Critique #2

Josse Lieferinxe’s paining Saint Sebastian Destroying the Idols is a European painting that displays neoclassicist qualities. Lieferinxe depicts a scene from Ancient Rome, a popular theme during the 1700 and 1800’s. The people in the paintings are very realistic and the viewer cannot see a paint brush stroke anywhere within the painting.
Lieferinxe uses natural and basic colors in Saint Sebastian Destroying the Idols, he mainly uses black, brown, and white. The two spots where Lieferinxe uses red, are on the Saint Sebastian and the other man in the background. When first viewing the painting, the eye is immediately draw to Saint Sebastian. There are a few things that make Saint Sebastian the emphasis of the painting. First is the red on the front of his cape. The red is a contrast to the browns and whites surrounding it. In the foreground, he is the largest object to the viewer, which makes him stand out the most.
The repetition of the tiles draws the viewer’s eyes to the floor, and the viewer’s eye follows the direction of the floor and to man standing nonchalantly in the background. As the viewer looks at the unconcerned man, one sees what appears to be a women reaching out in almost distress to the angel like figure above her. Then the viewer wonders where Saint Sebastian is and what he is doing.
If one was to write a narrative of Josse Lieferinxe’s Saint Sebastian Destroying the Idols, one story could be from the prospective of the calm man in the corner and what they are doing, which looks like something that is immoral. Saint Sebastian is standing the darkness of the room knocking down Godly idols.

I am poem

I am Jess Franklin

I am sarcastic and funny
I wonder what I will have for lunch tomorrow
I hear Valentine Mello's vIoice on the phone
I see my computer screen
I want June to come.

I am sacastic and funny
I pretend that I will make it through these last few months of school
I feel anxious
I touch my phone to text
I worry about college
I cry never.

I am sacastic and funny
I understand a lot, but not pre-calc
I say really lame jokes about people's faces.
I dream, mostly day dream, during class
I try not to hard because I am a senior.
I hope
I am Jess Franklin.

Narrative #2

She walks in, already in her uniform, and she isn’t there more than 2 minutes before somebody starts asking her a question. She politely, with a once braced smile, points the two older women to the petit section, pointing specifically at the large sign that says "Petit". Maybe they can’t read English. And then a second group of three see her helping so they naturally come over and ask her a question. The shoe section?, she thinks, Well I don’t know, maybe the section of the store that has all the shoes? Follow the signs, it’s not that hard. But she politely smiles and tells them that its in the left corner.
The radio-friendly music is playing throughout the store. She knows most of the soft rock, r&b, or pop songs. She safely makes it back to break room without anyone else stopping her. She puts her lunch in the refrigerator and then goes to her locker to put her other stuff away. She gets her name tag and braces herself for another night.She sometimes reminds her self this is just a job for now. It’s not permanent, it’s just so she can go to school, eventually. She clocks in and exits the break room, all smiles. She makes her way to the register to see what she’s going to do tonight.
Cleaning the women’s department. She’s okay with that, its easy most of the time. She goes to start and it isn’t long before she starts getting frustrated. She already has to pick up after her brother who’s staying with her at her apartment and now she has to pick up after lazy shoppers. Nothing is more frustrating than that.
It’s worse when the merchandise’s real spot is right next to where it was left. She has became so annoyed with human society since she got this job. But it isn’t just cleaning after them that gets her, it’s also their determination to get the cheapest price, to use countless coupons when their policy says there can only be one per customer per day. She understands that the economy is in a terrible position, but if you can’t afford the merchandise at the price given then you shouldn’t be out shopping, she thought.
She never let her frustration seep through though. She kept her smile on, her polite voice, her people voice. She directed customers, answered their stupid questions, and calmly explained for the umpteenth time in a row that "no, you can only use one coupon per customer per day, I’m sorry that’s the store policy and there’s nothing I can do about it, I’m sorry for the inconvenience." She thought she could only say that so many times.But she always got compliments from her managers, from customers either complimenting her or telling her supervisors how great she is. She got a promotion within a year of working there. She received a dollar more and also started receiving more hours by moving up to full time. I guess her improvements and compliments just demonstrate how great of a liar she is. That’s what she thought. So I can fake a smile, she thought, where is that going to get me in life?
She was putting bras sizes and styles in their correct spots when an older woman came up to her. She had a brooch on and immediately she knew what kind of customer this was going to be. Her perfume smelled terrible, she was wearing this ridiculous hat, and her makeup was over done."Excuse me," she said. "Where are the ties? I’m looking for a specific tie, and I can’t seem to fine where they are."By her customer service skills, she knew she was required to take the customer to the product. She didn’t before because she wasn’t on the clock. So she put the bra she had in her hand in the right and then walked across the department store to where all the ties were.
"What kind of tie were you looking for?" she asked the older woman."It needs to be black with white stripes," she answered."Something like this?" She picked up a black tie with thick solid white stripes, very classy and affordable. The women shook her head."No, not like that." She continued browsing around. "Well we keep all our striped ties over here. We try and keep styles together to make it easier but we also keep brands together. So there are a couple other places I can show you, but we also keep brands together. So there are a couple other places I can show you."The older woman picked up a tie and looked at it up and down, inspected it and then tossed it back in the wrong spot with a huff, like it disappointed her."What about this?" she asked the woman, trying to keep her interest."That’s worse than the last one," the woman said. She pictured the customer throwing herself on the table of ties, dramatically like she was so devastated. She would toss the ties in the air, to the floor, like the world didn’t understand her."Well lemme show you a different brand over here. And they’re on sale this week," she told the customer. They walked over to another table of ties. She picked up a black tie with thinner stripes.
"That looks blue," said the customer."It’s black," she told her."But it looks navy blue.""Oh well…the tag, it says ‘black’.""Well it’s too almost blue then." Like she predicted, the woman was going to be a pain in the ass. She picked up another for the woman, hoping it was less blue and with stripes a little thicker. But according to the woman, the stripes were "more gray than white." She was ready to leave the woman after 10 minutes of tie shopping with her. She had to finish cleaning the women’s department anyway."The stripes are too thin…The tie is too thin…I don’t like the alternating stripe sizes on that one…Too much white, not enough black…Too short…I don’t want textures on the tie…There’s a stain on that…That looks like a woman’s tie…You’ve got to be kidding me, that is the ugliest tie I have ever seen”.
An additional ten minutes passed and she finally had it with this woman. Her hands had turned into fists, her smile was slowly disappearing. She didn’t want to deal with her anymore. She never did this before but she was reaching her breaking point."Ma’am I’m sorry but I can’t read your mind so you’re going to have to find the tie yourself."
"Well isn’t it your job to help the customer?" asked the woman."I’ve tried to help you, I really have. I’ve picked up hundreds of ties and none seem to satisfy you.""You haven’t shown me that many.""That’s not the point ma’am. I’m just telling you, I have other jobs to do and other people to help and I can’t stay here with you, the whole night, picking out ties."
"But I’m the customer.""Ma’am, I know but there are other customers and other problems bigger than this imaginary tie you are looking for. These companies don’t make these ties specifically for you. Sometimes you’ve got to just accept the second best thing. I’m guessing that’s what you’ll have to do because this tie that you are looking for is non-existent."
She walked away back to the women’s department, her face red but her muscles relaxing. The older woman stayed there, angry with herself as she watched the young girl go."Good job being such a bitch," she said to herself. "You’re so nagging and annoying. The poor girl." She made her way, looking at the ties again. She was so tired and her feet were starting to hurt. This was only suppose to take a few minutes but she knew she was going to take a long time.
She picked up one of the first ties the young girl suggested. She held it up and tried to picture it in the coffin. She tried to imagine it, flat against her late husband’s chest, tucked between his blazer, wrapped around his airless neck, lying underneath his closed eyes. It didn’t matter, she thought. Nobody was going to see him after that single day. He was going to be buried in a $12.99 tie and the worms wouldn’t care. She took the tie in her hands as if it belonged to her husband already.
She slowly walked toward the register, paid for her tie and was told that she couldn’t use her coupon because it was already on sale. She placed the coupon back in her purse; she argued enough today. The tie was placed in a bag and she took the bag, her purse, and exited the department store.

Narrative #1

The dark brown color melts into a warm maple as it approaches the center. My hand grazes over the neck, plucking each string as it goes by. Every cord-- every note sounds like something made from the music Gods. Tonight is the night, my night, my chance to show everyone what I am made out of. I place the strap over my shoulder and play a few cords-- perfect. It needs no tuning. I can feel that this is going to be the best show I have ever played. I can see it-my dream coming true. My name in the lights, lines a mile and a half down the street-all of them there to see me play, to hear my music. With each opening band, the crowd grows more and more restless. I can hear them now chanting my name. I can feel the floor rattle as the crowd beings to stop their feet in unison. Now, I give the crowd what they want, walking across the stage, the crowd breaks into a roaring cheer, screaming my name-screaming for me. During each song, they dance and sing along, knowing every word. Crowd surfers working their way through the hundreds of people just to get a little bit closer to the stage-- to me. Security pulling them out of the crowd and as they go by they scream “I love you!”. During the slow songs the crowd pulls out their lighters illuminating the venue swaying together as the song goes on. This will not just be a dream it will be my reality. This is the night, the night that is gunna make me or break me. This is it-- I can’t blow it. I can do this-- I will do this. My hands begin to shake. I’m not nervous I tell my self over and over-- I’m not. I can do this. I begin to practice a bit-- Damn I missed that note. I hear someone yelling my name from the far corner of the room. The pre-party is loud, I’m surprised I could hear my own thoughts, never mind the man in the corner. I look up and see man dressing in tattered clothes with a few of my band mates circled around him. The man in ragged clothing gestures with his head for me to come over. I carefully put my guitar on the stand and work my way threw the crowd of dancing groupies. They through themselves at me, I laugh and tell them I’ll be right back as I brush them off. I make it to the corner, we all exchange friendly head nods and I listen to what the shabby man has to say. “It’s the best stuff out on the market right now”, from his pocket he pulls out the good stuff, a tiny bag filled with white powder. My mouth waters, my hands begin to shake again-- No not tonight, I can’t. I shove my hands into pockets to hide the fact that I’m shaking. And just tell the tattered man thanks, but I’m clean now. He chuckles-- they all laugh as I turn to walk away. He knows-- they all know, they can see through me, they can see that I don‘t want it-- I need it. He says just loud enough for me to hear, it will calm my nerves. I turn back and look at him, holding the bag to his face mouthing “top of the line”. I can’t, I promised myself. I go to turn away and think to myself, what’s could one little, tiny hit do? They welcome me back to the group and we walk towards the backroom. 20 minutes and 4 lines later, it is time-show time, I‘m ready, I can do this. We run out the stage-its just how I always imagined.
The best show yet to come. Its 4 am, and the hotel room is spinning, my head-- feels like an elephant is sitting on top of it. My nose burns, eyes burning and watering. I do a few more lines till I pass out on the bed and see a beautiful light, that warms my cold worn body.