Do Not Go Gentle Into That Night Analysis Sample

Go Gentle Into That Good Night,” emphasizes that death should not be accepted; It should be fought with rage and anger through his Incorporation of Intense word choice, figurative language, and dark imagery. Thomas’ incorporation of lugubrious language illustrates that death should not be accepted. Repeating words such as “rage,” “dying,” and “night,” the reader is emotionally drawn to the perils associated with death. Where each word appears, the plea Is to not succumb or fall easily Into death, do not move away from the light and fall Into the night.

Through these powerful and Intense words. He reader completely understands that fighting death is not just an option but a necessity. He promotes this idea with the words “burn,” “grieve,” and “blind. ” When a soul accepts death, he becomes blind, the soul will burn, and those left behind will grieve. Through these actions, the reader understands that not fighting death leads to peril for more than just the life which has been lost-the family is left to mourn and anguish over the validity of the life which Just easily gives way to the darkness.

The author’s utilization of metaphors further perpetuates the need to fight the letches of death. Through “wise men” and “good men” the emphasis is placed on the ideals that each comparison renders. The educators, philosophers, professors and educated represent the logic associated with dying. These men depict that death Is unavoidable and an Inevitable and logical occurrence. With death, one should understand that It will occur and that nothing more needs to be considered. No emotions should be unveiled in the midst of dying because it is simply what is supposed to happen.

However, Thomas insists that even the mean of intelligence, in he grip and clutch of death, will react emotionally and will fight at will to overcome what they declare illustrating the hypocrisy behind their teachings and the logic behind not accepting death. In addition, the author’s use of the metaphor “good men” drives home his continual assertion of “rag[long]” against the “night. ” These mere stepping stone into a better place, Heaven. One does not really die. The soul just moves onto where it should be, and with this ideology and promotion of faith, death should not be seen as the end, Just the beginning.

In contrast to what is reached, Thomas distinguishes that at the time of the impending peril and release of the soul to this sanctuary, the men of faith fight and cling onto breathing and remaining alive. The author’s point of these comparisons is to validate that one must not fall prey to the words of logic or the words of faith because each emphasizes by action that living is worth the fight and until the last breath is drawn, one must “rage, rage against the dying of the light. ” Through fierce tactile imagery, the author insists that one must assert the need to live.

Upon the “dying of the light,” one’s desire to remain alive must “burn and rave at the close of day. ” To go willing, even at “old age” is not an option. He propagates that the will must be ignited and the fire within must fume and fight against the extinguishing of the light. The reader feels the urgency of keeping the light burning and not allowing the day to end. The need is intense and immediate. Thomas further clarifies this position with the images achieved through “curse” and “bless” with “fierce tears. ” The passion is felt; the anger is achieved; the fight is exalted.

The reader is pulled into Thomas’ feelings, his anger, and his desire for his own father to reach beyond the limitations of death and fight back. With this fight, the gift is granted and death can no longer achieve the “dying of the light. ” Through Thomas’ style, readers are moved to understand that death is not something which should Just be accepted-it should be fought with fierce and intense force. Although inevitable, the grip of death can sometimes be avoided if one is willing to “rage” against it, hold onto the ideas of tomorrow, and insist that the day not end.

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Literary Analysis Night by Elie Wiesel

At first before he got deported from his home, Slight In Transylvania. He was an Innocent young boy who studied the Talmud “Hilled and Bea helped them with the work. As for me, they said my place was In school” (2). Since he was able to be sent to school by his family and have the chance to learn that shows that he was from a well off family. But once he entered the concentration camp, unaware of the terrors he was going to face, changed his life completely “Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed (32)”.

The life changing experiences that Lie went through in the concentration camps scarred him for life. The burning of the little children and their mothers affected him in such a way that it would stay with him for the rest of his life. Ell also turns from religious to loss of faith. When he was still in his hometown he studied the Talmud “l was twelve. I believed profoundly. During the day I studied the Talmud, and at night I ran to the synagogue to weep over the destruction of the .

This shows that he was dedicated to his religion and believed in God. He came from a religious family that taught him to praise God and show great respect towards Him. But when he was put in the concentration camp he lost his faith in God “For the first time, I felt revolt rise up in me, Why should I bless His name? ” (31). For the first time Lie stood up to his religion and rebelled. The horrible things he saw in the concentration camps shocked him and angered him; How could his god let these things happen?

Before he went to the concentration camps, such a thought wouldn’t Ross his mind. He was loyal to his god and to his religion, until the dreaded day he entered the camp. Towards the end of the story, Ell shows no concern of death lingering In the air. He turns from caring into Indifferent. When his father was coming towards the end of his life he did everything In his power to keep him alive, “Like a wild beast, I cleared a way for myself to the coffee cauldron, and I managed to carry back a cupful” (101).

He tried giving his father anything that would help him get better, and took It back to IM, After his father’s death nothing mattered to him anymore, It was as If he had lost everything he had fought for “I had to stay at Buchwald until April eleventh. I have nothing to say of my life during this period. It no longer mattered. After my father’s death, nothing could touch me any more. ” (107)All his cares and wants Oligopolies rater Nils Tanner Ana let nil He Llano’s even tank AT Nils parents or AT ones he lost. Even when he was rescued he felt no Joy or relief, he felt indifferent.

The settings in Night help readers to understand each character and what they present. Lie turns from innocent to haunted by being taken away from a secure community and being but into a completely different and horrible environment. He also turns from religious to loss of faith by forced to believe that his god would tolerate such an inhumane act and everyone in the world was indifferent towards what was happening in the concentration camps. Lastly he turns from caring to indifferent after his father passes away. Nothing mattered to him anymore as if he had lost everything he fought for.

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Still Night by Li Bai

Key Words: poem, translation, comparison Text Introduction: “Still night thoughts” Is one of the most popular poems In china, for Its words are simple, sentences are easily understood, and Its meaning arouses sympathy. It depicts in a silent moon night, the author sitting on the bed saw bright moonlight on the floor, and then he raised his head and watched the same moon that was above him and also above his homeland, which reminded him of his home. After that, he hung his hand, missing his hometown.

There are dozens of “Still night thoughts% translations, I pick up five of them and compare them as following to present the effect of recreation and word selection in the poetry translation. Comparative Analysis: Version one: Night Meditation In front of my flooded with moonbeam, I mistook for frost appears on the floor; Lifting my head trying to watch the moon, I dropped again for missing our home town. This version is from a veteran writer Line Juliann The length of sentence Is almost the same that each sentence Is composed of seven or eight words.

At this point, It resembles five character quatrains. Meanwhile, the meaning of every sentence Is very closely to the original one and there Is only a little adjustment of rod order In first two sentences. Obviously, Len tried hard to accommodate his translation with the original one. In terms of form, this version Is very faithful. However, the use of some verbs Is not proper. For example, “trying” means make an attempt or effort, but in the third sentence, the author raised his head spontaneously when he found the light from the ground.

In the fourth sentence, the verb “drop” means Tall suddenly, out In Tanat scene, writer was adsorbed In nostalgia; odometer, according to common sense, he must not have made such a big movement. In addition, there are some commendable creations in this version. In the first sentence, Line used the verb “flooded” vividly to highlight the brightness of the moonbeam. In the fourth sentence, “our hometown” instead of “my hometown” arouses association that someone in the author’s hometown is also watching the moon and missing him. They are the translator’s recreation of the original poem.

In general, it is a good translation and expresses Lie Basis emotion accurately. Version two: Thoughts in a Tranquil Night Athwart the bed I watch the moonbeams cast a trail So bright, so cold, so frail, That for a space it gleams Like hoarfrost on the margin of my dreams. I raise my head -? The splendid moon I see: Then drop my head, And sink to dreams of thee -? My fatherland, of thee! This version is from the British gemologist L. Crammer-Bang. His translation is very different from the original poem in form and meaning. The sentences are complicated and the expressions are too far away from the original one.

We can find no evidence in Lie Basis poem about “so cold, so frail” in the second sentence and “on the margin of my dreams” in the fifth sentence. Also, in the last sentence, the noun fatherland” departed from the author’s opinion, because the creation time of “Still night thoughts” was in the glorious age of Tang dynasty, Lie ABA wrote this poem to express his homesickness rather than patriotism. I suppose the translator was not familiar with the creation background of the original poem, yet the culture background is the important part to analysis the motivation of writer’s work and to comprehend it better.

Though L. Crammer-Bang tried hard to recreate “Still night thoughts”, his lacking of culture background led to improper change. As a whole, this version is not a successful translation. Version three: So bright a gleam on the foot of my bed, Could there have been a frost already? Lifting my head to look, I found that it was moonlight, Sinking back again, I thought suddenly of home. This version is from a Harold Witter Banner, an American poet. Though its form differs from the original one, it is a simple and beautiful poem.

It began with the phrase “so bright” attracting the readers to read forward and distinctively showed ten Darlingness AT ten Mooney. In ten second sentence, ten translator a mention what the bright gleam was, instead he wrote a rhetorical question “Could here have been a frost already? ” he did not used any words to express “R’ in the original poem, his expression manifested it well. In the next sentences, he selected the word “lift” and “sink” to display the writer’s movement. “Lift” and “sink” comported the slow movement which implied the complex emotion of he writer.

In the last sentence, Banner utilized the adverb the “suddenly’ which added the finishing touch the pen. Despite of no related words in the original poem about the word “suddenly’, we can feel from the scene that Lie ABA watched the moon which associated him with he homeland, and then the strong emotion of homesickness occurred to him, so the nostalgia was a spasm. Banner stretched his imagination moderately and added the hidden meaning into the translation. Overall, this version not only displays the beauty of “Still night thoughts”, but also showed the translator bilingual language skill.

Version four: As by my bed The moon did beam, It seemed as if with frost the earth were spread. But soft I raise My head, to gaze At the fair moon. And now, With head bent low, Of home I dream. This version is also from a foreigner John Turner. This version and it is a typical English poem. There are various sentence patterns and some sentences are separated into different lines and different in size. For instance, in the last two sentences, “With head bent IoW’ is an independent nominative sentence and “of home I dream” is an inverted sentence.

All these sentences in picturesque disorder present the irregular beauty of the English poem. As for selection of words, Turner did a good Job as well. Since the translator has already mentioned the moon in the first line, it is proper to use “seemed as ” to express Also, the verb “gaze” emphasized the writer looked at the moon for a long time that well displayed the complicated feelings in the writer’s heart. The phrase “bent IoW’ used by Turner accurately depicts the slowly and gently movement of the writer’s head. Anther apparent characteristic of this translation is its rhyme.

It adopts iambic pentameter that is “ABA CD b” rhyme which makes the poem full of beauty of sound. However, the word “beam” in the second sentence is not suitable, for “beam” is used to indict a line of light which is different from the scene that the moonlight covered the ground. Soft” in the fourth line is unnecessary, for the reason that the writer is not prepared to feel sad and he raised his head naturally when he saw the light on the floor. It is superfluous to add the word “soft” here to enhance the emotion of homesickness.

In general, it is a good translation and displays “Still night thoughts” with the beauty of English language. Version Twelve: Moonlight before my bed, Could it be frost instead? Head up, I watch the moon; Head down, I think of home. This version is from Chaos Sheehan This translation is simple and easily understood, its structure is clear and lucid, and it is easy to read, sing and memory. At this aspect, this version is very alike the original poem. But this translation is a good poem, because the wording of it is rough.

For example, “head up” and “head down” in the last two sentences express the movement of raising head and falling head of the writer too straight and directly that they can not present the subtle emotions implied in the movement. In the first two sentences, the translator omitted all words about the brightness of the moonlight in order to keep the translation succinct. However, moon is the most important imagery in this poem in that moon as a special meaning in the Chinese culture that it often closely related to the family, hometown or motherland, and it is the key to arouse the nostalgia of the writer in this poem.

Therefore, this omission is not desirable. Meanwhile, Chaos made little creative changes in the translations. Although this version gets on for the regular beauty of Chinese ancient poem, it is not a beautiful English poem and can not represent the splendor of “Still night thoughts”. Conclusion: Generally speaking, the criteria of poetry translation are according to three sections faithfulness, expressiveness and elegance. Without enough knowledge of the culture background and the accurate understanding of the original poem, it is hard to achieve faithfulness and will mislead the readers, as version two mistakes homesickness with patriotism.

On the base of faithfulness, excellent bilingual language skill is a must; otherwise original poem will lose its beauty under the translator’s hand, as version five is a plain and too direct poem. In addition, apt recreation is needed to cater for different language user and even add beauty to the poem. Version one, three and five are successful examples with the translator’s ingenuity, including wording, sentence pattern and organization.

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Dancing in the Night

It was a long, frigid night. The air was crisp and there was fog building up on the windows, as she sat and waited in the car for the night to end and daybreak to arrive. She had been fighting with her boyfriend of several years. As always, the fight ended with a loud WHACK… Her face red with shame and damp with tears she shed. She did not know why she shed them- more for the pain or for the embarrassment.

She sat in the car, her cries for pain dancing in the cold air, her breath becoming shorter on the intake. She wanted to break free. She wanted to break the chains over this abuse! Oh how she wanted to drive, drive anywhere and start her life over again. But again, as always, she had an excuse. She had reasoning for this crazy life, this notion of love. Thoughts swirling in her head. And then her breathing would dance in the frigid air once again.

It was two o’clock in the morning. She had little clothing on to keep her warm. The only protection from the cold, besides the thin sheath of a jacket on her arms and an old scarf, was the array of goose pimples. She cupped her icy hands over her mouth and withdrew a hearty, deep breath. That still was not enough. She ran the scenario through her mind, trying to figure out where she went wrong, where she wronged the man whom she loved so dearly. All she could think of was how the thrashing of their bodies collided together, the pain she felt everytime he wanted to. She would tell him to stop, but he would stop at nothing. He always got what he wanted. These thoughts running through her mind were making her cry uncontrollably. She brought her hands to her face, gently cupping her rosy, tear stricken face.

Pondering once again about her life, she could not understand one thing. She could not understand how this man, the man whom she has been with for so long, could be such an ass at times. He would man handle her, like she was one of the guys, when in reality she was frail, weak, a porcelain doll. He treated her in such a way that a savage young boy would do to a quaint dollhouse with glass dolls inside. She wiped a tear from her frozen left cheek. Rubbing her nose with the sleeve of the sheath, she gently blew. All of this crying left her nose terribly stuffed up, like traffic on a freeway during rush hour. He had broad shoulders with bulging veins, high cheekbones, a strong trunk, chiseled legs. Why would he force her? Why would he strike her? She could not think. She was almost frozen.

Shaking once again from the cold night, she decided to try and get the heater to go on in her old Oldsmobile. Turning the key clockwise, pumping the break… A load croak and moan spoke from within the car. Her luck- the car was dead. She knew nothing about cars. She was miles from home and from civilization.

Her life was very complicated. This man spoke words of poetry about getting married and starting a family. Why would he strike her? He did not mean to though. He always bought her tulips after their fights. Pink and red ones. She loved the tulips he bought. They brought her back to her childhood. Her father was the same way. That is why she loved him so much.

They are so much alike. She always fixed the same drink when they came home from a long day- Jack on the rocks. Then they would ask her to sit on their knee. Sometimes she would. When she would not, they would grab her pencil- like arm and force her down on their knee. They would never ask though. They would never ask if they could. They would just throw her frail body on the bed and pin her down. She would fight back, but after exuding so much energy, she would give in. And then the pain would begin. She never liked it. She never wanted her daddy to do this, her boyfriend to use that. After it was all over, she would sit and cry in the bathroom, blood oozing from her. Thinking about this made her flush once again and the heavens flowed from her angelic eyes.

Six o’clock. Almost time for the rooster to crow. She made her way from the broken car to the side of the road. She saw some truckers pass by this secluded road during the night. She wondered if any of them had heat. What she would do for warmth right about now… Then she spotted it- a large tractor-trailer coming her way. She withdrew her chaffed thumb from her pocket, shaking violently from the rough night of tears and lack of warmth. She still managed to shake her hip and open one more button on her jacket. She slightly exposed her sequin top from work the day before. She hid her tips in the hole of the right sleeve. All she needed was warmth and a place to lay her head.

The tractor-trailer slowly grooved its way to a stop, like a train stopping on the tracks. The window disappeared into the door and the rough smile of this man was comforting to her. She opened up one more button and managed to say amidst the shaking, “Could ya give me a ride to the motel a few miles up? I seem to be havin’ some car trouble. In return, I could give you some company- and anything else you might need, want, hafta have…” A half smile crept on her face. The driver had a sly smirk, as provocative thoughts ran through his head. He agreed to give her the ride. She agreed to his wishes. After all, that is how she met her boyfriend nearly three years earlier, running away from her daddy.

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Dear Sahara Shadow Knights: The Unsung Hero’s

Chapter One: Sweat and Blood

The stars twinkled with ferocity as I stared at them through the window of my room, the light of the moon brightened up my room with a natural glow. My face was milky white, and my armor glowed with a white aura, in this natural light show the moon provided. I sighed at the vast emptiness of space and continued to stare into the distance with the dazed stare I was all but famous for. I heard a knocking on my door that echoed throughout every corner of my room. A voice boomed out over the residual echo of the knocking

“Jesse, Jess are you there, we’re late for our training”

I once again sighed at the deep dismal abyss that laid in front of me. I got out of my seat and stretched my arms up in the air. The voice and knocking continued

“Jesse, answer me are you there!”

I brought my hand to my forehead and slowly dragged it down. I replied with a hint of anger in my voice

“Yes I am here, and I told you its ShadowWolf now, that is my chosen Knight name.”

The voice replied with a sense of sarcasm hindering in it

“Yes your knightness, but hey if you ever wish to BE one you should get you arse out here and get to the training room like we were supposed to be.”

The voice stopped temporarily then flared up again with loud haste

“Ten minutes ago!!! the master will be very angry!”

The voice stopped and the silence was quickly followed by hard sound of hollow foot steps running down the hall. I made my way to the door slowly, whistling a low and sweet and sweet tune that matched perfectly with the milky white light that softly filled the room. I pressed the button and the door flew open with a loud swhooch. The sound echoed down the empty metal halls. I stepped forward down the hall with the carefree speed of a child going to school. My long journey down the metal halls had brought me to a large grey door, above it laid ever so carefully the words “Training Room”. I pushed the door open all the time whistling the tune I had begun in my room so far back. Everyone in the room drew silent as I walked past them, a large robed man stared at me with a dismal grin of disappointment. He shook his head in a negative fashion as he said to me

“Your late again, Mr Jesse. You know if you keep this up you wont reach knight level.”

I looked down at my arm and brushed some dirt off my suit and replied

“Sorry masters, some things came up. You know?”

The master replied to me with anger

“That is no excuse, if you wish to become a great knight like your father you need to straighten up, and fly right for there will be a time that comes you will wish you had.”

I lowered my head in shame, and replied with sincerity

“I’m sorry master, I truly am.”

The master sighed and stared at me with a subsided rage

“Get into position, and then we may continue.”

My training ensued, numerous drills of both physical and mental variety of which left me exaughsted and sweaty. I Panted for air and rested my hands on me knees as I bent over to catch my breathe. I looked at the ground below me and the metal glistened with my sweat provided a reflection of myself. I was a young man, full bodied face with my hair auburn red, my eyes were mud brown, and my aftershave left me with a rugged look.

The armor I wore was a dark black decorative vest the white flaps that came down from this vest synchronized their movements with my panting, under this was my shirt, soft and warm on the body with white scaled sleeves that reflected any light that touched their polished surface, below this was my gloves bulgy and black they stood out next to my white sleeves as a flame stands out in front of the dark, adjacent to this was my skirt it was black as space with triangles of white at the bottom and top, and it all was held together by my black boots polished to a shine that was unparalleled to others in the class.

My panting continued with no end in sight, a student came behind me and slapped me on the back.

“Haha, suck it up man were not even done yet.”

I tried to form my words to say something ,but nothing ,but panting came out. I raised my hand and wiped the sweat from my forehead that had been dripping down forming a fairly large puddle below me. At that moment a large sound pierced my ears with the high-pitched scream that made me fall over into my puddle of sweat. I pushed my aching body up and spit on the floor as I dragged my hand over my face to get rid of the sweat.

“What the heck is that” I yelled over the sound

The master stared at us with serious stare, he mouth slowly opened to say

“It’s the alarm. We are under attack”

The loud simultaneous yelp of “what” filled the room to be quickly white washed with the alarms high-pitched scream. The master slowly walked to the other side of the room where a small black box sat on the wall. The master pushed the buttons with the speed of a huurton as a section of the wall swung open to reveal an array of weapons and backpacks.

“Get geared up and ready, this is what we all have been training for”

His words filled the room and for a moment seemed to be the only things I could hear. I panted furiously and coughed rapidly. Rose up from my bent over position with the shaking slowness of a person that just got pummeled with a stun baton. We all ran towards the room as the alarm seemed to grow louder with each yelp. The room lay filled with Long Vibro Axes, the glare of light that reflected off of them blinded me as I slowly made my way in.

I grabbed an Axe and rushed out of the room and fell back into the formation the class was in as I had entered. The sound of ion cannons and TIE engines filled the room and overpowered the alarms loud noise. The master made his way slowly across the room as if nothing was happening.

The master then stopped 10 feet in front of us all and smiled with a wicked grin. He raised his arm slowly and pointed at one half of the class, he motioned them to take the exit to the right. The students did a salute and rushed out of the room, all armed with pikes and pistols. He pointed at our half now and motioned them to the left exit. He then walked towards me, he rubbed his eyes and little then set his hand on my shoulder.

“Lets just hope you learned enough.”

I looked at him with a confused glare, he laughed and motioned at the left exit again. I was now running down the hall the sounds of my footsteps were all but unheard under the yelp of the alarms screaming every second, my body was still aching from training, and my leg wobbly from the idea of the battle that laid ahead. My foot stumbled to the side and balance became harder to maintain, I continued running until my foot tripped over what felt like a pike. My body flew forward and spun to the side a little, my body hit the floor in one big boom, and I began to tumble forward on the ground, my pike has dislodged from my holster on impact and now spun in the air ahead of me hitting the walls causing sparks to flare in its wake.

I finally stopped when I hit something, the sound of a splash boomed in my ears, my hair now filled with a cold liquid splashed. I slowly got up and grabbed the back of my head to help soften the pain that now overwhelmed me. I felt something squish in my hair as I pressed down, I quickly brought it to my face to reveal blood soaking over my hand. I quickly turned around to see a puddle of blood leading up to a stormtrooper whose neck was half way cut off. I panted fast and licked my lips, the sweat that lay dormant now began to drip into the puddle and mix with the blood, this mixture of sweat and blood made my stomach churn as it continued to spread out on the ground.

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Original Writing – A Wild Night

Splash. Splash. The sound of the icy water droplets falling from the polished faucet and hitting stone hard sink echoed throughout the minuscule bathroom. The steady beat of the water had more life than the young girl that was sprawled like a sleeping new born across the floor. There was no one around to state how long she had been lying there nor to care that she not eaten for a period so long that her skin had become more citrine than pale. The girl’s breathing was synchronised with the dripping and her mind was in state of oblivion. Her charcoal hair enveloped her face and she had her arm stretched over her eyes, which were exhausted from the numerous amount of crying, because she did not feel ready to face reality yet.

Have ever tried clear your mind of all attachments to do ? Then you were likely to understand why it did not take long for the adolescent to cloud her mind with thoughts again. Julie’s heart began to beat at the speed of a hungry puma as her mind’s feelings multiplied. Her muscles were frantically quivering as she thought about the penalty of one’s action. The girl’s lung had started to heave while she gasped because she finally grasped the . Although her body was already concerned about the low water levels, she had let some tears escape from her swollen eyes. If you have not noticed already: Julie was having another breakdown. It was hard to believe that less than twenty four hours ago, Julie was not a depressed girl but merely a ‘normal’ teenager.

“I do not want you to step a foot outside this house with that boy!” Those typical words of a father left the mouth of elderly man. He stood in the doorway of a coral bedroom, which was decorated with posters of male singers and movie posters, to barricade his daughter from the dangers of pubescent boys. His daughter was caught up in the excitement from receiving boys’ attention and he knew that it was his job to protect her. No fathers want to loose their children especially at a young age. His small frame hardly allowed him to properly block the room entrance but he gave a stern look and disallowed any doubts of his decision to enter his mind.

However, Julie, who took after her father, was determined to take her step to the wild side. She felt that she had grown up to be too obedient and sensible under the watchful eyes of her parents and the time had come to create equilibrium by thrusting herself into the thrilling side of being a teenager. Julie believed that she worked hard all her life and that she deserved to have a taste of what her fellow peers experienced regularly; she wanted to party all night and watch a genuine brawl between a gang of boys. After all, good grades and respect were not the only merits of life. Julie positively did not want the others to use the phrase ‘an apple does not fall far from its tree’ to describe her.

“Whatever you say, father.” Julie’s reply came with a sigh and a slight roll of eyes, which was a behaviour her father thought she had gained from school, before leaping onto her floral designed bed. Her father was quite taken back by her sudden gesture of succumbing, but he felt convinced that he was able to sway his daughter from starting a life of rebellion. He wanted to believe that his daughter had grown up to be reasonable and resist the temptations of becoming reckless as she knew the terrible aftermath. The father gave a small nod to express his triumph and he hurriedly backed away from his girl’s room to leave her at peace. Unfortunately, he failed to notice that his girl’s left middle finger was wrapped around the forefinger behind her back, a sign which made her promise as valid as Zeus’ promise to Helena about not having any more affairs.

Moments after her father had left, Julie ambled to casement. The metal bars shielding the window were the only features that stopped Julie from feeling that her home was a complete prison. She tilted her head forward against the artic cold window, as she was searching for a familiar figure, only to find her patient friend slouching against his Audi. Julie slithered her left forefinger across the chilly window sill. Then, for a brief minute, as a flash of idea entered Julies mind. The corners of her lips curled up. The adolescent lifted her left gradually. She gripped the metal hook of liberty tightly. Julie pushed down and swung the window wide open. She had thrust her head forward to observe the distance of the ground. Freedom.

Julie raised her legs and crouched on the window ledge. She was about to leap when she felt her heart hammer against her ribs. New thoughts of doubt about her actions were accumulating in her mind: was she ? Should she have just listened to her father? Julie squeezed her eyes tight as a way of blocking the qualms. As she had believed, it was time for her to rebel against her secure life. The teenager leaned forward, so that she could prepare for the pain, and took her leap.

Rory took a break from his constant head bobbing to watch in bewilderment as a petite body fell right in front of him. Julie pulled her self up and paused to let the jab of pain to fade. She gently moved the strands of dark face behind her ear and straightened her clothes before limping forward. The boy gazed into Julie’s auburn eyes in an awkward stillness and wondered how serious the girl was to experience what he thought was a good time. He had always thought of Julie as a robot; she was always doing her work and remained so courteous. He had offered her peek at an alternative life (his life) as a joke. She had accepted. Rory was awed by what had just happened and at that moment felt a little fear.

“Are we going to go or what?” Julie had sliced the eerie silence between them.

“Yes… Yes! Where should we go?”

“You’re the expert, surprise me.”

She was anxious at first; she did not know what to expect or if it was right to trust Rory. However, when they arrived at a club, Julie felt she was part of long lost community. The club may have been exceedingly dim and yet humid, but Julie had put aside the difficulty in breathing and vision because she felt welcomed into a society that she was already a part of. Julie was met with expressions of astonishment as faces from her daily life came up to her, but they were soon replaced with expressions of delight.

She experienced disappointment as bitter liquor flowed through her throat with a nutty aftertaste. Beer was definitely overrated but it grew onto her. Her body was searing and her skin was damp with all the sweat that was caused from all the energy Julie used from dancing. She felt her ears and cheeks burn and the pungent smell of gasoline as her companion came closer after every song. The rhythmic music blasted louder every second while the faces of the dancers became hazier. Julie did not care that care that she was becoming exhausted or nauseous because she was more grateful that for once, she had felt like one of her fellow peers.

It was past midnight when Julie and Rory stumbled out. Julie started giggling to cover her hesitation from staying out too late. They both knew they had carried away but when Rory felt calm, Julie felt a mixture of adrenaline and fear. She had never stayed out that late and the feeling of guilt injected into her because her father would be worried. Julie tried to shuffle towards Rory’s car, but it was camouflaged with the coal-black night. She could also feel her knees becoming weak as her legs trembled. Why did she drink so much when she knew the side effects? Rory grabbed the girl as she started to tilt and dragged her into the automobile. He was prepared for those kinds of situation as he was experienced.

“Want to have a little more fun before our little adventure ends?” Rory gave a devious grin as he suggested to the intoxicated girl. It did not matter that Rory was drunk while he was driving to the two friends, all it mattered that the girl got home. Julie rested her face on her fist as she began to feel light headed. His hint annoyed her at first because it felt like his voice was bashing against her head, but then she took an awareness of what he said; she nodded her head in agreement. The more thrills they felt, the more Julie felt she had achieved.

“Let us end this night in a bang!” Rory flashed his teeth with a smile as he put more pressure on his feet. Julie’s hair began to flutter as the wind rushed in from the open windows. They both started to feel their heads throb as the car jump from the speed bumps. The roads and houses had started to zoom by at a faster speed. Julie could feel her stomach’s content pushing up as she felt the car vibrate against her body. The two teenagers’ eyelids were becoming heavier by the second. Julie gave a small smile as they passed a recognizable row of houses at sixty miles per hour before drifting off.

Rory’s mind became dazed as he identified a distant small figure, which was waving their arms hysterically, in the middle of the street. He tried to put pressure in his right foot to work the brakes but the car only seemed to be going faster. His arms were moving the steering wheel in all directions as he didn’t know what to do. The boy gave up and started to buckle his own belt he felt his body rammed forward. The car crashed into an undersized body that had rolled up the bonnet and collide into the front window. The revolting taste of iron and bitter entered his mouth. The last thing his memory contained was the image of an unconscious face similar to Julie’s cover with shards of glass. The bonnet and screen were drenched in fresh crimson blood. A ruined car was the least of Rory’s troubles as he heard the piercing sirens amplifying.

Her father’s death had resulted Julie to conceal herself in the hospital’s bathroom. She wanted to avoid the sympathy of the nurses because they boosted the guilt and sorrow that filled her soul. Julie wanted to be alone to prepare herself for the emptiness that was to follow. She clasped her hand tightly and questioned quietly why that was happening to her. For when she wanted to feel achievement and exhilaration, she filled with distress and loneliness. Her father did not deserve to be punished for her own insolence. She was mourning in her own place of escape and dreaded what was to happen when will step out. Julie has grasped the idea that actions come with consequences and was her responsibility her life does not get out of control. Regrettably, she learnt that lesson the hard way,

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Artist Deconstruction: A Starry Night

Artist Deconstruction: A Starry Night If there is one thing in this life that cannot be escaped, it is art. Art takes over our visual and audio senses as well as sensation of touch and emotion. Not only does art take over our senses, but it also does something wonderful to our mental status. It raises awareness and stimulates our brains. Some art can touch us on a very deep emotional level. I have chosen to write about a portrait painted by Vaccine van Gogh called Starry Night, which was painted in June 1889. This painting depicts the view outside van Sago’s sanitarium room window at night.

How does van Gogh use visual imagery to depict the four visual cures in this painting? How does the physiology of the eye help see the four visual cures? The visual cortex has cells that respond to a spot of light while others noted the edges of objects, certain angles of lines, specific movements, colors or the space between lines (Lester 2011). The use of visual imagery is used in the form of color, form, depth and movement. The first thing that I noticed in this painting was the overwhelming night sky, which takes up most of the background.

The color that is most prominent in the painting is blue. This has a connection with the sea and sky which each relate to movement of the cool dark colors. Eleven fiery yellow stars that look like huge fireballs illuminate this whole piece and contrast with the cool blue, fluid night sky which shows variety of shades of blue and grey. There is also the crescent moon at the top right hand corner that radiates an almost orange, brighter light from the rest of the stars. The view of the night sky and village is partially blocked by this huge cypress tree.

The tree has a black and green coloring which stands out. The houses are tiny and painted in the bottom right corner of the painting and blend in well with the forest and mountains. The architecture of the village is simple and no light illuminates the village, giving the impression that everyone there is probably asleep. The use of form is evident in this painting by the use of the use dot to dot effect and with the use of lines. The dot to dot effect leads your eyes in a particular way oiling over the hills. The spacing between the stars and the curving shapes create a dot to dot effect.

The use of lines that are swirling, appear to be swishing across the background in a wax. Y motion and seem to be merging at the center to form this spiral like formation. All of the swirling lines in the sky direct your eyes around the painting. Both forms have a lot to do with movement within the painting as I believe the forms, shapes and spirals in the painting are meant to be a meaner of expression and used to convey emotion. This is an abstract painting, which creates depth by using texture cues by conveying depth to the edges and texture to boundaries.

I perceive this painting of having an illusion of constantly being in motion. The uses of horizontal lines is used to create depth in the night sky, while the vertical lines on the cypress tree draw the viewer to the object as it takes over the countryside. The curving lines of the cypress tree mirror the sky, which also create depth in the painting. Since humans see in three dimensions the use of depth in this painting is brought out by the size, color, ND lighting and through perspective.

The painting also has movement as it shows motion and has what I perceive to be a sense of flowing movement. The pattern of the waves with in the cypress tree, the layers of lines within the stars and the spiral in the sky all amplify the sense of motion. The lines in the painting show movement in the sky as well as distance. The lines that make up the building get thinner as your eye looks further and deeper into the painting. The use of texture within the painting is visually meant to provide a ensue of motion along with the curvy forms in the sky giving the illusion of the wind blowing.

My interpretation of Starry Night is Just one of the many and it remains very much an elusive work to art critics and students alike. Because nobody really knows Van Sago’s intention of painting this piece, everybody seems to be using different codes to decipher what Van Gogh was trying to bring across. For me, the painting communicated this love he had for Gods beautiful creations, and yet, there is this sense of loneliness as if no one really saw the world as he saw it.

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