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Importance of arts and culture as a means of identity
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Importance of arts and culture as a means of identity
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Once there was a boy names Terra, he was 7 years old. Today was his birthday. His parents didn’t know what to buy for him so they decided to take him to a store so he can pick what he wants. He went to a history section of the store. The section was filled with history sculptures. He was very interested in history. The other day he read about Terracotta Warriors, so he went right away and picked the Terracotta sculpture. His parents asked ‘Are you sure you want this?’. His parents were surprised that he didn’t pick stuff like books or toys. It was fifty six dollars.
Then they got back home. His parents had to leave for work, so they left a seven years old boy alone. They weren’t worry because he was capable and smart. Couple minutes after he went to play with his
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Terracotta Sculpture. But something brightened up on him. The Terracotta sculpture became a real size. Terra was excited instead of being scared. Terracotta started speaking. He talked about himself, he said that he was an army in Emperor Qin Shi Huang. He said ‘After I died people started making sculptures of us’. Terracotta said that people have made over eight thousand of them. I was very surprised. He said that he is made from terracotta. Terracotta is a clay-based unglazed or glazed ceramic. During our conversation my parents rang the doorbell.
I was in a panic mode. I didn’t know what to do. I just hid him in my closet. I opened the door and welcomed my parents. My dad asked if he could see my sculpture. I had nothing to say. I just ran upstairs and locked my door. My parents came up chasing me. I quickly told Terracotta to be a sculpture again but he said he couldn’t. He said once he became a real sized human he can’t go back. That moment I had a brilliant idea.
My idea was to dress him like a normal modern person and pretend he is my friend from school. I gave him some of my clothes to wear. Principally it fitted. My parents asked me to open the door. I opened my door confidently and my parents came in. They asked who he was and I said it was my friend. Then my parents told me to have fun and they went away. I was pleased that they forgot about the sculpture.
We had a blast but it got very dark and my parents told me that it was time for him to go. I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly something flashed. It was a fairy god father. He told me that I can send him away to the past using the time machine. I was very thankful and I gave him a hug. Then he vanished away
forever.
get that vibe from the first time I saw the statuette of him, as god’s sculptures were made to
Sculpture is a medium that artists in ancient Greek commonly used to express spoken truths in an unspoken form. Every piece of ancient Greek sculpture has more than what the eye sees to explain the story behind the [in this case] marble.
The Hero’s Journey is a basic template utilized by writers everywhere. Joseph Campbell, an American scholar, analyzed an abundance of myths and literature and decided that almost all of them followed a template that has around twelve steps. He would call these steps the Hero’s Journey. The steps to the Hero’s Journey are a hero is born into ordinary circumstances, call to adventure/action, refusal of call, a push to go on the journey, aid by mentor, a crossing of the threshold, the hero is tested, defeat of a villain, possible prize, hero goes home. The Hero’s Journey is more or less the same journey every time. It is a circular pattern used in stories or myths.
After we relaxed for a long time, it was time for me to go and wash off all of the seaweed my hair had collected. I turn on the shower and there is a huge spider waiting for me just sitting there waiting for me. I killed it and then resumed my shower. After I got out and we were all ready leave we didn’t know where to go. Until my sister saw a commercial for this really cool place with alligators and a Ferris wheel, we decided to go there. As we pulled up to the place we noticed that there was an amazing Ferris wheel and I immediately got really excited. But my parents said that I have to wait until after dinner. So we went and ate our amazing dinner and it was so amazing. I ordered the best lobster and crab, it was so
Stephen Richards once said, “When you do what you fear most, then you can do anything.” Joseph Campbell has written a three stage theory that every hero in a story goes through, a journey if you will. Every journey is different, but it's always structured around his formula, a hero will: separate from his/her known world into a new one, they'll challenge opposing forces or complete a series of tests, and lastly they return to their world again with a gift. Going along with this formula I've gone through my own hero's journey, and succeeded.
In all honesty I wanted to go clear my mind, but I also wanted to stay home so I could cry and curl up in a corner. Hassan told me to go fix a bag and meet him down stairs I did as I was told even though I didn't have to. Once I got downstairs I saw Hassan talking to my parents. He was trying to convince them to let me go, and they agreed to let me go as long as I called. After they agreed to let me go listen told me that we were going to his house to see if his parents were cool with it. The one thing that he left out was that he wanted me to lie to his parents. I didn't want to, but I owed him after this whole trip thing. I had a long conversation with his parents and they decided to let him go. I'm not going to lie I wasn't thrilled but how bad could it be. In my mind everything that could go wrong was already being visioned which worried me more. Anyway before his parents could change their mind he grabbed my shirt and drug me across his house outside to the car. Later that evening we had been on the road and I had a flashback. I was in the third grade and I finally got this pretty girl named Katherine. I “loved" her and she felt the same in return, but like they say “All good things come to an end”. I was devastated my heart had a hole, but you get over it eventually I
I heard my door squeak as the person outside of the door opened it. It was my father. He came in and walked up to me at the other side of the room. He had a red rose in his hand and a memorial card along with it. He was a big man.
tried to tell someone about it, but all the other children that lived in that home were to
Being that I was a little kid, I thought I was on my way to heavan. But soon, my representation of an angel turned in to a nurse. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I wake up, I say yes to her questions and go to sit up but she stops me and lays me back down. “don’t sit up, im going to get your parents.” I lay there in bed and wait. My mom and dad walk in and they smile, hug and kiss me. The nurse says that im able to go home and in few minutes. Time passes and im on my way home. My family calls to see if im okay and send gifts. I slept the rest of the day. Never again will I, play with a group of kids with a baseball
The art piece I chose was a pottery that I found very interesting, not only the art itself but the story behind it. This was a red-figure archaic type of pottery; the name of the pottery is called a Terracotta hydria, which is also known as a water jar. This specific pot was made in Greece and South Italy, around 340-330BC. It was also found at Canosa before the year 1878. According to the MET museum “This pot was created by a group of BM F 308, the specific artist is unknown. However, the potter and art was produced in Greek, South Italy, and Apulia.”
The sculpture I choose is named Nydia, “The Blind Girl of Pompeii.” When I first seen this I immediately liked it, once again this piece of art spoke to me I could kind of relate to it in a sense. When I first look the name of this piece I thought it read “The Blind Girl of Power,” I instantly started thinking of what type of life she once had and how she is blind and still hold power in her village. I hear once someone loose one of your six senses our other senses become stronger because, we rely on them more to survive. I also heard when someone lose the ability to see there are two senses that get stronger than the others. Hearing and feeling, the ability to hear a further distance and the ability to touch an object and know what it is and the form of it without seeing it.
Dr. D is a cardiothoracic surgeon. He was my hero. He may well still be, even though he is a throw-back to the days when I was more concerned about science than symbolism.
One day in the midst of summer, my friend Mike and I got off from a hard day of work and were on our way to the mall. While at work we had planned to meet a few people there. I was going to be seeing my friend Jessica who I had not talked to in years. Before leaving, we stopped off at our houses, took showers, and got ready. As I anxiously waited on the stairs for his car to roll into the driveway, my mom said, “Be careful and do not drive like an idiot.” I obviously said alright and she was on her way. Minutes later I see my friend Mike pull into the driveway. I slipped my feet into my shoes and got in his car. We were almost to the mall when his phone rang. He picked it up and said, “Hello?” It was my mom and she wanted to speak to me. Upon putting the phone to my ear she told me that I had to come home right away. She said that my dad had just gotten into a car crash and that I had to come home and watch my sister. I did not know how to break the news to Mike, that what we were anticipating all day would not happen. He was upset, but he understood what was going on. I came home thinking it was the same old same old; he had gotten hit by a drunk driver, the car got totaled, and he was fine.
As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his father's love of fine art. "I'm an artist," said the soldier, "and I want to give you this." As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail. Overcome with emothion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task.
It was around 2:00pm and it was time to open presents. I started with opening friend’s presents then I opened families. I was finally done opening all my presents. I looked around at all the people, who were looking at me and my dad was nowhere to be. That was the only present that I was looking forward too. The party ended and my dad didn’t show up, my little four years old hopes were in the ground, it was like I could feel my heart ripping appart. I looked at my mom and she mouthed I’m sorry, my faced turned rosy red and my eyes filled with tears. From that moment on my life was never the same. It was a dark cloudy day and I was going to see my dad. We were playing the game Sorry and he was winning. I was the yellow player and he was the green player, he was laughing and smiling the whole time. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my Friday afternoon any other way. When the game was over he asked me to clean up the game while he went out to smoke a cig. When he entered the room and the game wasn’t picked up, he went crazy. His eyes seemed to turn a dark almost black color. It was like he was a completely different person when he came back