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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
3 comments:
Amsterdam’s Van Gogh museum is considered a must see, but is it worth it? That depends on how you like to view art, I suppose. It is certainly not pleasing to the eye. The museum is stolid, its outside clad in brown bricks. Inside the galleries work better. We followed along, slowly, in a line to view Van Gogh’s paintings. The problem for some is the lack of well-known pieces in the collection. For me, that was what made it interesting: it showed the tortured man, painting furiously (one month he did 19 canvases, most of spring blossoming trees) and, very often, the works were unsigned. Vincent only signed those he considered his best. The paintings were sometimes crude and, for me, that made the artist become more human. I could see that what I had admired—his Starry Night and Room in Arles—were only the tip of his accomplishments. Van Gogh lived only 37 years and he lived a full life. What could he have done if he had lived on into the 20th Century? Hard to say, but I was mainly pleased to have come. But, also, I became convinced it is a once-only experience. Visit, yes, if you have a chance, but prepare to work harder for your enjoyment (seeing crude copies of Japanese style painting was a highlight but it was ugly!).
I was by myself in a cold hospital basement. The narrow hallway was lit by dim fluorescent lamps. Rubber shoes screeching, hair raising, I walked towards a stainless metal door. I whistled.
While whistling, I heard the elevator open at the other end of the hallway. I halted, looked behind me and saw no one. I ran.
While running, I took out a set of keys from my side pocket (about twenty of them, joined in a ring) and searched for the right key. I dropped it, picked it up and continued running. I gasped.
Still gasping, I stood in-front of the metal door. I have opened different kinds of doors countless of times before, but for some reason, I was having a hard time inserting the key into the knob. I inhaled, deeply, exhaled, slowly and finally, managed to open it.
I gently pushed the heavy door open and immediately felt the cold air on my face. I blindly reached for the switch on my right and turned the lights on. Stretchers and decks lined beside the walls of the freezing room, while closed body bags laid on some of them. These bodies used to be alive like me, I thought. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I told myself. I sighed.
I went inside a small washroom and grabbed a bucket, which my supervisor wanted in his office, (at three in the morning!) and rinsed it as fast as I could. I exited the room.
After locking the door, I did a sign of the cross and said a quick prayer for the deceased before dashing back to my supervisor‘s office.
I enjoy the beach because for me it is a peaceful place to go to. I love hearing the waves crash againt the shore. I like walking in the sand and the smell of the ocean. I get piece of mind when I am near any coastal area. The Beach is the place where I feel most comfortable, a place where I am calm. A place that's beautiful, in its own natural ways. The weather at the beach is the most quarreling of all... love it because it's relaxing fun and awesome. You can do so much like swim,tan,play sports on the beach. You can fish, walk or just watch the ocean. It's awesome, I can't wait for summer!
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