Essay 1-Food Narrative (Revision)

Captured by the Bell and the Beans

Ever since I was about three years old I have had an obsession with one type of food: Taco Bell. According to my parents, whenever we drove by a Taco Bell, I would yell the words “Taco Bell” after seeing the sign with the big bell on it. That is where my love affair with Taco Bell began, and it continues to this day.

Taco Bell had a large influence on my growing up. Most kids were passionate about pizza, hot dogs, doughnuts, or cake; but I was never interested in those types of food. There has always been something that is completely irresistible to me about a good meal or snack at Taco Bell. I think the reason it appeals to me so much is the way the melted cheese mixes with the ground beef or shredded chicken, the smooth creamy taste of the guacamole and sour cream, and the spiciness of the Fire sauce. Plus, we all know that it's human nature to find fattening foods delicious, and there aren't many foods out there more fattening than Taco Bell. Whatever it is, I have been hooked from what seems like birth. When I was younger my reward for doing something good in my parents’ eyes was a trip to Taco Bell. I find this funny looking back since I went all the time anyway, either on weekends or with my mom after school for a snack. It is a wonder I never blew up and gained about 50 pounds with the amount of Taco Bell and other Mexican I ate. On the other hand, however, if I did something bad at school or talked back to my parents, they would ground me from trips to Taco Bell for a week or so. This was absolute torture to me since I basically depended on Taco Bell as a large part of my diet, however unhealthy that might have been. This was probably the most effective form of punishment that I ever received, more effective than any whipping or television ban.

As you can imagine, I have many fond memories of eating Mexican food. My first memory is of getting the Pintos and Cheese from Taco Bell. This would be more commonly known as refried beans at your typical Mexican restaurant. I always wondered why Taco Bell referred to them the way they did. It was probably because they just threw fried beans and cheese together in a Styrofoam cup. It was almost like giving it a sophisticated name made up for the fact that they made it with mostly week-old frozen beans. I never really cared though because they were always so delicious. My mom used to go through the drive thru and get these for me when I was about three or four. They were one of my favorite things to get and were easier for me to chew than anything else. I spent many meals eating these sacred refried beans being watched by my nanny, Geneva. She helped out with the kids and cleaning while my parents were at work. We had a special bond from then on which started with her helping me eat the Pintos and Cheese from Taco Bell.

Many of the other early memories I have are the birthday lunches or dinners I had at Taco Bell. I remember going with my aunts, uncles, cousins, along with my parents and sisters to Taco Bell when I was seven or eight. I also remember having birthday parties at real Mexican restaurants, but nothing ever compared to the greasy goodness of Taco Bell for my birthday. I also remember trying to eat as much as I could from Taco Bell. There were many times when I bought ten tacos thinking I could easily eat them all. I always prided myself on being able to out eat most of my friends. It always ended the same way. I took the tacos home and set them out on the counter. I then began woofing them down. By the time I got to the sixth or seventh taco my stomach started to ache tremendously. I then got disgusted with the fact that my stomach couldn't hold the rest of the tacos sitting in front of me. After being unable to finish, I would out the rest of the tacos away as a snack for later.

I also remember getting a beef burrito and a taco in the drive thru with my mom many times after school as a "snack". However, these snacks usually turned into a full-fledged meal. This was largely because I absolutely hated the cafeteria food at the school I went to. One result that came out of this was that I often got my mom or dad to bring me Taco Bell to school and eat with me. This, of course, made all the other kids in my class jealous. One year I had a birthday party at school with about 100 tacos for the whole class. This was a pretty big hit and made me best friends with the whole class for about a week. One thing that I always associate with Taco Bell when I look back on it is swim team. Before almost every swim practice and during most out-of-town swim meets I ate something from Taco Bell. Looking back, a beef burrito or Mexican Pizza was probably not the best thing to eat right before swimming the 100-yard freestyle or the 50-yard breaststroke, but it was like a ritual for me. I would get in the pool for warm-ups and realize that my ability to move at high speeds in the water was greatly diminished. It also made a little nauseous, but it never got to the point where I threw up. Who Knows? Without Taco Bell I may have become a state record holder in several events.

One thing that sticks out the most in my memory is fighting with one of my sisters, Elicia, about whether to go to Taco Bell or McDonald’s. Elicia never liked Taco Bell much and had grown tired of the repeated trips there. She preferred Mickey D’s and we often had arguments in the car over which one to go to. Thankfully, my other sister, Lindsay, also preferred Taco Bell and usually helped me win the fast food debates. There were also many times when we compromised and went to both. Recently, I looked at two old pictures. One of them was from a birthday lunch I had at Taco Bell I had with my family at about the age of seven. The other was from taken on a random late night when I was at Taco Bell with a group of friends at around the age of 17. It was then that it hit me how much of a role Taco Bell has played in my life over the years. For me I it is not simply a food but much more than that. Taco Bell has been almost like an important relationship I have had throughout the years. If I had a girlfriend, I would have to balance two relationships, the one with her and the one with Taco Bell. The only difference is that I don't ever foresee me and Taco Bell breaking up.

This relationship with Taco Bell has evolved a lot over the years. When I was little, I don't think I actually understood how important Taco Bell was to me. I think I actually began to appreciate my relationship with it as I grew older. Another thing that has changed is the amount I eat at Taco Bell. As a young kid my rate of metabolism was really fast. Now, I'm not able to eat as often as I once did. If I did eat as much as I used to, I would probably weigh around 300 pounds. It is not easy to have that much self control in relation to a food that I have depended on for so long. This is why my relationship could also be classified as an addiction. As a kid, I was completely dependent on the stuff. Now I seem to have gone through a rehab so that I can now control how often I eat Taco Bell and eat it in moderation. I often have relapses though. There were many times during high school when I couldn't keep myself from swinging through the drive thru after school for a mid-afternoon meal.

The fact that I love it so much is also somewhat of a reflection of my personality and character. I love pretty much any topping on my Taco Bell. This shows my willingness and openness to try new things as well as the fact that I have a varied and unique personality. I also tend to change it up and order something different every time I eat Taco Bell. For example, I may get a Mexican Pizza and a bean burrito one week and a Crunch Wrap Supreme and a Double Decker Taco the next week. I absolutely love the Fire sauce at Taco Bell and I think this relates to the eccentric and sometimes crazy nature of my character. I guess my personality is sort of like a Mexican Pizza. There are many different layers, some more hidden than others, with each having a different flavor. I guess the point I am trying to make is that I feel like my life just would not be the same without those hundreds of trips to Taco Bell. The delicious and satisfying food that they serve is too much a part of me to take it for granted.

PAPER # 1: REVISED; Chelsea Banks

Chelsea BanksEnglish 101Adam WeinsteinSeptember 6, 2007The Good, The Bad, and Peanut ButterWhen I reflect on peanut butter, the memorable days of kindergarten are fixed in my brain. With shouts and cries and sounds of the playground swing sets squeaking as they swing back and forth, the children around me run and laugh because we are enjoying the hot, radiant sunshine on the top of our sweaty heads. We stand in line for the whirly slide because it is a definite favorite among the crowd—being the thrill of a lifetime, or so we thought. The smell of freshly cut grass and must surround me; yet my mind is not focusing on recess.What did my mother pack in my lunch today?The teacher blows that loud, annoying whistle that is our prompt to jump off the swings, slide one last time, or strike at that yellow tetherball again. My teacher holds her hand high in the air so we can all see which line we are getting in; it is not good to end up leaving with the wrong teacher or wrong class. “Let’s go class! You’re going to be late for lunch!” she yells. She assumes we all prefer the excitements of the playground to the wonders of the cafeteria.
Once we arrive in the largest room associated with elementary school, diversity is evident. Some kids bring their lunches; some kids do not.
My mother explains her reasoning for packing my lunch, “I want to know what you are consuming!”
I think she simply wants to save money. Either way, I enjoy the personalized lunches she packs everyday in my Polly Pocket lunch box. My favorite sandwich, the famous peanut butter and jelly, is the norm. I loathe the day my mother will pack me a bologna sandwich, or one with solely cheese and ketchup, like the freckled boy, Elijah, eats everyday. While some kids frown despondently at the surprise in their own box, or maybe at the mysterious object the cafeteria lady put on their lunch tray, I smile with anticipation. As I unwrap my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, my friend turns to face me. “Wanna trade?” she so boldly asks.I give her a look of disagreement. “I’d rather not…I’m allergic to bologna.” Then I hurriedly turn back to my main focus.
Is it possible for an object of your main focus to be your first thought when you awake in the morning?One day I woke up to the beams of sunlight singing as beautiful a tune as the morning sparrow. I arose not only to remember I had spent the night at my grandparents’ house, but also to smell the marvelous kitchen downstairs. It does not take long for me to run down the stairs to see what creates that incredible aroma. Neither does it take long for my grandmother to scold my impatient manner.“Don’t choo run down them stairs!”“I’m sorry.” I lie.“I’ve told you about that. One of these days you’re gonna fall.”We sit at her oval table to view the plethora of pancakes stacked like a spectacular, tiered, wedding cake. Although the butter and maple syrup are placed on the table, I question the whereabouts of the peanut butter. My grandfather looks at me with raised brows and a confusing look on his face.“What d’you need that for?”I find it ironic that my family, the people who are expected to know me the best, often question my undying love for this granular paste. One of my favorite meals is hot, fresh pancakes, topped with peanut butter and syrup. This unique and interesting combination powered my revolution to try it with waffles. At Waffle House one Saturday morning, a waitress works her way around our group taking individual orders. She turns to face me with an exasperated expression across her face. “What can I do for you, honey?”I can tell she has been working for a long period of time and if truth be told, she does not care about me. Even so, I order two waffles with a side of bacon that ends up being drenched in enough oil to last a whole body massage. My meal is not complete without the addition of some smooth, creamy, peanut butter. As the worn-out waitress starts to walk away, I slip in the question.“Do you have any peanut butter?” She gives me a concerned eye, and then laughs softly. Why do people find peanut butter as a condiment so out of the ordinary?
Do you consider yourself obsessed? Some of my friends ask me this with comic stares. If obsession qualifies as going to Red Lobster and ordering a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, instead of the Fish of the Day, then…yes, I have an obsession.Whether it is smooth and creamy or nutty and crunchy, peanut butter is my character. Sensibly, I am not a jar of peanut butter; however it is engulfed in the depth of my consciousness. The smooth type of peanut butter is an easygoing roll of the ocean—peaceful waters. On the other hand, the crunchy peanut butter is a hurricane—full of debris and swirled into a rough entity. These differing types of peanut butter are like my different thoughts on life. There are good times and bad times; all that matters…is how to approach them. Another time I am in my high school auditorium for the annual beauty pageant. I look at my reflection in the mirror—smudged from the multitude of make-up covered hands tapping it before. Is this who I am? Me. The girl in the reflection? I anxiously wait backstage until my chance to speak with the judges. The personal interview portion of the pageant counts a large percentage, and I want to be completely relaxed—like loose curls. Nerves are high; smiles are fake. The pageant coordinator calls my number. It is my turn to speak with the judges.“Just be yourself.” I repeatedly think in my head. Over the course of the interview I try to be casual, yet sophisticated. The best thing to do is let the judges notice your personality. So I finish my introduction and wait for my interview question. At this point, I cannot help but consider the violent chattering of my teeth. Can they see them?“If you could ask Santa Clause for one present this year, what would you ask for and why?”A sensation of relief came over my whole nervous body. At that moment, I knew what to say: what I felt.“If I could ask Santa Clause for one present this year, I would ask for a year supply of peanut butter. Why, you ask? I adore the delicious treat; I even believe it should have its own food group. I could never live without my peanut butter!”After I answered the question, I waited for their response. Allowing each moment to happen as it will is how I live my life. With hopes for the future, I continue to believe in the inevitable; but every moment is approachable in a different manner. Did I actually just say that? The judges are smiling. They are actually smiling. And I feel so comfortable, just like the next time I place that jar of JIF securely in my shopping cart.
What is it about this paste that sets me apart from the character, or even personality of others? Why do I have such a craving for it?

Simply, this phenomenon is by chance. I cannot find the reason or the evidence to prove why this paste composed merely of peanuts and salt is my desire. Such an uncomplicated substance can be presented as complicated if enough thought is asserted; yet peanut butter is just peanut butter! That is ALL that can be asserted.

Reid Morton

English 101

Mr. Weinstein

19 September 2007

Art: Interpretation Meets Expression

The definition of what art is a question that has a wide scope of answers. The reason for this ambiguous answer lies in how it is expressed. Since art can be portrayed in so many different ways such as painting or sculpture, and some even extend to types of literature or performance as art forms. A definition that best describes this though is one by Amy Lowell, a Pulitzer Prize winning poet. The definition being; art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record reactions of his personality to the world he lives in. To conclude from this, art is a combination of expression and interpretation. The role of an artist is to use principles, techniques, and his or her personal creativity to convey something. An artist’s purpose is to express a personal interpretation or to catalyze a viewer’s interpretation. Looking at the exhibit from the student gallery I noticed two pieces that use both of these concepts to convey a meaning by the artist.

The first piece that I noticed was of a cowboy and he appeared to be in a rodeo. The horse was painted in mostly neutral set in a sandy brown background. The horse was in the middle of bucking the man off his saddle. The cowboy had a baby blue denim shirt on and this cool blue color set on a neutral background created a contrast, a technique that is used by many artists. The reason behind this contrast is to create an emphasis, an emphasis on the man that is on the horse. The viewer’s eye is directly pulled to that man and the reasoning behind that mainly is not because he is riding the horse successfully; but is because he seems to be falling. A person viewing this can interpret this in various ways one being that a person faces a trial and does not succeed. Another, a less pessimistic one, is the portrayal of the outcome of a successful ride. The man does not seem to be scared, the facial expressions he has are ones of a person that is expecting the fall.

This interpretation and line of reasoning is exactly what the artist was trying to reach for when he created the piece. He displayed an interesting setting and highlighted a part of it, the actual falling of a horse rider falling off his horse. The viewer then can conclude what they may from it and that is exactly what the artist wanted. The artist used contrast in order to emphasize an action, something that is not prevalent in the next piece I chose.

The second piece I chose did not have quite a clear meaning or theme as the cowboy piece did. The piece was made up of three different pictures that were composed of four separate sections. The picture in the middle had a black horse seemingly staring straight out of the picture, with faint crows flying in the background. The one on the right was less recognizable, but seemed to be of a window set on a faintly stained red barn. The one on the left, the picture that attracts the eye the most, is of a woman in a bright red dress holding a jar. After the artist came to class, she unveiled her very unique technique that was featured in the piece. All three of these seem to be photographs that have been altered with a process of tampering with the negatives. On top of these altered photographs was a hint of a textured substance layered on the canvas, later revealed as wax.

Unlike the other piece all of these techniques were used not to convey a theme, but rather a mood. The horse was all black with a neutral background and in this background black crows were flying behind the horse’s head. The woman in the red dress was standing in front of a decrepit stone building and the most peculiar thing was the face of her seemed to be blurred. Now I am personally creeped out by faceless women and eerie horses that keep company with hovering crows, and that is exactly what I believe the artist’s intentions were in this piece. The use of colors that are the opposite of bright and colorful and figures that have a strange aura instantly strike a sense of disturbance, and this concept contrasts the first piece.

In the first piece the artist uses a common principle to create an emphasis on a certain aspect of a snapshot of an event. The use of contrast to emphasize the rider as he falls is used to convey a meaning. The viewer would ask themselves why the artist chose the action of a falling man. From the questions the artist intended the viewer to make the interpretation would vary and would differ with different types of people, but the thing that is constant is the fact that that concept, that conclusion is being created. That is what the artist was intending, the action of the viewer drawing a conclusion. The second piece’s intention was not that; she wanted to convey something different. The use of haunting figures and dark colors were not intended to create an extending interpretation, but to make the viewer feel disturbed. Also unique techniques such as painting with wax and alterations of negatives were used to further this feeling of gloominess If a picture of a bright sun with a happy face painted across it was displayed the feeling would be immensely different. These two examples are just two of the ways that art is used but one thing is consistent, artists are masters of expression and interpretation.

Essay One: Food Narrative, The Freshman Fifteen

As a new student to the University of Alabama, I have found many new struggles to contend with. One struggle everyone deals with is the notorious “freshman fifteen”, that has now turned into the freshman thirty. Food on college campus’ are abundant and very addictive if you cannot control your cravings. The University of Alabama has made it possible for you to have five platefuls of food if you so desire. without anyone hovering over you while you eat. There is no one to tell you when to stop because you have unknowingly already eaten your full body weight in food. I have been to all of the dining halls and have been a victim of the “all you can eat buffet.”. After taste testing food from each dining hall, I have yet to find a food with an original taste that I can eat without feeling unhealthy. Finally, I came upon the ever so popular Pita Pit.

Some may call it fate, but I believe it was my initiation into college. I got to experience the feeling of biting into a pita and knowing that you will be an addict. No one can understand the delectable taste of a pita until they have gone to the Pita Pit. I must admit I was a little reluctant at first when I heard the word pita. My memory of pitas was not so fond when I thought back to my youth. My father used to eat pitas almost everyday for lunch. He would smear a glob of mustard on the pita like pizza sauce, dribble a little cheese on top, and then pop it in the microwave for a couple of seconds. Afterward, he would rave about his amazing creation and persuade me to try a bite. Although skeptical at first, I would always give in and take a bite into the unknown. The first taste of the pita was a crunchy, tasteless dough that was never worth the calories. Next, I got a spicy exposure to the mustard slathered onto the first layer of the pita. The only remotely good thing about this pita was the stringy cheese on top. However, the combination of these elements never made for a good taste in my opinion.

As for the Pita Pit, I can hardly put into words the explosion of flavor conceived the second you bite into it. When you first walk into the restaurant, the line might scare you out of a good meal, but do not let it intimidate you because it may be the best discovery of your college life. Although the Pita Pit is amazing, the restaurant can be a bit noisy, especially at rush hour. However, once you finally make it to the counter, you will be shaking with anticipation. You can almost taste the first bite. If you are anything like me, you may have a hard time deciding just exactly what you want to order. However, I always go the safest route and choose turkey. No one can ever go wrong with a good turkey sandwich, or in this case pita. After viewing all of the abundant choices, you can finally place your order. Now the prices are a little expensive for the average college student, but if you have to splurge, this is the place to do so. The person at the cash register will hand you the receipt containing your ultimate decision. As you make your way down the counter, you will smell the intense aroma seeping from the grill. First your nose will be overwhelmed with excitement and then your mouth will start to salivate. This is only the beginning of the breathtaking taste of the pita. Finally, you will encounter the last step of the pita assembly line. This is where you must decide exactly how you are feeling that day. Since I am not one to make life changing decisions, I always put the same condiments on my sandwich/pita.

The lady asks me what I want and I tell her,” White American cheese, mayonnaise, a little bit of lettuce, and salt and pepper.”.

I am finally ready to go.

Once my pita has been wrapped and designed especially for my taste buds, I am ready to dig in. As I carefully unwrap this wonderful creation, I cannot help but first admire its beauty. The end of the pita is folded so carefully, I can hardly bear to bite into it and ruin its perfection. Although it may be tough, I somehow find a way around this obstacle.

Now that your teeth are sinking into the deliciousness of the pita, you start to grasp what the rage is all about. The initial flavor you taste is the turkey. It not only tastes of turkey but also has a hint of bacon flavor to it. Second, you taste the juicy flavor of mayonnaise and tomato. Not everyone will find this a pleasurable experience, but all of these flavors mixed together leads to an unforgettable meal. Each bite is more thrilling than the first. Once you near the end, you must do your best to savor each bite, because you never know when you will have time to come back.

Ever since my first introduction to the Pita Pit, I have been hooked. I came with my first new friend at Alabama and we experienced our first pita together. I have yet to find a better restaurant in Tuscaloosa. Although I hear Hakkaido has Asian food that will make your taste buds cringe, I can never deny a good pita. They offer healthy food, good service, and a comfortable environment to eat your food. Although the prices are somewhat high, the food you get is worth the pay and the wait. So as the year drags on and late night food cravings start to muster, just know that the Pita Pit will always be there. And always beware of the freshman fifteen!

Nutty Cuisine Results in High Cholesterol

Kylie Dekin
Adam Weinstein
English 101-099
29 September 2007
Essay 1- Food Narrative


When I was younger, probably around the age four or five, I got really sick and had to go to the doctor. I was sitting on the cold table, when the nurses decided to stick a big needle into my vein and draw a sample of blood. The results showed that my cholesterol was high for my age. My eating habits were obviously discussed between my parents and the doctor. They explained to him that I was an extremely fussy eater. I never wanted to eat a big juicy hamburger, green salad, or fresh fruit. There was only one food choice that I wanted: a good ole’ peanut butter sandwich with no jelly. That is all I ever wanted to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The doctor suggested to my parents that they cut peanut butter out of my diet. But how does a person stop eating his or her favorite comfort food?


I am not really sure why peanut butter was my desired thing to eat. Maybe it was the peanut taste or the smooth and creamy texture. On the other hand, maybe I liked the fact that if you take a big bite out of a thick peanut butter sandwich it gets clogged in your throat and the only way to wash it down is with a large glass of cold milk. Another reason that I might have liked peanut butter sandwiches so much was the fact that my mom made them a lot because they were quick, easy, and cheap. My mom would always try to be creative when making my peanut butter sandwiches. When I would go on field trips in elementary school, she would make me a special peanut butter sandwich. She would add a handful of miniature marshmallows to the creamy peanut butter. I would bite into the sandwich and would taste a sweet fluffy surprise. If my mom did not feel like cooking a big fancy meal, we would have melted peanut butter sandwich night. This was my brother’s and my favorite meal when we were younger. All she would do is add more peanut butter then usual on our sandwiches and then stick the sandwiches in the broiler for about five minutes. There is nothing better than biting into crunchy bread, coated with warm melted peanut butter. The peanut butter would run down our faces and all over our fingers. My favorite part was licking all of the sticky peanut butter off my fingers and plate. We would always eat this before our soccer or baseball games so we would get plenty of protein. We would call them our “good luck” sandwiches. All I have to say is that peanut butter was the best thing ever invented.


I would like to tell you a few cool things about the history of peanut butter. There were a large number of people who helped make peanut butter to be one of America’s beloved foods. It started back in 1890. A man from St. Louis, named George A. Bayle, Junior, was on a mission to help people who had bad teeth and could not eat meat. They needed some kind of food item to give them their daily servings of protein. This is where he got the brilliant idea of grinding peanuts in a meat grinder, which made a thick gritty peanut butter. He put the gritty paste in barrels and sold them to his patients. Peanut butter, back then, was made from steamed peanuts instead of roasted peanuts and the peanut butter was not very good. It also did not have a very long expiration date because of being stored in big wooden barrels. In 1922, Joseph L. Rosefield churned peanut butter like butter to make a smooth and creamy texture. This process increased the shelf life of peanut butter. Peter Pan achieved the success of having the longest shelf life in the market in 1928. Skippy Peanut Butter was next in joining the competition by inventing crunchy peanut butter. Finally, a company named Proctor and Gamble created Jif in 1958. Today, Proctor and Gamble run the “world’s largest peanut butter plant” making 250,000 jars of peanut butter a day (History).


What would the world possibly be like if Mr. Bayle had not pulverized peanuts in the meat grinder so long ago? So many things in our world would be different. Would the King of Rock and Roll have had a weakness for jelly and banana sandwiches? What would choosy mothers have chosen if there was no Jif? Would we ever find out if you got chocolate in my peanut butter or I got peanut butter in your chocolate? Worst of all, what would I have eaten for my “good luck” sandwiches. What would have been my comfort food? I cannot imagine my life without peanut butter. Every time I eat anything with peanut butter on it always brings back good memories from my past. Therefore, you can see I was never really able to follow the doctor’s orders and give up peanut butter. There could be worse things than a little high cholesterol.



Works Cited
"History of Peanut Butter." Peanut Butter Lovers. Peanut Advisory Board. 2 Sept. 2007 .
<http://www.peanutbutterlovers.com/history/index.html>.

Stuck in a Kernal and Ready to Pop

When I was little I can remember sitting on the couch, eating my bed time snack, and begging my mom to let me stay awake so I could watch the rest of a movie. Little did I know that me staying awake to watch the rest of a Christmas movie, that I do not even know the name of anymore, would provide me with a memory that I will have for the rest of me life.

After my begging was over and I was able to sit contently on the couch for the rest of the movie, a scene came on. The scene was of a family in the movie dressed in their pajamas and sitting around their brick fireplace talking about their days. While the family was talking the mother walked into the kitchen, grabbed the bag of popcorn kernels, poured them into a greased pot, and went back to talking with her family. When the popcorn finished popping is when I began to get confused.

When the popcorn was ready the mother went to her sewing box, grabbed some thread, it ran through the eye of her needle, and began stringing the popcorn onto the piece of thread. I never saw anyone eat popcorn like that before so I asked my mom what the mother on the movie was doing. She explained to me that some families have a tradition of decorating their Christmas trees and mantles with popcorn for the holiday season. When she got done explaining that to me I asked her if we could start doing that for Christmas, and a few days later my mom and I popped a few bags of popcorn, ran it onto a piece of thread, and decorated the Christmas tree with popcorn. Although decorating with popcorn did not become a tradition for my family, when I see popcorn I can always picture my mom and I sitting around the kitchen table, stringing the popcorn, and wrapping the strands around the Christmas tree.

In elementary school, popcorn became one of my favorite foods. On my way home from school I would be sitting on the bus with one thing on my mind and it was popcorn and only popcorn. As the bus would get closer to my house my mouth would begin to water. I could imagine the buttery smell of the freshly popped popcorn as I walk through the front doors. When I finally reached my house, I jumped off the bus as fast as I could a sprinted through my yard racing only myself to the door. When I opened the door the smell was exactly as I imagined, and I began to indulge in the vast sea of butter and popcorn

As a child I had many memories that are related to popcorn, but not only does thinking of popcorn remind me of memories of my childhood, but it is also a food I can compare myself to and find many similarities. Before popcorn can be popcorn it starts as just a small kernel on a corn cob. This one kernel that seems so small in size and dull is actually filled with something unexpected. When the kernel is stripped from the cob thrown into a bag mixed with butter and other kernels it is getting ready to come out of its shell. Then the bag of popcorn is finally put into the microwave, the kernel begins to warm up and it begins to come out from behind its shield and merge together with the butter and other kernels.

I am the same way in that when I find myself in an unfamiliar place where I do not know many people I sometimes find myself being timid, but after awhile when I begin to get used to the faces I will slowly begin to show my real personality. I love to meet new people, but sometimes it just takes me a little longer to get used to my surroundings. The kernel being on the cob and hiding what it has to show on the inside is similar to the way that I act when I am around a group of people that I am unfamiliar with.

Popcorn comes in all different flavors-whether you like your popcorn drowned in butter, covered in caramel, full of powdered cheese, or just the old fashion kettle corn, everyone has there favorite kind. When someone is eating popcorn they are most likely going to try and find their favorite kind, but if their favorite is not available they have to settle for something else.
Choosing my favorite kind of popcorn has always been hard for me because I find almost every kind irresistible, and choosing the people I like to associate with is the same way. I have all different kinds of friends, whether they are sarcastic, laid-back, or comical. I do not have a particular preference of what kind of friends I have, but usually the mood I am in decides on whom I opt to hang around with that day, because, believe it or not, there are even some days when caramel corn does not sound good.

Popcorn is a food that reminds me of my past and personality, but it is also a food that is very rich in American tradition and events. When a town fair or picnic comes around one of the most popular stands is always the kettle corn stand. As soon as you pull your car into the parking spot, hop out of your car, and begin walk toward the fair, the sweet mouth watering smell of the kettle corn popping already ready begins to come over you.

Another place where popcorn has been made a famous snack is the movie theater. I have heard this phrase many times “There is nothing better than movie theater popcorn.” For some reason popcorn never seems as buttery or as warm than when you are sitting back in your seat and only focused on two things, the movie and keeping your hand on a steady track from the bag to your mouth.

Popcorn also seems to be a necessity at a good old fashion American baseball game. In almost every ballpark in America when the seventh inning stretch comes along everyone knows what is going to happen next. The organ begins to play, and all of the spectators begin to stand and sing the words to “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” Then the part “buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks” comes along and everyone gets that craving, and after the song is over the vendors come back out and continue selling their peanuts and Cracker Jacks.

Popcorn was also a way for people to survive during the Great Depression. In 1929 when the Depression started, popcorn was one of the only luxuries families were able to enjoy during this time. Popcorn only cost five to ten cents a bag so everyone was still able to enjoy it, and therefore it was one of the only industries that thrived during the Depression. There was a banker in Oklahoma whose bank failed and he earned money by selling popcorn next to the movie theater. The banker was eventually able to buy back his three fields that he previously lost when his bank failed (www.popcorn.org)

In conclusion, popcorn is a food that I can closely relate too. Whether it is me looking back and thinking of memories that popcorn is related in, or looking at popcorn in a way that describes my personality. Popcorn can also is also a food that relates to the American tradition

Works Cited
Popcorn Board. Encyclopedia Popcornica: Recent Popcorn History. 27 Sept. 2007
<http://www.popcorn.org/frames.cfm?main=encyclopedia>.

I Love Pasta

Maria Gagliano
English 101
Adam Weinstein
28 September 2007

Long, shoe-string noodles smothered in a bath of red sauce and meat balls, covered with mounds of Italian parmesan cheese to satisfy a rumbling stomach. Sounds real Italian, right? Well, that would be because it is, and especially in my family. I was born into a line of full blooded Italians, my great grandmother being the one who came over to America at the age of ten. Italian culture differs from others; Italians carry on and pass down many traditions and are very big into family time and togetherness. We love to hug and kiss, even those who are not in our family. We can be very loud with everyone trying to talk over the person next to them, but mainly because there is so many of us in a family. While all families tenderly love one another, they don’t have the mafia to back them up if a family member gets hurt. Okay, I am just kidding, but we do stand strongly behind one another in times of need. We sure know how to dance and have fun, and I know all of my friends love being around my crazy family, especially our weddings, but that’s a whole other story. One thing is for sure and that is that we definitely know how to prepare and demolish some good ‘ole Italian food. At some point or another, everyone has experienced or should experience the deliciousness of spaghetti and meatballs. This commonly known entrée goes by a different name in my family; we call it pasta and sauca, Italian for sauce. I come from the typical, loud Italian family that enjoys spending time with one another mainly by sharing a huge family meal of pasta and sauca full of laughter and excitement with memories that are sure to leave an everlasting impression on an outsider.

After a morning of church, everybody’s stomach is rumbling and grumbling to be fed, and almost all families have their traditional Sunday eating spot. Well, this includes my big family as well. It has been a tradition of ours way before I was even born that every Sunday my whole family, aunts, uncles, and cousins goes to my grandparent’s house for pasta and sauca. Memories of this weekly tradition travel way back to when I was a little girl. I remember how I used to put up a good, clean fight with my mom and grandmother against wearing the “I love pasta” bib that they just thought was so cute. This ancient bib, that still floats around in one of my grandmother’s kitchen drawers, has been worn by her four children and all nine of her grandchildren at one point or another.

As soon as I step foot into my grandmother’s house, I am mesmerized by the most pleasant fragrance that all noses should experience, and who could forget the welcoming hug and kiss from my grandparents. It is almost as though I can smell the preparation and hours of cooking my grandmother labored into creating this lunch for my family and me. The fresh blend of seasonings, oregano, basil, garlic, and pepper, in the hot sauca with the home-made meatballs floating around in it stands vividly in my mind. At the mere thought of these spices coming together, my nose actually begins to twitch and search for the food. All meatballs taste different according to the creator because all Italians have their own way of adding and mixing ingredients as far as amount goes. Meatballs are made of hamburger meat but have their own distinct taste and taste nothing close to a hamburger, and I can taste the mix of the breadcrumbs and the parmesan cheese that was rolled together to get such a wonderful creation. On occasions, my grandmother will throw some pork or tasty Italian sausage in the big pot of sauca, delivering an extra kick of flavor that my taste buds are always ready to welcome. The bubbling of the pasta in the boiling water tells me that the delicious meal is almost ready, and my mouth is watering as I continue to wait. Although the pasta is the only store bought product in my grandmother’s meal, the homemade sauca makes up for it and gives a great flavor to the plain pasta. Once the food is ready, I am the first one to jump in the line that my grandmother has set up for all of us because just being able to smell the food has gotten to the point where I would consider it a tease and when it is finally time to eat, I am more than ready to take charge. I barely give myself a chance to sit down before my anxiousness gets to me, and I begin to eat what sits on my plate. My favorite type of pasta is the long, skinny noodle because it is the most fun and entertaining to eat. Through my years of pasta eating, I have become accustomed to the slurping of the long noodle in order for the whole string to make into your mouth. As I slurp it leaves just a little splatter of sauca on my face, and I just let my family know that I was “saving it for later.” The noise generated from the slurping is hilarious, and I am sure that everybody has had their own share of slurping experiences, whether it be in their own home or at a visit to say, the Olive Garden.

Yes, the Olive Garden does indeed serve Italian food, but it is simply just not the same as my dear grandmother’s. When one grows up around a certain thing, they become very accustomed to the way that is done. I grew up around my grandmother’s Italian home cooking, and when I go to Italian restaurants, I have a certain level of expectations to be met. I personally do not like Olive Garden because when I eat there I can taste the difference between the food there and my grandmothers. The Olive Garden’s pasta and sauca delivers a sweeter taste, almost as if they used too much sugar in the sauce. There is not enough pepper or perhaps too much garlic. Maybe it is the fact that it is not a woman with years of experience or with family recipes that were passed down through generations in the kitchen at Olive Garden, but whatever it is, my taste buds know it is just not right. I wish every non-Italian family could have the chance to experience a real Italian meal cooked by an Italian family rather than cooks who do not know a thing about real Italian food. Maybe my grandmother should get a job at Olive Garden, and show people what they are missing and show those cooks just how it’s done.

When I think of Sunday’s, the unforgettable aroma of my grandmother’s kitchen is the first thing that is brought to mind along with memories of certain Sunday afternoons. A good time is always on the menu with my family. We begin with sharing stories about our week and what may be new in our lives, as if we do not already know, occasionally watch home videos together, and even play a little bit of back yard football after we are done eating. My dad is one of the biggest kids in our family and he loves to play football whenever my cousins and I do. One time in particular, my dad was jumping up to catch the football, came back down with ball in hand and grin on his face, but before he could stop himself he ran straight into an electricity box poking out of the ground, hit his manhood and did a front flip onto the concrete below him. After a delay of rolling around, he stood up holding his hurt possessions, and laughed at himself as he said that that was the last time he would be playing that game. This is still a memory that is brought up around the table in case a good laugh is needed. When I think of those kinds of fun memories, it almost makes me sad because I cannot be there every weekend like I used to be able to do.

Making the transition to move to Tuscaloosa and live on my own has made a huge impact on my life. The weekends that I cannot make it home for our Sunday lunches cause heartache and frustration to me because all I want to do is spend time with my family. Loneliness or being homesick is a factor that affects many students who are away at college and away from their family as well. This is something that must be learned how to be dealt with over time, but for those who love being around their family have to cope with it now whether or not they feel ready. I am slowly, but surely, getting used to not seeing my family twenty-four seven for laughter and delicious meals.

Pasta and sauca on Sunday afternoons is me being with my family, and getting to spend time with those that I love. It is something I have grown up around, grown to love and share with those closest to me. The importance of family plays a huge role in my life. I am very thankful for how close knit I am with my family. I do not for one second take it for granted the kind of love my family has for one another, and having pasta and sauca on Sunday’s is just another excuse for us to all be together. “I love pasta.”

Arroz Con Pollo

I will never forget those long days my grandmother and I would sit in the kitchen for hours cooking. As a child my grandmother used to feed me all types of Cuban food. Since my grandmother grew up in Cuba, she knew all the recipes that were not well known in America. She brought with her many recipes that her own mother made when she moved to the United States. My personal favorite that she makes is arroz con pollo. That is chicken with rice, green olives, and mixed vegetables. Every time I went to her house she would always fix that for me. I can remember some occasions that we would sit in the kitchen for hours and make different foods and desserts for our family gatherings. Every holiday that we got together she would always make my favorite meal arroz con pollo along with several other traditional foods. Cooking Cuban food with my grandmother was one of my favorite childhood memories. I always looked forward to going over to her house because I knew the two of us would get to cook different recipes of Cuban food.
Arroz con pollo is zesty. Being energetic and full of life are two characteristics that explain who I am as a person. Arroz con pollo is its own food made up of its own individual ingredients like an individual is made up of different character traits and qualities. The chicken in arroz con pollo shows strength. It is one of the main ingredients in the dish. To succeed in life you have to have strength and willingness in order to achieve any type of goal in which one sets. The other main ingredient in arroz con pollo is yellow rice. The yellow rice in arroz con pollo represents support. Support is a necessity in one’s character. One must also be willing to support others in their decisions and ask for support when they need help. Like at weddings, rice is thrown to show the bride and groom that the people are there to support them in their decision in getting married to each other. The green olives that are thrown in express one who is well-rounded. Well-rounded people are determined, responsible, independent, helpful, and loving. Like onions are to one’s eyes, a person needs to be sensitive to others feelings and their emotions when they are hurt and upset. The English peas that are added add a sense of sweetness to the dish. Every person needs to be sweet and be an easy person to get along with. It is easy to talk to anyone, but it takes a lot more to make strong friendships that will last forever. The final ingredient is the pepper that is sprinkled on top. This spices up the dish as a whole. One needs to be willing to spice up life and have fun. Every individual needs to have a good time, make life time friendships, and not have any regrets. Without the sprinkle of pepper in arroz con pollo the dish would not be complete. We are able to complete ourselves by accepting ourselves and enjoying life every day. Each individual wants their life to be just as enjoyable as arroz con pollo is when it hits ones mouth.
Coming from Cuba arroz con pollo represents more than just a dish. It represents the country as a whole and its culture. Family is very important to the people in Cuba as my family is to me. Everyone is close and they like to entertain and spend time together eating, drinking, and enjoying each other’s company. Cubans tend to be very much like me, festive and loud. Arroz con pollo is a festive food that is very popular in Cuba. Like in America, food is brought to most gatherings to celebrate. The scenery in Cuba is much like my favorite place, the beach. The beaches in Cuba have crystal clear water and the temperature is usually hot. Arroz con pollo is a loud and spicy food because it stands out from other Cuban foods. Arroz con pollo has its own individual taste. Every individual needs to be their selves and stand out from the rest. Without individuality in this world it would not be very interesting. Every person is different and that is what makes us who we are. If all the countries in the world were the same we would never be able to experience different cultures and heritages. Although my grandmother left Cuba and brought arroz con pollo with her, her heritage still remains the same. One might leave a place, but their memories never are truly forgotten.
Food can be used to describe any person whether it is the most complex food or the most plain food. Every person is unique in their own way and everyone has different qualities and character traits that make up who they are as a person. Arroz con pollo describes me perfect because it allows one to see the different aspects that make me who I am. In this dish are displayed both my strengths as well as my weaknesses. Arroz con Pollo shows that all the ingredients play a unique part in making the dish whole, and without all elements present, arroz con pollo would certainly not be complete. This analogy is identical to the feeling I have about my overall character as well. If one quality or character trait is left out of a person then they are not reaching their full potential in life. I always strive to never settle for less than can be achieved and to make the most of every day and every opportunity. I feel as though, overall, arroz con pollo represents my character, and most importantly, it represents my heritage as well. What I truly cherish most about the dish arroz con pollo, is that it will always evoke nostalgic memories of those long afternoons in the kitchen by my grandmothers side.

second serving of Banana pudding

Shields 1
Henry Shields
English 101
Adam Weinstein
September 28, 2007
A second serving of Banana pudding
When food was mentioned for this assignment, banana pudding was the first thought that ran through my head. Ever since I was a little boy I have loved this dessert. Every serving felt like Christmas morning. The experience is euphoric and my obsession for this food is unparallel to anything else. The taste, smell, texture, sight and even the sound of the words “banana pudding” gives me a thrill and happiness that I could only compare to the feeling an alcoholic gets thinking about his next shot. Before you judge and call me crazy for getting all worked up over a dessert, I would like to make one thing clear. “BANANA PUDDING is no ordinary dessert”. In fact it is in a league of its own when it comes to desserts. You see, the banana pudding I am going to tell you about is not your “run of the mill” pudding; it is homemade by my mother, the undisputed greatest cook in the world. My mother has always been the best cook I know. Of course everyone claims their mother’s cooking to be the best, but mine is truly the crème de la crème. From Red beans and rice to Cremebrulee, jambalaya to seven layer dip, fried or baked chicken to Sheppard’s pie, she covers the whole nine yards. But of all her great meals, Banana pudding reigns supreme. It is the best cook in the world’s number one dish. Imagine your greatest feeling, thrill, life achievement, or moment of ecstasy packed into one little bowl of pudding that is all yours for the taking.
At first thought, Banana pudding reminds me of home. I like to remember Sundays because it is the greatest day of the week, the day of rest (a day of rest for me anyhow). I’m lying down in my favorite spot watching my favorite T.V. show without a care in the world. My little sister is gossiping on the phone, my mom is getting things organized, and my dad is usually tending his garden because he is an old man and that is what old men in the south usually do when they are not getting ready to go fishing or hunting the next morning. The day rolls on into the evening which is considered by most people the end of the day. But for me it is just the beginning. It is the beginning of a marathon of consuming the greatest food known to man, my mother’s homemade meals. There are mounds of everything a man could ask for and more. Although my oldest brother and sister have left for college, my mother still cooks enough for six. I think she likes to cook enough food for them because it reminds of her of everyone being home. She has her thoughts, but to me it just means I am blessed enough to get a second or even a third serving if I am hungry enough. Our dinners are usually filled with indifferent conversations between my stern dad and laid back mom, which makes for a comical situation for my sister and I. But for the most part everyone is in a slight comatose state indulging in the miraculous smorgasbord my mother has lain before us. Dinner passes by and I need not say what comes next. My mother excuses herself from the table and replies in her sweet, soft voice, “everyone stay seated, I have a special treat for ya’ll”. Those words hit me like a bolt of lightning every time because I know I am about to enjoy something so remarkable my body begins to lose all ordinary function and falls into a trance. It seems to take hours for my mother to get back to the table. All the while I am preparing myself as if I were about go into to battle. WAITING…WAITING…WAITING… finally she arrives. The dish in my mother’s hand is like the sight of a new puppy with a red bow around his neck being brought in on Christmas morning. My mother lays the dish on the table with some spoons and napkins. The sound of the glass dish makes a thud on the hard wood table, but to me it might as well be angels singing a heavenly tune. Just as I begin to fall deeper and deeper in trance my mother says, “Henry, I forgot the bowls, would you please get them?” I don’t respond, my body has neglected all outside distractions. “Henry!” she says again. “Huh? Ma’am? , I reply in a mumble.
“Would you please get some bowls?”
“Oh, yea sure”
I go to the kitchen in my zombie-like state. I return with the bowls and the Banana pudding catches my eye as soon as I enter the room. I almost want to leave and walk back in again because the first sight of it is so euphoric. But I force myself to take a seat because the only thing in this world better than seeing it, is sitting down and eating it. I give my mom the bowls. She grabs a spoon and dips into the pudding releasing an aroma that is more sweet and satisfying than anything this world has to offer. She scoops up a big heap of it and places it into a bowl. She hands it to my sister. Another big scoop goes to my dad. This is just mental torture. Getting the last bowl of Banana pudding is like getting picked last for dodge ball at recess in lower school; it sucks. Finally, the moment arrives. My bowl is handed to me. My eyes light up and my body tingles. I feel like Indiana Jones who has just discovered the Holy Grail. I lift my spoon and scoop up a bite. The spoon makes its way to my mouth like the movies show the slow motion of football headed for the game winning touchdown. The crowd goes silent. Time and everything else around me stands still. It’s a perfect spiral. A straight shot. Here it comes….. TOUCHDOWN HENRY!!! The crowd goes wild! My body is overwhelmed and all my teammates come and jump on me! Hooray! Way to go! We did it, we won! My mind is frantically celebrating as I go for another bite. BAM! Another touchdown! Touchdown after touchdown, the smooth, rich, and creamy texture with the occasional Nilla wafer smuggled in is ecstasy. It’s like a real life TiVo, I can relive the moment over and over and I am taking full advantage of it. The taste consumes everything; my mouth, tongue, teeth, and even the spoon and bowl. I have scored all the touchdowns I can and I find myself trying to hit the replay button, almost devouring the spoon. The hard metal of the spoon against my teeth is the only thing that stopped me. Suddenly I stop, my body slowly regains conscience. I look up as if I have been lost for days. I have consumed the entire bowl with no recollection of time or action. I regroup and take note of my surroundings. I’m in my dining room that has just transformed back from a 92,000 person stadium where I scored the game winning touchdown. I sit in silence for a while. My body snaps out of its trance. I regain my ability to speak, look over and say the only word that can come to mind, “Thanks” to the undisputed greatest cook in the world.

SynArts Gallery-paper 2 (sorry its late again)

It was the end of class and my English teacher Adam, told us to remember to meet at Woods Hall, to view an art gallery put on by students from the University of Alabama. Honestly, I wasn’t too excited about going to see some art show, because the art that typically gets me going and catches my eye is not just colorful paintings drawn by students who take classes on drawing techniques, but rather art that is completely out of the ordinary and daring. I walked in to the art gallery and was amazed and ecstatic to see every kind of art you can imagine. This gallery is full of the most unique and creative pieces I have ever witnessed. There are beautiful paintings with the most extravagant color, hanging on the wall, along with an array of templates of photos and even a wooden instrument, which is oddly bent but so beautiful. As well as different sculptures and 3D pieces scattered all over the room. What made this art gallery even more appealing to me was the fact I go to school with all these artists, and that they’re my peers. I don’t think I have ever been so excited and engaged in each piece of art, than I was at the SynArts show.
There are two pieces that seemed to catch my eye and really got my head thinking. One of these works of art is Brandon McCullar’s piece, “Ray Gun.” As soon as I turned the corner in the art gallery, I caught this piece in the corner of my eye. It was incredibly different from every piece of work in the show, and is placed in the middle of room. The clear glass tube of hot, red liquid, was definitely the eye catching factor. This ray gun was shaped like a machine gun with a few added parts, such as a long funnel where the rays would be shot out of, and attached to this long funnel is a huge circular magnified glass, to get a good glimpse at your target. I felt like I had seen a gun like this in a very whimsical movie that takes place in the future. The piece looked very rusty and old, which had me thinking, because I would expect a ray gun to be something from the future not the past. I also kept wondering if Brandon actually designed and constructed this piece, or if he had just found it in an attic somewhere. All I can say is this weapon/work of art looks dangerous, but I think that’s the reason I’m so drawn to it.
Courtney Childress’ painting located in a far corner is one of the greatest paintings I have ever seen. I stood right in front of her painting for at least 20 minutes trying to interpret her brush strokes and color scheme, and then it hit me. Her painting is a beautiful interpretation of a man and women making love to one another. I was almost quite shocked when I finally saw the two figures holding each other, naked. Courtney uses beige, pink and brown shades of oil making the painting very natural and organic. I am so in love with this painting because you really have to look at the painting in order to see the picture. At one glance, one would never be able to tell they’re two people in the painting let alone, naked, and bare people. I was not at all offended by this painting, either. I believe this piece shows love and happiness, almost as if you can feel the energy of the two making love, and the happiness and warmth it brings them. I don’t believe it is inappropriate or too provocative. One, who is too young to understand and experience lovemaking, would never be able to interpret this painting. I know many are very offended by pieces of art that tend to go against the grain and paint something out of the ordinary, but you must witness this painting, it is incredibly beautiful and romantic and will win over your heart, and remind you of the one you love.
I believe that I have just witnessed one of the best art galleries I have seen. I have been to Paris, and visited the Louvre, and been to the most beautiful art galleries in the country, but I have never been so engaged in pieces of art in my whole life. Not every piece in the gallery, will engage you, and not every piece will make sense to you, but every piece is diverse and shows the true talent of every artist featured in the show. I recommend for everyone who reads this review to see this gallery. Not only does it have such a wide variety of art, it displays some of the most creative things I have ever seen. These students are so talented, and looking at their work, you can see the passion they have for art, which makes observing such pieces even more engaging and striking.

The Synarts Gallery James Ford

James Ford
The Synarts Gallery
Trying to define art is difficult because art can mean many different things to many different people. It is defined in the dictionary as “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as a painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.” While this is a decent definition, I think it still does not suffice. Art is defined best for me in the cliché saying that, “art is to the eyes, what music is to the ears,” but once again I doubt that this definition would be considered agreeable to all others.
I traveled to Europe this summer, and while in Italy I viewed many pieces of art that are widely considered to be some of, if not the best works of art in the world. This art included the Sistine Chapel, St. Peters Basilica, the Statue of David, and the Uffizi Gallery. I am not trying to sound snobbish when I say this and I am not inferring that I am in any way an authority on art. I am saying this because when I viewed many of these pieces, I was absolutely blindsided and overwhelmed by the emotion that they were able to produce in me, and while you certainly cannot compare all other art to these works, it at least gives us a standard to which all art should strive to be. If this art is widely revered as good art, then the best definition I can give, is that art is simply a form of communication, and that it’s purpose is to bring about emotion that cannot fully be captured in a simpler, cruder form. If the criteria for judging artwork is it’s power to communicate, then I have to say I had very mixed feelings about the Synarts display at a campus gallery we viewed last week.
Upon entering the gallery the first piece of “art” that strikes your eye is a large cylindrical bundle of shredded paper that I at first thought was an oddly shaped couch. This was a very intriguing piece that left many of us asking questions about how it was composed, and what it was trying to communicate. A class discussion led to quite a few far fetched, forced theories about what this piece meant, but it was difficult to come to a consensual decision. I do not find any fault in the fact that this piece could have been interpreted in many ways, but rather in the fact that it made absolutely no striking impression on me, or anyone else as far as I could tell. The artist came to talk to our class and indeed put to rest all of theories about what this art meant. He might have said this simply because art is supposed to mean different things to different people, but I honestly felt like this piece was both lazy and unthought-out. I have to say there were a few more pieces in the gallery I felt the same way about, but there were also those that did make an impression on me.
One of these pieces was Brandon McCullar’s Rope-a-Dope, a black and white drawing of a boxer standing over his beaten opponent. The standing boxer closely resembles Muhammad Ali, and while the name Rope-a-Dope references Ali, it is impossible to be certain, but you can clearly tell that this man is a champion of sorts. But the truly interesting thing about this picture is the opponent lying beaten and literally broken on the ground. The beaten opponent is not a man, but instead a machine that looks clearly larger and superior to the boxer who has just beaten him. His head has been knocked off and his mechanical components lay strewn around the ring. This picture filled me with encouragement and pride. It stands as a testament to the human spirit, which should never be underestimated. The great theme of this picture is complimented further by the detail with which it has been drawn. The artist has individually drawn all of the cheering spectators in the background, and has contrasted the two opponents even further in the way he has drawn them. The features of the machine have been exaggerated and are drawn clearly, highlighting the machines concrete, tangible, but stagnant power, while the human boxer is somewhat blurred and undefined, conveying that there is more to him than can simply be seen by the naked eye.
It is pretty easy to find the contrast between these two pieces of art. Besides the obvious differences that ones a sculpture and ones a drawing, and the fact that I really like one and dislike the other, much more can be read into these pieces. While Scotts paper bundle has no clear message that he is trying to convey, Rope-a-Dope is making a point, exactly what that point is, depends on who is viewing the picture. Both of these works though are considered art, and this diversity is exactly what makes the Synarts gallery what it is. I walked out of the Synarts gallery questioning what I had originally thought was a good definition of art. Every piece intrigued me, and noticing that some of my classmates deeply appreciated pieces that I did not think much of sent me the message that it is close-minded to try and put any concrete definition on art. I guess its kind of like the saying that one mans trash is another mans treasure; one mans bundle of paper is another mans artwork, and I believe it would be wrong for me to say otherwise. For this reason I would say that you need to go and see the Synarts gallery if you get a chance, because while you might find some pieces you don’t like you are definitely going to find some pieces you do like, and more importantly you are going to come out of the gallery questioning your definition of “art.”

Kylie Dekin
Adam Weinstein
English 101-099
24 September 2007
ART
When I went to the Syn Art Gallery, I started to wonder. I started to think about what art really is. I did not know. I always thought art as being big elaborate pieces created by really famous artist such as Leonardo Da Vinci and Vincent Van Gogh. I only thought paintings were considered pieces of art. Looking at all of the pieces showcased at the Syn Art Show at Woods Hall, I started to change my mind. Two pieces from this gallery helped me find the real definition of art.

The first painting that caught my eye gave me the creeps. It was a smaller canvas painted with water colors and black oil pastels. The water color was used to paint the background. It started off a dark red color and faded into a light pink color, going from left to right. The fading reminded me of a sunset but sideways. A girl’s face and tall hair was drawn with black oil pastels and water color. The face was drawn all the way to the right of the canvas. This alignment caught me off guard because it was not centered which seems to be how things are in most cases. The artist, Lauren Strain, made the oil pastel and back ground watercolor smudgy and drip randomly. This pointed face has two big dark eyes that stare right at you full of emotion and mixed feelings. What is so unusual about the eyes is that one is rounder and lighter than the other eye. The other eye is darker and narrower. The innocent eye is in same section as the pink background and the narrower eye is in the red back ground. I think that the artist is trying to tell her audience that this girl has two sides of here if you really look into her and get to know her. But if people just go by looks they would assume that she is an angry and sad looking girl. Under the eyes, is a yellow water color blob, smudged around. This smear goes all the way down the right side of her face through the top right corner of her lip and all of her bottom lip. There is more yellow on the side with the innocent looking eye. When I think of yellow I think of happiness, sunshine, and warmth. This yellow shows that this girl does have some happiness on the outside even though it may not be a lot. The most unusual part of this painting is the round smudge on the bottom left of her face. There is a big circle of red and maroon smeared all on the side of her face to the bottom part of her eye. Part of her left side of her face seems missing as if people were missing a big part of her. Everything is very smudged and streaked. The face, the hair, the eyes, the nose, and the lips all had this affect. The smudging of the black oil pastel looks like wet mascara running down a girls face after she has been crying. I think that this girl was crying because people were judging her by the outside and not the inside. She wants people to know that she does have a happy and joyful part to her as well even though it does not look like it on the outside.

The second piece of art that I choose, called Night Terror, was made of many different materials. All the materials that were used made the piece look old and spooky. The artist, Daisy Winfrey, glued old pieces of newspaper and tea stained notebook paper to a medium square wooden box to create an old dilapidated house or room. The angles that she used also emphasized the aged affect. There is an old wooden floor lying at a slant. The floor is made of brown newspaper. The newspaper symbolizes the history and secrets that this room holds. The floor has very defined and precise detailed work done with acrylic ink. Each piece of wood is crooked and looks decayed. It looks as if somebody could fall through the floor. An old looking twin bed is placed on top of the slanted floor. A woman is laying under a detailed quilt with her eyes wide open waiting for something to happen. Her face is covered with many lines and shapes. I think that the artist used these lines to show her audiance that this lady is very old and has many memories, stories, and events that could have happened to her in life or this room. There are three brown bats flying in this run down room. The bats were drawn on pieces of faded brown paper and cut out and glued on to this box. Each of the bats has a different face and a different detailed line pattern drawn all over its body. These line patterns are all similar to the line patterns on the ladies face. Maybe, the bats and the woman have some kind of memories together or experiences. The wall of this old bedroom is painted black. A light brown paper is paper mached on top of the solid black paint. This technique created an old looking texture. There were many tares, wrinkles, light spots, and dark spots which gave it an old effect. Random clumps of skinny pieces of notebook paper are glued sporadically around. Pieces of royal purple paper with gold designs are glued about looking like old torn wall paper. The colors remind me of royal and wealth. Maybe this old lady was once a wealthy person. There are two splintery white windows in this room. A boy is peeping through the window farthest away from the bed. His eyes are looking up and looked scared, possibly scared of the bats. I think he is scared of the old woman. The boy, wearing a backwards baseball hat, was spying on this old lady as if was a Friday night dare by his buddies. There could be rumors that this lady is crazy and people are scared of her. The lady looks tired and worn out of people always spying on her. The boy is the is night terror.

Both of these pieces have many differences that can be easily pointed out. One painting is simpler than the other. The paining of the girl is simple of how it was done. The artist used fewer materials but got her point across by making parts of the face very dramatic by making the face and background lighter and darker. The audience knows that there is something wrong with this girl by looking at the detail in her eyes and lips. They think she is an angry and dark person. The other piece of work used many materials to make it easier for the audience to interpret the right atmosphere. She used materials that would help pull the theme together. She used old looking things such as the square wooden box, old newspaper, and tea stained notebook paper, and combined it with different techniques to create an old haunted look.

Color played a big role in Lauren Strain’s untitled piece of work. Reds, pinks, black, and yellow set the mood. When somebody sees red he or she might of anger or danger. Pink is thought as love and black is known as dark, evil, and mysterious. Yellow shows happiness and comfort. So when we look at this piece we can automatically get an idea of the mood and atmosphere of this piece work. Obviously this girl had many mixed emotions showing. Daisy Winfrey, did not use color to set the mood. She once again used textures, detail, and techniques to create an old and haunting look. The old newspaper, tea stained notebook paper, cut outs of bats, and a wrinkled paper masche technique created the age look.

Both paintings have similar messages. The picture of the girl looks dark and angry on the outside but she really does have a softer side if you really pay attention to the detail in her eyes and mouth and with the colors that are used throughout the painting. She just wants people to know that she does have a soft and happy side it just may not be right at this moment. In the other piece, it seems like the boy is spying on the old lady like she is crazy because she sleeps with bats and lives in an old and dilapidated house. This has a mixed message too. When we read the title Night Terrors and see the bats, it just automatically pops in the looker’s head that the bats are the terror. But that is not the case. The boy is the night terror by spying on her. This painting reminded me of how in, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, the three kids, Scout, Jim, and Dill, were always spying on Boo Radley because of the horrible rumors that were gossiped and spread by the town’s people. Boo Radley ended up being a good person. This lady lives the same life. She is probably really nice if people would get pass the rumors. Both of these women want a fair chance to live a happy life but cannot get it with everybody judging them on their looks, attitudes, and rumors.

These two wonderful pieces showed me that anything can be art. A painting, a sketch, a wooden box with paper glued on it, a piece of poetry, a song, or even a photograph. As long as it sends some kind of message to the audience than I believe that art is created. Art does not have to have one message though it can have multiple. I realized that is the coolest thing about art. So many different messages can be deciphered from one simple piece. At the Syn Art Show room, there were so many different and great pieces. There were photos, sketches, paintings, sculptures, and musical instruments. Each and every piece was art because they all had some type of meaning or message depending on how you looked upon it. This art gallery was time worth spent.

hfshields

Shields 1
Henry Shields
English 101
Adam Weinstein
September 23, 2007
Compare and Contrast of Art

The two pieces I chose from the student art gallery are “Ray Gun” by Brandon McCullar and an untitled oil painting by Chris Davenport. The oil painting was an obvious choice for me because it is roughly six feet tall, towering above all other works in the gallery. The “Ray Gun” was not an obvious choice, but rather a piece that I would like to think chose me. At a distance, it is a jumble of scrap metal lying on a table. At closer glance, it is a remarkably well hand crafted piece of work. It is constructed of copper and led pipe, welded and bent into various shapes and sizes. The old rustic color gives it the look of an antique, but the design and futuristic details give it the look of a modern day “Ghostbusters” gun. It consists of everything that comes standard on a gun; handle, trigger, sights, and a barrel. But then again every painting consists of paint, canvas, and a theme; it is how the artists arrange them that make it “art”. If McCullar wanted to make a gun he could have just welded two pieces of pipe together to make a handle and a barrel. He could have spent ten minutes on his piece, placed it in the gallery and would have most likely gotten away with calling it “art”. But instead he spent hours, most likely days or even weeks on his piece of art. He sculpted every little detail, adding anything and everything he wanted to his gun to make it his own unique “Ray” gun. He sculpted a piece that can only be appreciated for its craftsmanship and beauty when seen with your own eyes. Hand craftsmanship is very appealing to me and that is why I feel this piece stood out to me. I could ponder all day and speak of its beauty and design. But what strikes me is why Brandon McCullar, with his supply of metal and ability to make these amazing sculptures, wanted to make a gun? Was it his background, his childhood, his mood, or did he just simply think that a “ray” gun would be an interesting piece of art? I think it is a because of our generation. We (current students at the University of Alabama) are a generation who I feel have been raised to live in fear. The media, news, advertising, political controversies are all subjects that we encounter every day and they are all sold and based around the fear that if you do not buy or believe it something bad will happen to you. This idea of fear being the motive for McCullar’s art became more evident when I studied Chris Davenport’s oil painting. It was a magnificent painting whose beauty can only be appreciated when seen, and I feel my words would not give it the credit that it is due. The painting was untitled but I feel that the theme of Davenport’s painting was also fear. McCullar’s art was an obvious theme of fear because it was a gun; Davenport depicted a deeper insight into a generation raised in fear. His main focus was a short, wrinkly, intimidating looking man who appeared to be an investigator. He was next to a stereotypical cop; big broad shoulders, square jaw, and a straight face. In the background was a gloomy scene that consisted of unidentifiable objects and three children jumping into what seemed to be a big pit of fire. The rest of the painting was just a big gloomy setting with no real concrete objects. I think it depicted the world; a world full of corruption and fear.
Both artists compare in their theme of fear. The idea that they are raised in what I believe is a generation raised in fear is very apparent. With their supplies and ability they could have painted or sculpted almost anything they wanted. What gave them the mindset to display these certain pieces of art? Like I said before, I believe fear has been engraved in our minds through media, news, and politics. The artists also get the point across easier because their main audience is the people of their generation. The strong comparison of these art works in a figurative sense outweighs the contrasts they have in a literal sense. Just because of the fact that one is a painting and one is a sculpture does not take away from their similar inner meanings.
The art work was a reality check to me. After studying and comprehending their main idea of fear, it hit me that I was part of that generation raised in fear. Maybe that’s why I interpreted it that way, maybe the artists had completely different intentions is their work. I may never know. There are thousands of ways to interpret thousands of things. Overall, the art work was amazing and something you must see for yourself to get a true understanding or personal comprehension of the art.

Woods Hall Gallery - Paper 2

Jared Sims
English 101
Weinstein
23 September 2007


Art is a topic I haven’t cared about my whole life till I was made to care about by this paper. Growing up, I associated art with those museums you were forced to go to on a school field trip. Upon realization that I was going to have to go an art gallery I was pretty unhappy with the idea. As I walked around and looked at the different artist’s pieces it made me rethink my approach about art. The art gallery in Wood’s Hall was genuine in the fact that I noticed little details about the pieces that I had never thought about before. Artists generally put a lot more work into their work than most people could imagine.

A good number of the pieces in the gallery did not catch my eye. Two particular pieces by the same artist stuck out like a sore thumb in this gallery. The first of the two, being Chris Davenport’s piece, “Egg Patrol”, brought a surge of curiosity into my mind. In general, the piece had a gloomy appearance with dark skies and bright lightning in the background. A woman, who is dressed in a red dress, is handing some type of officer an egg of some sort. The officer seems to be upbeat, with a big smile on his face, almost as he just arrived home from war. Two elderly people are depicted in the background in which both are holding children, possibly their grandchildren. The biggest question mark in my mind is why all of the people in the picture are on top of a big bird’s nest with an egg in the middle of it. I got a very patriotic feeling after viewing this particular piece. The woman seems to know the officer on a very personal level. I get the vibe that the officer and woman are married and he has just returned from war from the big smiles on each of their faces. The grandparent’s look like they are taking care of their grandchildren, who possibly may be the children of woman and officer. The two eggs in the piece represent two different things to me. The big egg in the nest symbolizes war to me. I feel that the grandchildren have their grandchildren because the kid’s father, their son, has been off at war and the kid’s mother is working. The small egg the woman is handing the officer seems to be a welcome back present from the war, shown in the big smiles on each of their faces. The lightning in the piece lights up the whole picture like the light in the end of a very long tunnel.

Chris Davenport’s second piece, “Untitled”, caught my eye for the same reasons his other piece did. Each of the pieces had a very colorful appearance, but in the same sense a very gloomy appearance. I get a mischievous yet rebellious feel from this piece. A man appearing as a member of the mafia seems to attempting to evade a police officer, each having blindfolds on their eyes. A zeppelin is pictured ablaze in the sky while small children are jumping over a car in the background. A man is pictured holding a hammer type tool. The whole situation reminds of the early 1900s when zeppelins were being developed along with the whole mafia scene was just getting big in America. The blindfolds pictured on the mafia member and police officer seems to signify the fact that the police knew the mafia were doing wrong but couldn’t control them. In the early 1900s, a lot of mafia crime was very secret and police knew it was going on, but either didn’t have enough evidence or power to stop it. The children in the background jumping over the car is what gave me the feeling of rebellion in the picture. It appears as if the children are just having fun, not caring what is right or wrong. The zeppelin gives me the feeling that the picture was based in the time when the zeppelin was being developed, which was the early 1900s. The man holding the large mallet seems to be the law of the land that is attempting to smite the problems at the time.


Chris Davenport used oil based paint on each of his pieces of art. The oil based paint seemed to give the pieces a spacey, psychedelic look. Each of the pieces both gave off a very gloomy, yet colorful feeling. I noticed in each of the pieces that a backlight was used to light up a portion of the picture. It seems as if the backlight in each picture lit up the whole picture and the actual controversy in the picture was lit up by the backlight. The most interesting detail I acquired from viewing the pieces is how instead of their being a border, the picture overlapped where the border would normally be to give it a 3D effect. Both pieces seemed as if they were based in the early to mid 1900s. I also noticed each piece had a central conflict but also had secondary conflict happening in the background that made you try to relate between the central conflict and secondary conflict.

Being my first experience in an art gallery, I would definitely recommend this art gallery to the public simply from the fact that it grabbed my attention. As previously stated, I had no interest at all in art until I entered this gallery and analyzed the pieces. Art is truly unique, it makes you use your mind, analyze, and come to a conclusion as to what you feel is the true reason behind what the artist was attempting to express in their piece. Some cherish art, others have no feel for it, but one thing can be concluded, which is that art is one of a kind.

Art Gallery- essay 2

Walking into the Student Arts Gallery and seeing the SynArts Cotillion exhibit in Woods Hall, I was amazed at all the different types of artwork. Not only were there paintings, in addition there were sculptures, modern art, and abstract art. When you first walked into the exhibit, the thing that caught your eyes was this bale of shredded paper that had diamond shaped pieces of paper. It made you wonder how on earth that bale of paper could hold its form and how the artist got it there in the first place. When artists create a piece, they usually have an inspiration for making it, or a reason why they did. Each viewer though has their own interpretation on what they see in the picture.

The first piece that I saw when I walked into the art show was Anden Oden’s wooden guitar like lute. The design of this lute was loosely based on the early 16th century work of Hans Frei of Bologna. Most of the lutes that Hans Frei made were originally made with 6 courses, or eleven strings. Like many other lutes of this time period, they were rebuilt to accommodate the musical needs of the next 200 years. The guitar like lute on display in the art show has a back that is made of maple and a soundboard made out of spruce. The neck and peg box are made out of poplar veneered with ebony. When looking head on at the lute, you notice this very intricate design where the sound goes into the instrument to produce that lovely sound. The frets on the lute go all the way around the neck. The neck is bent backwards almost at a 90-degree angle. The design of the black ebony on the neck continues down into the soundbox of the guitar just a little with this design like upside down cat ears. The shape of the soundbox area is very egg-shaped. Looking at the rounded back of the lute, you notice that it is not a completely smooth rounded back. It has flat straight edges that continue all the way around the back.

The next piece of artwork that I looked at was this collection of five tin plate pictures made by Jenny Fine. It is a type of art that is called collodian wet plates. This process is done by getting a lot of toxic chemicals to stay on the painting easily. If not careful, cyanide gas can easily be produced, which is a very harmful gas. The title of the picture is called Bowed Down. When I first glanced at this picture, it reminded me of the girl from the movie The Ring. In it, there is a girl who seems to be bending over with her hands loosely hanging down as if she was a puppet. The girl has her head turned towards the right and is blankly staring out into the distance. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail, but she has a few strands of hair that have fallen into her face. She has on a white dress and it looks like she also has on a pair of sandals. She is outside and in front of an old dirty white building. The ground she is standing on looks a little bit rocky and muddy, but everywhere else is just grass. It looks like there is a fabric sheet hanging on the left side of the wall.

I could imagine someone playing the guitar like lute in the picture Bowed down. The setting looks as if an old man would come walking right around the corner, sit down on a chair, and start playing some old folk songs. These two pieces of artwork do not have anything in common. The lute is made out of many different types of wood while the picture is made from a procedure called collodian wet plates.

This art gallery was very nice. I enjoyed looking at all of the students’ work and found it interesting to think about how long it took them to make that one piece of work. Being in an art class in high school, I know a little about how long it takes for a project to get finished, and I was only ever in art one. I can only imagine that it would be even more time consuming that anything we ever did in class. I would absolutely recommend going to see this art gallery to people, because these students are very good at what they do, at least of what I have seen.

Barrett Ford-Essay 2: Art Description and Comparing

Discussing and Comparing UA Student Art

Last week our class visited the Student Art Gallery in Woods Hall. The art exhibit that was going on at the time was called Syn Arts Cotillion. Syn Arts is short for synesthesia art and, by definition, is a kind of art that tends to evoke synesthesia or a mixing of the senses. There were a wide variety of art forms being presented in the gallery, but all of them shared the common classification of synesthetic art. Some of them were three-dimensional pieces of art, some were paintings, and still others were collages or photographs. All of them seemed to give the viewer a feeling that there was a deeper, more abstract meaning that just what they could see painted or sculpted in front of them. I, personally, picked four different works of art that I found interesting. They can also be put into pairs and compared very easily. Two of them are photography pieces by Jonathan Purvis, Rufus Davis and Rachel Higgins’ Going Away Party Between 12:30am and 1:30am. The other two pieces are sculptures of some sort by Alon Wingard and Katie McClung. Wingard sculpted a piece called Left right and McClung’s sculpture is called Birmingham vs. Broccoli.

When I first entered the exhibit a large number of the pieces being showcased caught my eye. They all varied in so many ways except in the way that they grabbed my attention. The pieces in the exhibit were interesting because of the fact that they were not what I usually think of as art. That is not to say that what our class saw in Woods Hall was not art. Every single piece on display was art, in my opinion. Most of the pieces just didn’t fit the bill of what I always think of when art comes to mind. This is because my definition for art has always been a narrow-minded one involving 18^th and 19^th century museum displays.

One piece that really caught my attention during my first trip around the exhibit was Left right. At first glance it appears to be a mass of wooden sticks poking out in all directions, protruding from some sort of base. After examining it closer, I noticed that the thing that the sticks were poking out of appeared to be a boat or canoe with a ribcage-like side. The sharp rods also had a fairly organized way of sticking out of the boat-like structure. They all either poked up or to the side. To me this piece exhibited order within chaos and vice versa. The actual boat structure was streamline and beautifully carved, and it and the rods were made of poplar wood. The sharp rods gave the sculpture a disorderly look about it. In addition, they seemed to give the boat a dangerous element while the boat structure gave it an adventurous theme. The sculpture also had one rod which was much taller that the others and reminded me of the mast of a sailboat. The boat seemed like it was meant to appeal to somebody adventurous and brave. The artist could also have meant to let each person take their own meaning from it. In addition, there is also the possibility that the boat with the sharp sticks didn’t really represent anything more than what could be concretely viewed.

The other sculpture I examined, Birmingham vs. Broccoli, was similar to Left right in that it had abstract elements protruding from a more orderly base. The bronze sculpture consisted of a rectangular building with small windows cut out in several places. The top of it had a hand sticking out of it with squared fingers that had a firm grip on several pieces of broccoli. The pieces of broccoli were painted with a dark shade of green so that they stood out from the bronze color of the rest of the statue. The two main elements in the sculpture clashed greatly, but they also seemed to illustrate the relationship between two different things. Somehow, the broccoli and hand stood for one thing and the building stood for another. It’s possible that the artist was contrasting industry with agriculture, urban areas with rural areas, or something else. I think that it did represent one of these comparisons with the most likely being industry versus agriculture. The hand and broccoli could represent the working farmer and his produce while the building could represent the offices of some business or company. It’s also possible as with Left right that there is no that deep of a meaning associated with the piece, or the artist could possibly be allowing the viewer to interpret it for him or herself.

The last two pieces I looked at, Rufus Davis and Rachel Higgins’ Going Away Party…, were photography pieces by the same artist. They were both black and white silver gelatin prints of people that did not appear to be significantly altered. This is where the similarities pretty much end for the two pieces because the moods that they convey are completely opposite. Rufus Davis is a close-up picture of a Black World War II veteran who is wearing a hat that labels him as such. This picture gave me an initial feeling of melancholy and sadness, not because of the fact that he is a veteran, but because of the worn, sad expression on his face. In contrast, I was also overcome with respect because of that fact that he a veteran and he had probably been through a lot. This gave me an appreciation for veterans and the way they fight to protect our freedom, but it also showed me the effects that war can have on the people that fight in them. In addition to the actual picture the title itself showed that the artist was trying to emphasize the fact that the person in the photograph is an actual individual. This goes against the way we usually view the military as one big unit rather than people with feelings and dreams just like everybody else.

The other piece by Jonathan Purvis, Rachel Higgins’ Going Away Party…, consisted of 16 small pictures to create one big collage. It not only differed from the other piece in its number of photos, but also in the mood that it conveyed. It depicted different people having their photos taken in some kind of photo booth. All of them were extremely happy and jovial as well as probably somewhat intoxicated. It definitely pictured a party atmosphere with different people dancing, hugging, holding drinks, and even wearing masks. They were making funny poses and stances and giving the camera comical looks. It was immediately obvious that these people were having a big celebration, and the title helps to get that across. They obviously wanted to have a blowout to see their friend off, and the mood was probably somewhat bittersweet because their friend was leaving.

All of these pieces show why art can come in so many different forms. Many people try to say that certain pieces of work should not be considered art. The truth is that each person has their own definition of art and preferences as to what kinds of art inspire them. It is very hard to give a precise definition of art because everybody interprets it in a different way. The art in the SynArts exhibit was no exception. Some pieces were more common pieces of art than others. Some pieces even caused the viewer to question whether it was art. However, all the pieces in the SynArts exhibit contributed something to the artistic atmosphere of the gallery, and when I left the exhibit I had a greater appreciation for art than when I walked in.