun, softened.
I watched how to sky darkened,
from a sweet baby blue,
to a pure,
deep, dark blue.

The ocean was cold first.
I slowly entered the salty waters,
simply thinking about nothing.

I was alone.
I shut my eyes, ceasing to remember
things. I floated.
Still.

Distant from shore,
I tilted my head back to watch
the dimming sky.
I listened to waves, rushing back and forth.

My mind had became conscious,
I recollected me. I felt lost,
I was too far.

A sudden overwhelming fear,
took over me.
I had forgotten how to swim.
I fell beneath the ocean waters, feeling
the waves brushing
over me.

I kicked, and
kicked as water flowed into my mouth
and nose.
I was blind under deep blue ocean,
salt burned my eyes.

I felt my hands resting on the sand.
I was still living.
I opened my eyes to only darkness.
Turning back to the sea was almost
painful.

Incident: Poem

Eight, small
He
was no larger, in
size, or
shape,
or height

Even at youth,
Bold lessons are taught.
Not everyone will
delicately greet you,
and will be as
pleasant as
You are.

Poem On An Piece Of Art

She

Is anonymous.

Distant,

Silent,

Lost in a crowd.

She is like a boiling rock,

under the loud heat rays of the sun.

Strong,

Steady,

on the outside.

Insecure,

In hiding,

Inside.

What is she thinking right now?

People avoid her,

Or does she just avoid others herself.

She's so pale,

cold,

Where is she coming from?