The Painting

The Painting

In a dimly lit interrogation room Fra Pandolf frustratingly pleads his case.

…

“I am telling the truth; I do not know anything about the Duchess’ disappearance! I do not understand why it is me you are interrogating, when it should be the Duke you are interrogating. I did nothing wrong, I merely painted her, there was nothing sexual or criminal about it, she kept her clothes on and I kept my distance, and I certainly had nothing to do with her disappearance”. Fra Pandolf yelled in frustration.

“But you had a special bond with her?” the interrogator asked.

“No I did not, I was just her painter, nothing was special about our bond, it was purely professional”.

“Then why did the Duke accuse you of stealing her from him and leading her into adultery?”.

“Because he is delusional and jealous and it was this hateful jealousy that led the Duchess into her disappearance I believe… During our sessions, we talked and she told me that he was unbearable to live with and constantly judging her, accusing her of adultery, and not appreciating anything she ever did; nothing was good enough. Therefore, she came to me. She thought that a nice painting of her in a good light with a warm smile and some pretty clothes would cheer the Duke up and maybe ease his tormented soul and jealousy. She wanted to show him that it was him she loved, no one else. But alas… this was not the case. The painting sparked a jealousy so hatred, so strong that he tracked me down and tried to kill me. He believed we used these painting sessions to fool around behind his back and paint crude paintings. He was blind with rage. In reality, the Duchess came to me to have her painting done, because it was I who painted the other paintings the Duke own. By a mere coincidence, after the first session, she discovered I was pleasant to talk to and this was a place where she could get all her frustrations out without judgement and ridicule. This is why the painting to a little longer than normal to have finished and it was probably because of this that the Duke grew so enormously jealous. I have painted paintings of his former Duchesses and this was by far the longest I have spent on a painting, but it is also the best one, and I doubled as a shrink at the same time, so I could not have done it quicker. I am just sorry that it caused such turmoil in the mind and heart of the Duke, which led to the disappearance of the kind and sweet Duchess. But I did not have relations with her and I did not have anything to do with her disappearance. Rather I believe the Duke killed her in a jealous fit”. Fra Pandolf said.

“What evidence do you have to support this?” the interrogator asked.

“Because she told me that was what he had done with his former Duchesses” fra Pandolf replied.

…

After the interrogation, Fra Pandolf and an unnamed girl are sitting in the living room of Fra Pandolf’s home.

“Did they buy it?” the girl asked.

“I believe so, I lied to them about the Duke killing his former Duchesses like you told me to, and I gave a good rendition of just how terrible the Duke is and how horrible he made your life” Fra Pandolf said.

“Good, let us just hope the Duke gets what he deserves and then we can live in peace” she said.

“And then I can continue on the other painting of you without getting interrupted” Fra Pandolf said sensually.

Wordle

The collective unconscious of the class, based on the Exquisite Corpses...

"Slowly"

is the dominant mood...

Love of an Artist WG 8

Author: Poet

Notion: Love

Love of an Artist

Oh, I have asked myself over and over again.

Why did I marry thee, fool of all fools?

Thy love hast caused the hate that swallows me

Yet love so treach’rous that it besieged me

My misery is but a catamaran

On a relatively black and roaring sea

Oh, love thine absence is an endless drought

Love is not take and take from thy best friend

So why was that then thy primary thought

Didn’t I adore thine whims and weird sent’ments

A ventriloquist thou wanted to be

With a puppet looking a bit like me

It had my name because of love thou saidst -

Love complete? The ultimate disgrace!

T’was a humiliation beyond belief

In the cabaret, thou hadst great success

Thine act was all thou desiredst in this life

But love? – no I think ‘twas such a charade

Love is fickle as the wind in the feathers

Of the soaring eagle that graces the sky

Temporary like sun on a winter’s day

While thy slim bank account grew day by day

hath love like morning dew withered away

 

Reflections:

The notion of love is here dealt with as a poem. It is not intended to rhyme. The point of view is here the first person point of view that makes it very subjective. If it would have been an article in a newspaper in the news section, it would probably have focused on the success of the ventriloquist, his way to success and it would have been from the third person point of view that would endeavor to be objective and informative. The language would have been contemporary without such anachronistic terms like “thee” and “hath”. If the notion of love had been the focus in the article, it would perhaps been in the form of an essay which is a very broad genre that can be more or less objective.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author Function

Author Function: Scriptor

Notion: Fear

The girl licks her salty fingers whilst holding a now empty popcorn cup, and is now presented by an enormous pink fluff of candyfloss. As smoke surrounds the arena, three tall silhouettes enters.

She has never seen anything like them. Their faces are almost deformed; pale, with protruding eyes and gigantic mouths that curls up into a somewhat grotesque smile. She starts to feel her heart pounding fiercly in her chest. One of the creatures leans over to the other and smell a flower attached to his chest, but is instantly sprayed with water. The audience burst into laughter as the soaked clown chases the other around with a bat.

Exhausted, he stops right in front of her and for a second their eyes meet. His face has started to melt but still, he gives her a smile as he emit into a rattling laughter. Unable to control herself, she bursts into a scream. Her father unsuccessfully attempts to calm her down as she desperately tries to crawl under the bench. The laughter is still roaming in her head.

Her father grabs her firmly and he makes his way out of the crowd with the hysterical girl crying at his chest, leaving salt and candyfloss bits on his shirt.

Reflection

Academic function:

Had this text been written as an academic text, the form of the content would have been much more formal and objective. The topic of the text, namely fear of clowns (Coulrophobia), would have been approached in a more scientific sense along with substantiate sources and arguments for how and why such fear arises. Furthermore, such academic texts would not include first person narrative or short or simple sentences, but instead more complex, thorough sentences. Moreover, writers of academic texts tend to write in a passive voice when stating their points. The use of adjectives would be less and word contractions such can’t, could’ve, etc. would be left out (Even though they don't appear in this text). 

My First Duke

We stand before his last duchess

So young and beautiful, wearing

A steady gaze so loveless.

Why? I hear the duke is caring

And loving. I see it in his eyes;

A passionate love for her that appears

To have reached its demise,

dripping down in lonesome tears.

I see the curtain on the sides

Of the painting he loved so greatly.

His biggest love away he hides,

Making his passion gone so vainly.

May it be a desperate measure

To keep close his beloved treasure,

So others never grow affection

And risking between them, spiritual disconnection?

Perhaps the duke was in doubt

About her happiness for him and her.

Did he fear her bailing out

And therefore, turned insecure?

I am nothing like the young and pretty

Duchess. I can only hope to use my

Charm and be open and witty.

Anything to obstruct my bye bye.

To him and to others I will be happy and smile

So he never must be in fear.

I will make it worth his while

By him I will always be near.

Home Improvement

Again abused and hurt by all the people coming by

I have not done anything wrong, so why?

People come, people go; but the pain is still there

And I ask myself, is it really fair?

I have been at your service day and night

And I do not mean to be impolite..

But you do not treat me with respect

And on the inside I feel wrecked

You slam my doors because of your fights

And move my furniture around due to your sleepless nights

My issue is that I cannot move

You have built me this way

Now improve!

Nature

                                                           Ought I exist?

Author function: Prophet

Nature is a fickle thing. Our nature has left the actual nature that made our existence possible in a mutilated state, reduced from the role of sculptor and governor of landscapes to seclusion. Perhaps our nature is too tampered with by consciousness. Just imagine what could have been, and then look at what is. We tamper, as that is in our nature. What we perceive of as natural in modern society is largely a construct – although presented as natural, of course – having been sculpted, bred and cultivated for centuries to millennia. Select strains of vegetation, pets so inbred they suffer from birth, genetic modification, crops, meat for consumption, be it walking, flying or swimming; flora and fauna... It will all go soon enough as we redeem ourselves through our self-destruction, perhaps coded into us by a certain someone, and she as creator will begin her reclamation. The bill is overdue. Brace yourselves, as the currents shall rise to create new ripples throughout the landscape left for that which will supplant us. Rejoice in the face of oblivion!

Had I chosen the role of Troubadour, there would have been more rhythm and rhyme, the tone would also have been lighter, more ambiguous and contained sexual references. The nature of love, the love of nature. There’d have been a knight and a damsel in distress. And less absolute certainty.

Cats & Computers

My favorite kitten steadily proceeds my rotten giraffe

The final computer easily creates an obscene mom

Exquisite corpse

SENTENCE 1:
“Her green space station always farts a bad table”

SENTENCE 2:

“My dear ground zero slowly dies the horrific newspaper”