These puppies are for the Macaulay Honors College of the CUNY system. I would appreciate any feedback/suggestions. Thanks for reading!!
Discuss how a piece of art, literature, etc... has changed your view of the world:
My creative pursuits began in the womb. I struck an elegant pose for the chiaroscuro ultrasound and produced my first piece of art to be displayed on the family refrigerator. As an infant, my appetite for art grew. Although I will admit to occasionally eating Play-Doh to deepen my understanding of the medium, I truly hungered for a simple mound to press my fingers into; the opportunity to sculpt and shape, to construct and create. Years went by, until I encountered my first taste of art education in elementary school where the assignments were always based on achieving absolute realism. I began to see art as a mere technical skill, no different from memorizing a spelling list or practicing handwriting. My hunger for creation was replaced by plain, old emptiness-until I met Vincent van Gogh.
I was wandering through the Impressionist gallery of the Cleveland Museum of Art, as van Gogh daydreamed on a street in southern France. We collided on a canvas in between. "Road Workers in Saint-Remy", a tree-dappled autumn landscape, magnetized me immediately with its bold ochre sky. For the first time, I didn't care about the methods, technical details, or lack of realism. Most important were the feelings behind the thick black outlines and undulating strokes of bold color. The scene reverberated with the dramatic tension of an artist at his breaking point, a slew of emotions simmering beneath its thick shell of oil paint. Because of van Gogh's obvious emotionalism, my own feelings were awakened. I was inspired-and starving to create.
Since that fateful day of our meeting, Vincent and I have become great friends. You know what they say-"You bandage my ear, I'll bandage yours!" Through studying his paintings, I have found artistic direction and a sense of purpose. I have forgotten the restrictions of my elementary school art classes, and abide two simple principles: (1) Emotion is always paramount. Style is simply a device to create an understanding through aesthetic presentation; and (2) All art is a self-portrait, no matter if the subject is your mailman or a bowl of fruit. Show yourself in everything.
With these fundamentals, I strive to produce interpretations of my world rather than empty documentations. Instead of drawing from photographs, I attempt to capture fleeting snapshots of life in visual equivalents of my emotions. Van Gogh convinced me that a filter of personal experience on my art was not a curse but a unique instinct to be passionately embraced. Upon accepting this, I stopped painting pictures and started creating art.
Evaluate a significant risk you have taken and its impact on you:
For the first fourteen years of my life, I was vaguely aware of a certain personal discomfort, but could never quite identify the source of my emotional and physical anguish. The epiphany came as I was sitting in Biology class one day, staring into my lap.
Pants.
I began to study the annoyingly plural garment that encased my limbs like a pair of helpless sausages. Suddenly, the cause of that perpetual tingling sensation, the constant chafing, and my congenital "lack of dance moves" became clear. It was--had always been-pants.
After a bit of soul-searching, this revelation held true. I considered some of the sad and frustrating moments of my life: losing the fifth-grade spelling bee, learning that "Hey Arnold!" had been canceled, and discovering that "applause" was not actually a euphemism for "applesauce." These events shared a common thread--I had indeed been wearing pants. The inverse is true as well; My favorite part of the day often involves winding down with a relaxing shower and enjoying a sweet night of sleep. I do neither of these with pants on.
I sincerely find pants to be oppressive. A comfortable, flattering pair of pants is practically the American holy grail, as our country seems to take perverse pleasure in manufacturing cheap, ill-fitting garments. Furthermore, mental bondage is woven into the physical irritation. Confining my limbs in the tight shackles of polyester conformity restricted everything from movement to social interaction. Because of my self-consciousness about clothing, I never felt secure enough to be myself.
Despite my discomfort, Pants are so rigidly stitched into modern culture that I never thought to consider any alternatives. However, the prevalence of pants is a fairly recent development in human history. Cavemen sported animal hides and Egyptian Pharaohs favored loincloths. Perhaps the epitome of enlightenment, the ancient Greeks and Romans preferred the toga in their golden age of peace, prosperity, and pantslessness.
Like the Greeks, I despise pants--both what they stand for and standing in them. Upon embracing this principle as a lowly high-school freshman, I decided to take the plunge and risk my normality. I traded in my pants for an exciting variety of skirts, dresses, leggings, and more. With a simple transition of wardrobe and the power of femininity came a bounty of confidence. I feel liberated from both department stores and cultural expectations. So the next time you find yourself enviously staring at someone wearing a kilt, don't just stand there--down with pants!
Discuss how a piece of art, literature, etc... has changed your view of the world:
My creative pursuits began in the womb. I struck an elegant pose for the chiaroscuro ultrasound and produced my first piece of art to be displayed on the family refrigerator. As an infant, my appetite for art grew. Although I will admit to occasionally eating Play-Doh to deepen my understanding of the medium, I truly hungered for a simple mound to press my fingers into; the opportunity to sculpt and shape, to construct and create. Years went by, until I encountered my first taste of art education in elementary school where the assignments were always based on achieving absolute realism. I began to see art as a mere technical skill, no different from memorizing a spelling list or practicing handwriting. My hunger for creation was replaced by plain, old emptiness-until I met Vincent van Gogh.
I was wandering through the Impressionist gallery of the Cleveland Museum of Art, as van Gogh daydreamed on a street in southern France. We collided on a canvas in between. "Road Workers in Saint-Remy", a tree-dappled autumn landscape, magnetized me immediately with its bold ochre sky. For the first time, I didn't care about the methods, technical details, or lack of realism. Most important were the feelings behind the thick black outlines and undulating strokes of bold color. The scene reverberated with the dramatic tension of an artist at his breaking point, a slew of emotions simmering beneath its thick shell of oil paint. Because of van Gogh's obvious emotionalism, my own feelings were awakened. I was inspired-and starving to create.
Since that fateful day of our meeting, Vincent and I have become great friends. You know what they say-"You bandage my ear, I'll bandage yours!" Through studying his paintings, I have found artistic direction and a sense of purpose. I have forgotten the restrictions of my elementary school art classes, and abide two simple principles: (1) Emotion is always paramount. Style is simply a device to create an understanding through aesthetic presentation; and (2) All art is a self-portrait, no matter if the subject is your mailman or a bowl of fruit. Show yourself in everything.
With these fundamentals, I strive to produce interpretations of my world rather than empty documentations. Instead of drawing from photographs, I attempt to capture fleeting snapshots of life in visual equivalents of my emotions. Van Gogh convinced me that a filter of personal experience on my art was not a curse but a unique instinct to be passionately embraced. Upon accepting this, I stopped painting pictures and started creating art.
Evaluate a significant risk you have taken and its impact on you:
For the first fourteen years of my life, I was vaguely aware of a certain personal discomfort, but could never quite identify the source of my emotional and physical anguish. The epiphany came as I was sitting in Biology class one day, staring into my lap.
Pants.
I began to study the annoyingly plural garment that encased my limbs like a pair of helpless sausages. Suddenly, the cause of that perpetual tingling sensation, the constant chafing, and my congenital "lack of dance moves" became clear. It was--had always been-pants.
After a bit of soul-searching, this revelation held true. I considered some of the sad and frustrating moments of my life: losing the fifth-grade spelling bee, learning that "Hey Arnold!" had been canceled, and discovering that "applause" was not actually a euphemism for "applesauce." These events shared a common thread--I had indeed been wearing pants. The inverse is true as well; My favorite part of the day often involves winding down with a relaxing shower and enjoying a sweet night of sleep. I do neither of these with pants on.
I sincerely find pants to be oppressive. A comfortable, flattering pair of pants is practically the American holy grail, as our country seems to take perverse pleasure in manufacturing cheap, ill-fitting garments. Furthermore, mental bondage is woven into the physical irritation. Confining my limbs in the tight shackles of polyester conformity restricted everything from movement to social interaction. Because of my self-consciousness about clothing, I never felt secure enough to be myself.
Despite my discomfort, Pants are so rigidly stitched into modern culture that I never thought to consider any alternatives. However, the prevalence of pants is a fairly recent development in human history. Cavemen sported animal hides and Egyptian Pharaohs favored loincloths. Perhaps the epitome of enlightenment, the ancient Greeks and Romans preferred the toga in their golden age of peace, prosperity, and pantslessness.
Like the Greeks, I despise pants--both what they stand for and standing in them. Upon embracing this principle as a lowly high-school freshman, I decided to take the plunge and risk my normality. I traded in my pants for an exciting variety of skirts, dresses, leggings, and more. With a simple transition of wardrobe and the power of femininity came a bounty of confidence. I feel liberated from both department stores and cultural expectations. So the next time you find yourself enviously staring at someone wearing a kilt, don't just stand there--down with pants!
