MichelleHob
Aug 19, 2009
Writing Feedback / "Memom, how did you draw this?" Topic of Choice Essay -- opinions and critiques [5]
I just threw away an essay and on a whim wrote this -- it is my personality but I am not sure how it will impress as a college admission essay? All opinions are welcomed. Thank you.
"Memom, how did you draw this?" I ask my grandmother in my tiny ten year old voice. She just smiles lovingly towards me and replies, "It's not that good -- just a sketch." But I know she's just being modest as I stare down at my far from perfect flower drawing and her accurate drawing of my face. Each line and curve seems to flow together perfectly, creating a special memory in my head. She calls me by my nickname, "Nina, see that looks just as good, maybe even better, than my drawing!" I take the compliment and grin boldly as I shade in each flower with blues and purples and greens. "You know what," Memom says sweetly, adding the finishing touches to her masterpiece, "We should paint the sunset together one day." I nod and imagine how beautiful it'll look.
After drawing for fun with Memom, taking a few art classes here and there, and being required to take an art class at school, I soon came to realize my interest in art was beginning to fade. During this time, I began to take part in recreation level basketball and cello. Don't get me wrong, playing cello was a lot of fun and each time I played I loved seeing how proud and happy my family was, hearing the relaxing pluck and hum of the strings beneath my worn fingertips. And I loved the adrenaline rush of playing my hardest in a basketball game hearing "Go, Nina!" by my biggest fan, Mom. Soon I realized cello no longer interested me and I was becoming too old to participate in recreation basketball. I should have known the need for a sharp pencil and a crisp white sheet of paper would end up in front of me once again.
Fashion magazines lay sprawled out, covering most of my bedroom floor. I sit baffled at where to begin and then finally make the grab for a Vogue magazine. The artsy and expensive brand name photographs scream at me and take over my head with thoughts: What makes you think you can actually draw this? You'll never be able to draw the shadows and delicateness of her face. I shake my head and diminish the negative voice. Carefully, I rip out a page with a stunning Ralph Lauren model posing with her hands tucked into her orange shorts' pockets. The pointy pencil tip sketches the roundness of her face and the outline of her petite figure. Frustration boils in my brain as I notice how large I drew the head. My eraser fixes the blemishes of my art work. I let the pencil redo my previous mistakes as I try my best to keep my wobbly left hand steady. Hours pass by and I'm still hovered over my work of art. My aggravation subsides, making me feel even more proud of the work I've almost completed. Each stroke of the pencil causes excitement to rise within me, knowing each step will be easier and easier. As soon as I finish sketching the model's gold brown hair, I can breathe again. The overall sketch is finished. I break out my colored pencils and begin shading in. I'm about ready to call it quits and finish it another day but motivation beings to take over and I can't stop. Finally, my hard work is done and I can't help but smile. Sure it doesn't look exactly like the photograph but what do I care? I feel as if I've climbed and conquered a huge mountain. The smile still glued on my face reminds me how passionate I am about drawing and brings me back to when I used to draw with Memom. Maybe we can go paint the sunset soon.
I just threw away an essay and on a whim wrote this -- it is my personality but I am not sure how it will impress as a college admission essay? All opinions are welcomed. Thank you.
"Memom, how did you draw this?" I ask my grandmother in my tiny ten year old voice. She just smiles lovingly towards me and replies, "It's not that good -- just a sketch." But I know she's just being modest as I stare down at my far from perfect flower drawing and her accurate drawing of my face. Each line and curve seems to flow together perfectly, creating a special memory in my head. She calls me by my nickname, "Nina, see that looks just as good, maybe even better, than my drawing!" I take the compliment and grin boldly as I shade in each flower with blues and purples and greens. "You know what," Memom says sweetly, adding the finishing touches to her masterpiece, "We should paint the sunset together one day." I nod and imagine how beautiful it'll look.
After drawing for fun with Memom, taking a few art classes here and there, and being required to take an art class at school, I soon came to realize my interest in art was beginning to fade. During this time, I began to take part in recreation level basketball and cello. Don't get me wrong, playing cello was a lot of fun and each time I played I loved seeing how proud and happy my family was, hearing the relaxing pluck and hum of the strings beneath my worn fingertips. And I loved the adrenaline rush of playing my hardest in a basketball game hearing "Go, Nina!" by my biggest fan, Mom. Soon I realized cello no longer interested me and I was becoming too old to participate in recreation basketball. I should have known the need for a sharp pencil and a crisp white sheet of paper would end up in front of me once again.
Fashion magazines lay sprawled out, covering most of my bedroom floor. I sit baffled at where to begin and then finally make the grab for a Vogue magazine. The artsy and expensive brand name photographs scream at me and take over my head with thoughts: What makes you think you can actually draw this? You'll never be able to draw the shadows and delicateness of her face. I shake my head and diminish the negative voice. Carefully, I rip out a page with a stunning Ralph Lauren model posing with her hands tucked into her orange shorts' pockets. The pointy pencil tip sketches the roundness of her face and the outline of her petite figure. Frustration boils in my brain as I notice how large I drew the head. My eraser fixes the blemishes of my art work. I let the pencil redo my previous mistakes as I try my best to keep my wobbly left hand steady. Hours pass by and I'm still hovered over my work of art. My aggravation subsides, making me feel even more proud of the work I've almost completed. Each stroke of the pencil causes excitement to rise within me, knowing each step will be easier and easier. As soon as I finish sketching the model's gold brown hair, I can breathe again. The overall sketch is finished. I break out my colored pencils and begin shading in. I'm about ready to call it quits and finish it another day but motivation beings to take over and I can't stop. Finally, my hard work is done and I can't help but smile. Sure it doesn't look exactly like the photograph but what do I care? I feel as if I've climbed and conquered a huge mountain. The smile still glued on my face reminds me how passionate I am about drawing and brings me back to when I used to draw with Memom. Maybe we can go paint the sunset soon.
