Art vs. Poetry :: essays research papers fc

Could I be an artist? I always thought I had some flare for the arts. I’ve always been considered a creative person. I decided to put my creativity to a different use, however. I opted for a career in helping others get the most out of their careers. Tonight will be my testimony to helping the real artists get recognized. Tonight is Gallery Night.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  The weather station did not indicate anything about rain this evening. So, of course, I did not prepare for such a downpour. My lack of preparation has left me with matted, soaking wet hair and my old gym sneakers that I keep in my trunk- rather than the cute brown pumps I started out in that blended perfectly with my skirt. Now, I’m just a mess and look completely unprofessional for Gallery Night. My Public Relations firm has been organizing this event for the past month. Tonight is a big deal. I can’t believe how awful I look for such a high-profile and anticipated night.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Regardless of my appearance, I shook hands, exchanged stories, and matched wits with clients and colleagues all evening. Everyone walked around the room observing the various artistic pieces contributed by numerous â€Å"starting-out† artists. People were being drawn to those certain pieces that caught their immediate attention. One painting that I was fascinated by was vibrantly colored - almost like a comic book. It was a bright red heart with a silver and blue sword piercing it from above. There was a hand clenching the sword’s fore grip. The part of this particular painting that really struck me was the faintly illustrated couple dancing on the blade of the sword, as if the blade were a mirror. Overall, I was amazed at the use of color, defined lines, and emotion that this artist conveyed in his painting. The wall adjacent to me was full of photographs; some were full color, some in sepia, and others black and white. I glanced at this middle-aged woman, dripping in pearls and cashmere, who had one hand on her heart, and the other held her complimentary champagne close to her body as she stared at this one photograph, a black and white photo of a single muddy footprint. I was astounded at how in awe she appeared to be, almost as if she could burst into tears at any moment. I had to know what she saw in this photograph that had her so awestricken.