This is my latest ballet girl. She is also done in charcoal and on news print paper. She looks better in person, but since I don’t have a scanner, this is the best pic I could take of her.
But anyway, I am really excited about two comments on the last post :] That may seem like child's play for some of you who have like a zillion on each post, but for me.... its lovely! So thanks to those who commented, and to those who just lurked... hopefully I can create something that you find worthy enough to comment.
Now, I would like to post a few little things I wrote in response to a game my best friend and I were playing. We were really bored and so we decided to come up with a number and write something with that number of words. Then we picked a word and wrote a little scene or something that fell under that word. So, in loving memory of the game and that night, I'll post a few here.
The scene I wrote to the word "sequence":
"Grandma?" I ask the little old lady in the corner. She is all wrinkly, all powdered. But perhaps she isn’t really that old. Perhaps it’s simply her appearance, like some droopy mask. Her white hair, her pink cheeks, her blue eyes. All whisper of an old soul. But most of all its her sequence jacket. The refusal to remove it endears her to my heart. She is a stubborn old bird. Its bright colors that shine atrociously in the florescent lights embarrass mother. But ol' grans doesn’t care. She looks up at me from behind her bottle glasses, and I laugh. "I love you, Grans."
What do you think? Simple. Short. And was written in less than five minutes. Kirsten, my best friend, got a kick out of it, and we went on to make up this really elaborate story about this old lady and her family. Maybe one day I will post it, but for now.... I think Grans needs her rest. You know how old ladies get when they stay up too late. They stay in bed too long, and miss the good stuff at the breakfast bar, and then... oh my! I'll stop. I promise.
This is my response to the number "13”:
I walk blindly, only my blood stained knife in my hand leading my steps.
I promise I am not crazy or a killer. It just comes to me sometimes. Sometimes I write dark, others light and cheerful. Depends on my mood, I guess. But it seems to me that I write in extremes. Either really happy and cheerful, really sad and depressed, or morbid and dark. But I like to write things that are shocking in some way.
But I guess this is the end of this post. I may add more in a while, but Idk...
Yours,
Dauphine
But anyway, I am really excited about two comments on the last post :] That may seem like child's play for some of you who have like a zillion on each post, but for me.... its lovely! So thanks to those who commented, and to those who just lurked... hopefully I can create something that you find worthy enough to comment.
Now, I would like to post a few little things I wrote in response to a game my best friend and I were playing. We were really bored and so we decided to come up with a number and write something with that number of words. Then we picked a word and wrote a little scene or something that fell under that word. So, in loving memory of the game and that night, I'll post a few here.
The scene I wrote to the word "sequence":
"Grandma?" I ask the little old lady in the corner. She is all wrinkly, all powdered. But perhaps she isn’t really that old. Perhaps it’s simply her appearance, like some droopy mask. Her white hair, her pink cheeks, her blue eyes. All whisper of an old soul. But most of all its her sequence jacket. The refusal to remove it endears her to my heart. She is a stubborn old bird. Its bright colors that shine atrociously in the florescent lights embarrass mother. But ol' grans doesn’t care. She looks up at me from behind her bottle glasses, and I laugh. "I love you, Grans."
What do you think? Simple. Short. And was written in less than five minutes. Kirsten, my best friend, got a kick out of it, and we went on to make up this really elaborate story about this old lady and her family. Maybe one day I will post it, but for now.... I think Grans needs her rest. You know how old ladies get when they stay up too late. They stay in bed too long, and miss the good stuff at the breakfast bar, and then... oh my! I'll stop. I promise.
This is my response to the number "13”:
I walk blindly, only my blood stained knife in my hand leading my steps.
I promise I am not crazy or a killer. It just comes to me sometimes. Sometimes I write dark, others light and cheerful. Depends on my mood, I guess. But it seems to me that I write in extremes. Either really happy and cheerful, really sad and depressed, or morbid and dark. But I like to write things that are shocking in some way.
But I guess this is the end of this post. I may add more in a while, but Idk...
Yours,
Dauphine
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