The personal memoir below was written by Ms. McKee in the English department. Read it carefully. Identify its main point, the most dramatic or emotional moments, and the most visual moments. Create a fully-realized, "portfolio-worthy" artwork that gets to the main idea.
- Visually interpret and illustrate an expressive piece of text
- Be visually expressive. Try to capture the drama or emotion of a written piece.
- Apply your skills and knowledge learned from the past term.
- Play to your artistic strengths.
- Personal Investment
- Technical Quality
- Visual note-taking (doodles)
- Sketches that illustrate/interpret the theme and/or important moment(s)
- Thumbnail sketches to compose the image
- Full-size draft (sketchbook paper is OK, but you can go smaller or larger)
- Fully developed drawing or painting that you consider "portfolio-worthy" (i.e. You would be proud to show this off to an art college.)
- Be ready to talk about your interpretation of the text and your artistic approach to it.
The garbage truck lost its brakes on the downward curve of our street and slammed into the side of our modest Cape. “Barney and Friends” blaring on the television, I barely heard the thunderous rumble and screech of brakes and only took notice when the living room lurched sideways. The exterior of the chimney bore most of the impact, scattering bricks across the weedy patch of lawn and, inside, launching a framed seascape off its perch above the fireplace mantel. My toddler, at that moment in her back bedroom defacing the walls with crayons, paused mid-scribble as the house shook violently, but was otherwise unscathed. The damage was minimal and insurance would cover the cost of repointing the chimney, repainting the living room, and -- best of all -- reseeding the weed patch with Kentucky Bluegrass where the truck’s tires had dug a deep trench. The crabgrass would get a foothold again within a year, and the deep gouge in the dogwood tree would eventually scar over, but never again would I feel completely safe pushing the lawnmower across that exposed corner lot.
The late spring day we first viewed the house, I was in my third trimester of pregnancy and anxious to sign on the dotted line. Our realtor, Beverly, waxed enthusiastic about the “pretty violets” (weeds) which decorated the front lawn and the “mature shrubbery” which, two years later, would require a tractor pull and a chain to remove. Two empty, oversized cement planters, more suited to Versailles than a tiny Cape in West Medford, flanked the front steps. However, it was the scraggly rose bushes on the side of the house, just beginning their annual ascent up the white wooden trellis, which sold me. That following spring, I would pose my baby on a blanket in front of the rose bushes and snap pictures while simultaneously trying to discourage her from grabbing the thorny stems.
In the back of the house, a strip of grass separated our house from our neighbor’s and that is where, out of sight, the daffodils thrived. Hundreds of them, it seemed, and each April for the seven years we lived there, the green shoots would reliably emerge and take over that thin swath of land. It is those same daffodils which cushioned my toddler daughter’s fall when she locked herself in the bathroom and clambered out the window, her father and I pleading with her on the other side of the door to let us in.
Twenty years after we sold that first house, my occasional furtive drive-bys tell me that the rose bushes and the wooden trellis are no more, but the daffodils continue to privately flourish, and that Kentucky Bluegrass has finally won the epic battle. The gouge in the dogwood is now barely a sliver, but I daren’t stop my car to conduct a more thorough investigation for fear of unsettling the neighbors. I wonder if the realtor who sold our home told prospective buyers about the garbage truck incident, in the same way they are obligated to disclose other relevant property history (paranormal activity, murders on site, etc.)
The dogwood and daffodils keep their secrets, and I drive up and around the bend.