BANG

My brain is pretty close to explosion right about now. It's like those cartoons that you see when a robot is given just too much information, their head spins around and then it explodes. That is how I feel leading up to the end of school. Deadlines, SACs and exams are ruining any idea of enjoyment before I even get the chance to smile. Guilt follows me everywhere when I try to do normal things, "Why are you eating dinner when you should study? Hurry up in the shower so you can start your folio. Why would you go out when you have a SAC on Monday?" AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Here's some pictures explosions of light and colour. If I were to explode I would hope for it to look a little something like this, not the ugly nuclear explosion that kills people slowly and painfully.

CLOSE

Close to the end...the end of high school...thank freakin god! I thought I'd share with you my final art pieces. The concept began as 'Music and it's effect on people' and ended as 'Small things can mean so much'. They are to be printed tomorrow appromiately 60cm by 40cm. I'm very happy with the final outcome and now just need to finish my folio...and visual communications folios...and media folio. Oh and here is a giraffe I drew in my free period.

Gemma

This is the second installment of my Media photography folio. Gemma Watts (thegirl-and-thesea) is my beautiful model who had fun dancing around the small school theatre while I bossed around my lighting man Michael.

Secret

Recently become addicted to Victoria Secret fashion shows. It's not just the delicately beautiful underwear and girls but the lights, the music and the costumes! Absolutely inspiring! These are my favourites from the 2008 show. I also noticed in the 2007 shows Miranda Kerr mentioned that she would love to become a mother...and now she's pregnant :D

Pine

Here is my next creative piece for literature. It is based on D. H. Lawrence's short stories The Fox/The Captain's Doll/The Ladybird. They are all based on time around the war and how people were effected by the first world war. He bases his stories mostly around women and their role amongst a man-driven society. Please tell me what you think, feedback is key.

Scots Pine

Nineteen ten.
Dirty hands wiped down her blouse, she runs inside.
A small tree sprouts from the yard, a Scots pine.
Delicate, piercing leaves of green, it breathes.
Thin brown trunk holds straight and strong, it is impenetrable.
So young and naïve yet very in love, with a tree.
Starts as small as she is tall, just ten years old.
Her father, a miner, pats her shoulder. True love.
“You are my pine, my young Alese”, their eyes glisten.

Nineteen fifteen.
Tears flow down her cheeks in waves, she weeps.
Her father leaves to fight the war, with guns.
Life is dark as night in winter, when unbearable.
She runs outside to her pine tree, she weeps.
Larger than it was before, a dismal brown.
Then air flows through singing sweetly, melodious.
Nightmares loom as darkness falls, gunshots.
Gunshots. Gunshots.
A villager cycles to her door, and hands her a letter.
Her town is occupied by English soldiers, the enemy.
One by one, they come for shelter, day by day.
None of which have attractive eyes, or needed strength.

Nineteen eighteen.
He arrived at her door on her eighteenth birthday, he’s unexpected.
“May I stay in your home, it is cold outside,” he spoke in English.
He’s voice was melodious like a tree song, she was spellbound.
His figure was slender, yet sturdy and strong, fair skinned.
Glossy dark eyes penetrate her own dark blue, she lets him in.
“Danke, uh, you are very kind. Your house is sweet.” She is his.
In bed her nightmares reoccur, she screams.
Gunshots. Gunshots.
The English soldier appears at her door, she wakes in dream.
“Be calm my beauty, my German beauty,” like a song.
He touches her dark, soft skin, she shivers.
His hand slides down from broad shoulder to curved waist. She is limp.
He runs his fingers through her dark blonde hair, and kisses her neck.
“I be yours,” she says in English, he laughs quickly.

One morning she wakes and he is gone, no sign.
No letter is left, he’s belongings disappear, and she weeps again.
She takes the axe from her fathers shed and runs outside.
Sturdy legs planted strong, a furious swing.
The tree falls down; she crumbles down, out of breath.
She wanted death but then she stopped, she felt a kick.

Nineteen twenty.
Hand in hand, woman and baby, plant a small tree. A Scots pine.
“I promise my sweet, never to leave you,” she whispered in his ear.
“The war, it changes men and plants.” Wind blows.
She takes him inside to warm his feet, at the window.
The tree it breathes once again, she breathes.
His eyes are dark and skin is fair, soft dark blonde hair.
Her eyes, they glisten once again. True love.
No more dreams of war and misery, of gunshots.
Gunshots. Gunshots.

Click

Assorted photos by photographers Nick Hudson and Elvis Di Fazio


Elvis Di Fazio (first three from Cosmopolitan magazine)







Nick Hudson

Funzies

I drew this at school at times I should have been studying. Then I coloured it in on Photoshop but it could have easily be done on a simple program like paint :)



And this is how it went on the way...

Delta

I was thinking today, as I was making a soy latte for a customer, about those soy milk ads featuring Delta Goodrem. It appears in fact that she has disappeared after marrying Brian McFadden. Most argue that she is another typical 'Neighbours-gone-singer' but I think she is absolutely gorgeous. She has a beautiful face and model-like body. Basically, another small girl crush. Here are various photos of her, thank you Google images.














Oh! And I received my Valedictory dress in the mail on Thursday! I can cross that off my second 'WANT' list.