Art vs. Poetry :: essays research papers fc

Could I be an artist? I always thought I had some flare for the arts. Ive always been considered a creative person. I decided to put my creative thinking to a different use, however. I opted for a career in dowery others get the most out of their careers. Tonight will be my tribute to helping the real artists get recognized. Tonight is Gallery Night.The weather situation did not indicate boththing about rain this evening. So, of course, I did not tog up for such a downpour. My lack of preparation has left me with matted, soaking affluent hair and my old gym sneakers that I keep in my trunk- sort of than the cute brown pumps I started out in that blended short with my skirt. Now, Im just a mess and look altogether unprofessional for Gallery Night. My Public Relations firm has been organizing this event for the ult month. Tonight is a big deal. I cant trust how awful I look for such a high-profile and anticipated night. disregarding of my appearance, I shook hands, exchange d stories, and matched wits with clients and colleagues all evening. Every unity walked around the direction observing the various artistic pieces contributed by numerous starting-out artists. People were be drawn to those certain pieces that caught their immediate attention. One painting that I was fascinate by was vibrantly colored - almost like a comic book. It was a bright red heart with a silver and blue leaf blade piercing it from above. There was a hand clenching the swords bow grip. The part of this particular painting that really struck me was the faintly illustrated equate 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 picture showgraphs 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 carcass 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.