Does Context Matter?

The context of any art showing or sale is always important. Where and when are vital aspects to viewing an art piece. It could be an art gallery that aims at selling art work, such as Wall Space. Or, it could be an art gallery aimed at simply showing art, such as the National Art Gallery. A piece at the National Art Gallery is not meant to be bought, therefore it is assumed it has been placed in exposition to generate forum. While inciting conversation and discussion about the art work, a piece in the NAG would also serve the purpose of educating people about the history of art. It is therefore a museum. A piece at Wall Space however is meant to be purchased, therefore when entering the gallery you a subconscious note is always maintained: "Do I like this painting? Enough so to buy it and put it in my living room?" Wall Space is a store. You could enter the gallery with the intention of only critiquing and discussing the art works composition but they will be, for the most part, influenced by consumeristic undertones. You may enter the National Art Gallery thinking about how a certain piece may look in your living room, but that sense of urgency to purchase something isn't there.

L'Egoiste // A response to author reading

Big man, standing tall, strong.
Monsieur, qui cache l'âme,
cowers from all truths.
Il s'échappe aux royaumes des perdus,
a land avoided by the souls of many, though enveloping many,
Avec la grande tête, il cherche.
He is constantly searching, what for?
La réponse demeure inconnue,
Carry on he must, otherwise all is lost,
Un tremblement de main le control,
he does not what to do, confidence lost.
Pourquoi, cela doit-il lui arrivé?
Panicking, he must alleviate the discomfort,
Il n'a qu'un choix,
Hands shaking he pulls out his companion,
C'est un miroir, encadré et bronze,
Meeting with the mirror his eyes are reassured.
La santé lui revient, l'admiration se résume,
"I am special, the center of this universe."

A Million Ways to Die in the West // Movie Review

I really enjoyed A Million Ways to Die in the West. It is a comedy taking place in the United States during the Heroic Era. The story follows a shepherd in the 'Wild West', where cowboys and bandits roam ramping, and search for love. While the plot and not overly stimulating, meaning it follows a very basic and simple path, the movie possesses many other factors that make it quite enjoyable. First of all it is filled with satirical content, exposing many truths about our current society. That would include our obsession with the vain, our obsession with medicine, racism, gender roles, stereotypes and much more. It also makes reference to various different pop culture symbols that add an extra bit of comedic value to it. In order to incite laughter the film deploys an array of methods, firstly it has the common punchline sense of humour, it uses a very crude and profane sense of humour (definitely not for those who are offended easily), it especially uses surrealism to create laughter. Many absurd situations present themselves and yet the characters pass them off as normal.  In terms of casting, the most notable was the use of Liam Neeson as a villain. Due to the seriousness of his portrayed persona the position of a heartless villain suits him much more that the role of a hero. Though crude and somewhat offensive for those who do not enjoy satire, it was very well done movie, gave me a good laugh. Watching it in a theatre also perpetuates the comedic value to the film. This is mainly due to the fact that laughter is somewhat contagious and therefore you would laugh more.

The Stranger ISU - Legitimate Secondary Sources

12.06.2014

Source Citation   (MLA 7^th Edition)

"Stranger." LawNow Aug.-Sept. 2000: 43-4. Canadian Periodicals Index Quarterly. Web. 12 June 2014.

Document URL
http://go.galegroup.com/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA30091881&v=2.1&u=otta35732&it=r&p=CPI&sw=w&asid=90fd19dd13a3f9db2f4368c46f3dd1aa

http://search.proquest.com.ezproxy.biblioottawalibrary.ca/docview/204495731/abstract?accountid=46526

http://eds.b.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.biblioottawalibrary.ca/conn/node104/786377/go.galegroup.com/ps/i.do?action=interpret&id=GALE|A217815769&v=2.1&u=otta35732&it=r&p=ITOF&sw=w&authCount=1

The Stranger ISU - Search

11.06.2014

-Looked for signs of absurdism and nihilism in Mr Mersault, in the story

The Stranger ISU - Debut

10.06.2014


-Finished reading the novel

-looked at various secondary sources to get ideas:

http://trace.tennessee.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1093&context=utk_chanhonoproj

http://alangullette.com/essays/lit/stranger.htm

http://chronicle.com/article/Camuss-Restless-Ghost/135874/

https://www.northampton.edu/Documents/Faculty/Harold%20Weiss/Existentialism/Camus%20absurd%282%29.pdf

King Duncan's Horoscope

You are kind in nature, trusting those around you very easily. Many people, notably those close to you, are loyal to you for that reason, though this innocent nature can sometimes result in challenges. Some may feel inclined to take advantage of you. You may have faced certain treacheries in the passed, you can however always count on those around you to protect you. Those who are most loyal will avenger any wrong doings towards you. It is still important to remain conscious of the possible intentions of those around you. Today is a day of grand possibility. Time will be spent with great friends. Your fate may not be in your own hands. Snakes rustle in the gardens before you. With your trusting nature you will be faced with challenge and deception regarding your health, as the day comes to an end. Proceed with caution.

I am loyal to my king. I would present any such information about things that could jeopardize his health and safety. It is the duty of the Royal Astrologer to inform the king of the upcoming possibilities so he can plan accordingly. How else could he rule a kingdom without omniscience? If I didn't warn king duncan that his health was at risk, I would be responsible for whatever happened. I would then be questioned as to whether I could have predicted his betrayal. I could then be accused for conspiring against him. The consequence for not warning my dear king would be far too great for me to ever consider not warning him.

The rain // Concrete Poem

Moist     drops     falling     to      the    ground.
   E            f             d         h         p          t
   l                            o         e         r           h
   a                           w                   o           e
   s                            n         l          s
   t              l              ,         a                      d
   i              i                        n         p           e
                  q                       d         e            p
                  u                                  r            r
                  i              r         t          i             i
   c              d            e         h         t             v
   i                             t         e          y            e
   t                             u        y                        d
   y                            r
   ,              p                       o          t              s
                  l                        r           h             o
                  u              n       i            e             i
                  m             i        g           y             l
   d             m             n       i                           s
   r              e              g       n           s            
   i              t                        a           t              d
   p                                      t            o             a
                                           e            l              m
                  t                        d            e             p
   p             i                         ,                           e
   i              n                                     f            
   n             g                        r            r              n
   g             ,                         e            o             i
                                            t             m            n
                                            u                           g
                                            r             t
                                                          h
                                            n             e
                                            i      
                                            n            y
                                            g            e
                                                          a
                                                          r
                                                       
                                                         n
                                                          i
                                                          n
                                                           g
                                                         

Dramatic Monologue

Never once have I wondered
About the things I have done. Never once have I considered

The consequences of my actions.

Could it be that I joined the wrong faction,

That I subscribed to incorrect virtue?

Upon my ponderings I’ve come to see what is true.

My wrong doings have learnt to control me,

To control all that I could possibly see.

It was due to a liquid,

A liquid potent enough to turn ones judgement frigid

To the world before them.

‘Sip after sip’ became the anthem

Of my days. I became unstoppable, nobody could help.

As the crater surrounding me grew, I continued to whelp.

Those caught within its radius

Were all lost as though it were a spontaneous

Event. My own blood isolated 

Me. It tore its way through my intoxicated

Veins, fleeing my system as though I were a parasite.

The only comfort I sought was that of my flask,

The only family a real man could ever ask

For. It remained my protector

When my sister passed at the age of twenty-four.

It made me forget the guilt. It comforted 

Me, when I learnt I was to her left when her soul departed,

When I learnt I was the cause of such a collision.

Such a liquid made my vision

Impervious to any pain of such magnitude.

I was invincible, I could conclude.

Upon my ponderings I’ve come to see what is true,

Pour me a glass sir, I require yet another sip of strength to add to my queue.

Personal Essay

The era of one’s childhood is a fleeting affair, time is too quick. It is the lingering taste of sweet orange juice, best served on the sunniest of days. If only another sip could settle the nostalgia. If only those pedestaled moments could be relived, for returning to their context presents no satisfaction. Trying to recreate the sensations, the sentiments, the warm wind that once caressed your pure skin is impossible. It has passed.

Closing the car door, the creak affirming its rusted presence, I looked up at a structure. It was a brick, surrounded by towering cedars. It was made of mortar and brick. It’s scattered green shingles shimmered in the suns rays. The cedars swayed, chanting in the breeze. As I inhaled the atmosphere before me, the soothing grass released its fresh cut fragrance deep into my nose. It was still I followed my mother, as would any timid primate being thrown into a new jungle. Hand in hand, she lead me across the gravel car lot, into that brick.

Beside me, she was standing. I could hear her words and the words of another I had yet to make eye contact with. Those noises were however, so distant, smothered by the white noise of a child’s perception. I was observing the other things. I supposed they were children. They did not behave as children did, they were loud, and rampant. They chased each other and screamed while constant liquid streamed from their nostrils. They could not have been children, they must have been spawn from some feral creature. I later learnt that they were children of the human domain, they became beings I associated with, boys I saw and spoke with everyday. 

Closing the car door, the door continued to creak. I looked up at a brick structure. It was my school. The early morning air was as soft and tender as always, the trees greener as their pigment was coated with the aqueous product of rain. I ran to my tribe, a culture I had become assimilated into. I ran with my tribe, chasing each other, back and forth, our petit feet was cradled by the open sands of our kingdom, our playground. Holes would be dug, castles built, wooden structures scaled and conquered. We were wild chimpanzees exploring the depths of juvenile capacities. Fights would be lost, fights would be won, rules were broken, friendships lost, games were always played. We evolved together, we learned together. United we conquered the shining vinyl halls of our elementary school and it’s mildew perfume. It was a moist fragrance that nobody spoke of, an odour developed over a half century of abuse and dodgy inspections. That was our universe, that was the universe.

Closing the car door, I look up at what was once my school. It was five years since the closing of the 50 year old school, but it had aged two hundred. Green shingles had littered the ground before the roof. The triangular roof’s pointy form had been dulled and caved in, at the corners. Even the sturdy walls trusted to once sheltered young children, had crumbled at the slightest movement of earth. Overgrowth was laying siege to it’s brick walls, trying to penetrate through the broken glass. The cracked bricks were tattered with greenery. Not a single soul could be seen within its perimeter, it was a carcass lost in the woods. Once a prosperous kingdom, now a scene from post apocalyptic Cormac Mccarthy’s ‘The Road.’ The playground we once played in was no more. Only dust and fern remained, the once open sands were gone. The magic we could once experience had disappeared. The trees no longer chanted their joy in the wind, the smell of sweet cedar had turned sour.

After returning to my elementary school for one final time, disappointed in what I had found, I swore I would never return. All that once was, was lost, it was no more. I had come to the realization that one could never return to the great eras of the past. It may feel real, it may seem as though it was experienced just yesterday, but it hasn’t. Perhaps, the past is best left in memory.

Light Analysis // Are There Any Questions?

Light being reflected by the shard of mirror that Dr. Papaderos had collected, can mean many things. The light can take on literal as well as figurative, metaphorical meanings. The mirror itself can reflect a message. Dr. Papaderos' intrigue with light and the mirror while using it to explain is answer to the 'meaning of life,' demonstrates that there is in fact symbolism in the light.

The Oxford Dictionary definition of light is: "the natural agent that stimulates sight and makes things visible." During Dr. Papaderos' childhood, he would reflect light into "deep holes and crevices and dark closets." In that instance he is literally illuminating dark places. He is seeing into dark places, or rather getting rid of darkness, which would surely comfort him as a child during the war. The definition of light has commonly connoted that the phenomenon of light is only the electromagnetic radiation that allow us to see the physical world. However, perhaps one should interpret the definition a little differently. 'A natural agent stimulating sight,' could mean a lot of things. Light could be something that allows one to see into the emotional or spiritual world. Dr. Papaderos mentioned that 'light' allowed him to see into the hearts of mean, "With what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world - in the hearts of men." In this case it would be a way for him to see aspects of the world for what it truly is.

The light can also be a representation of good. That representation has been used throughout history, countless religions use it ceremoniously. In Hinduism it is divine represents the goddess of prosperity. The Parsi people viewed fire, a form of light, as a representation of righteousness. There is also the internal principle of light which speaks of the constant battle between light and darkness. Dr. Papaderos' reflection of light would thus symbolize the spreading of goodness, purity, hope, etc, or rather what the good doctor said, "truth, understanding, knowledge," which emulates 'the good.' The spreading of light would mean that darkness, ignorance, hatred, etc are gone. The last sentence of Robert Fulghum's account, " And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk," implies that the Dr. is illuminating him, making Robert open to a new perspective and making him more knowledgeable. Perhaps it is also giving him hope that he could actually find a serious answer to his quest for the meaning of life.

Moreover, the concept of good, the content of light, is extremely subjective. If Dr. Papaderos said he wasn't the source of light but rather a medium for it's reflection, wouldn't that mean he is taking light from someone else and redirecting it? When a beam of light shines down onto something, illuminating it, and you place a mirror in the beam's line to redirect it, the original object becomes shrouded in darkness. As a boy, Dr. Papaderos would be so consumed with illuminating the dark places that he would have never noticed the fact he was making already bright places somewhat darker. That translates into the fact that the Dr. maybe be one too concerned with the fact that he should spread light, or rather his perception of what's good, that he can overlook the fact that others may have have their own values. Also, that while he is trying to incite good among the bad, he may be forgetting to continue shedding light on the already illuminated. In this case this case the light symbolizes ones values.

The Lamp at Noon // Atmosphere Created by Wind

The Lamp at Noon's personification of the wind is extremely effective at creating an atmosphere. The wind in the story accentuates the sense of conflict between husband and wife, Paul and Ellen. "There were two winds: the wind in flight, and the wind that pursued." such a description of the wind alludes to the dynamic of the couples relationship. This builds an atmosphere of tension, and pursuit.  While the severity of the wind proliferates, the sense of tension in the story increases. Furthermore, describing the wind as 'moaning wind' gives the impression that pain or some form of difficulty is surely present. Finally, as the story's atmosphere lightened and was reaching a resolve, the wind's gravity was reduced.

Myself as a Poem

The stubborn stare emanating from within his soul,

Gazing forward, great intent burning the world’s stores of coal

Wondering wonder, 

Searching, defeat’s aroma remains lurking,

Fearing the empowering scent of loss,

The olfactory sense poisoned by the spores of mold,

Nights, tossing, turning, have become cold

As rigid as stones from the peaks of stonehenge,

Lost within a perilous cycle,

He releases all but a cringe.

Literary Terms

• alliteration: Repetition of the same sound of words at the beginning of the word

• allusion: an expression designed to call something to mind without mentioning it explicitly; an indirect or passing reference.

• assonance: repetition of vowel sounds to create internal rhyming within phrases or sentences

• blank verse: poetry written in regular metrical but unrhymed lines

• couplet: two lines that rhyme and have the same meter.

• diction: the choice and use of words and phrases in speech or writing

• end rhyme: a rhyme that occurs in the end syllable of a verse

• enjambment: is incomplete syntax at the end of a line

• epic: is a lengthy narrative poem, ordinarily concerning a serious subject containing details of heroic deeds and events significant to a culture or nation.

• foot: a unit of metre, consisting of a combination of stressed and unstressed syllables

• meter: a unit of rhythm in poetry and is also called a foot

• ode: a lyric poem typically of elaborate or irregular metrical form and expressive of exalted or enthusiastic emotion.

• onomatopoeia: Words that similar to the sound they describe

• simile: a figure of speech involving the comparison of one thing with another thing of a different kind, used to make a description more emphatic or vivid

• stanza: any division or grouping of words in a poetic composition, with groupings traditionally having been referred to as stanzas. 

Response to Ozymandias

I really enjoyed the poem. Though I had to read it a couple times to really get a feeling for the atmosphere. Ozymandias presents a sort of myth, due to its ambiguous context. Nobody really knows if what it speaks of is true. It's just the story of an ancient statue in the middle of the desert. No context to the statue's construction is given, only a slight description and a reference to Ozymandias. It being vague like that allows the reader to really create their own story behind it all and take their own meaning from the it. It is a poem for everyone to read.

How to Read Ozymandias

Look at the poem’s title:
Looking strictly at the title, I figure the poem is perhaps about Ozymandias. Ozymandias could maybe be an person of social importance. The poem could be describing him, physically and/or psychologically, it could be describing his importance, or maybe difficulties he's encountered or difficulties he's created.

Check for understanding:

From what I could decipher, it seemed as though the poem spoke of a location. The location of a long lost sculpture, lost under thousands of grains of sand, the desert. It is perhaps marked by the remains of some of the pieces of the statue. Ozymandias was the sculpture's architect.

Look for patterns:

I noticed that the poem will physically describe the town, then it will describe the relic in a metaphorical manner, inciting an emotion with the image. The poem does this at the first part, then again when Ozymandias' quote is introduced. There is also some rhyming.

Look for changes:

Well at the beginning it goes from someone mentioning a lost artifact, to a quote of Ozymandias speaking.

Identify the narrator:

The narrator is an unknown traveller, or rather some bystander who just met a traveller.


Check for new understanding:

Ozymandias spoke of being the king of kings, perhaps the location of the statue he created is also the location of a lost town, or village that he once ruled. Why else would someone build a statue in the middle of the desert? Where would you get the marble? There must have been some form of settlement or something important in the area of that statue.

Find the crucial moments:

A crucial moment would be when the poem mentions 'a shattered visage lies'. This alludes to the fact that there was a statue that was built. Another important part, would be when Ozymandias says he is the king of kings, implying he is a leader of some nature.  'Look on my works,' implies that Ozymandias build whatever was buried in the sand. Another one would be how the poem quotes a plaque on the lost statue.

Consider form and function:

The poem uses rhyming to make it phonetically appealing. It uses enjambment on certain lines to keep a continues flow for certain ideas. 'King of Kings' is capitalized, putting an emphasize on that declaration.

Check for improved understanding:

Perhaps this story is not about Ozymandias at all. Perhaps, it is about whether or not one could believe what might be mythical. The poem gives no idea as to whether or not what this traveller claims is true. It presents no reaction from the narrator. It only speaks of this relic deep in the desert, and alludes to some context. The concept of a lost relic has a certain appeal, it is unknown, it evokes creativity and has a sense of myth.

Hills Like White Elephants Dialogue

'Are you sure? You don't look fine. We won't do this if you really don't want to,' he suggested with an air of concern.

'I know, I know,' she said. 'I just need to process it all.' Nervously, she smiled.

They both sat at the table looking deeply at each other. Gazing into each other's eyes, words were not necessary, at that moment they both understood each other. They had almost completely forgot about the scorching sun.

After that moment of intimacy, he said, 'Whatever happens, I'll always be right by you.'

As he felt her soul somewhat relax, she smiled with him, looking out the window.

'And I mean, given what we've already been through, this should be no problem,' he confessed, ' we've got this, you've got this.'

He cradled her nervous extremities. A moment passed while they overlooked the train platform, they could hear the tremble of a moving locomotive.

'Looks like our train is about here', her voice cracked mid sentence. Taking a deep breath, she said, ' I'm ready.'

He stood up first, looking at her intensely. He hoped he understood what she was about to go through. He knew it was going to be tough for her. He knew it would difficult for him to see her that way. He worried that he could not stay strong for her, because how could she remain solid, if he displays the utmost fragility at such an emotional situation. He braced himself.

They stood side by side at the edge of the platform, like a legion awaiting the first wave of an enemy invasion. 

‘You still fine?’ he asked, once again.

‘I think so,’ she declared, ‘I’m ready.’

The train entered the platform’s open arms. Despite declaring a sense of boldness, she felt in no way ready. It was a false declaration. She did not know how she would react to meeting her mother after their separation. She tried not to think of the possible ways her mother could react, such a contemplation would be far too much. After an eternity the train finally comes to a stop, she reminded herself to be strong, especially because her partner was a fragile specimen. The doors opened.

‘Alright let’s do this,’ she asserted, ‘ The letter said she would be in the third car.’

‘Okay, let’s go,’ he replied.

‘Why don’t we sit for a minute first?’ she asked.

‘ Are you sure you want to prolong the anticipation?, he replied, ‘I feel like that could make things worse.’

‘You’re probably right,’ she supposed, ‘I’m feeling a little light headed, I think it’s that drink.’

‘Alright...’ he was a little annoyed, ‘ You do realize that if we sit down, you’ll never be able to go over there. You don’t slow down before the finish line, do you?

She thought for a moment, knowing he was completely right. Emotion however, very often, finds a way to override logic. 

Taking a deep breath, she stated, ‘Let’s really do this.’

They walked down the train aisle and entered the third car.

The Address Reading Response

The Address is a short story following the first person narrative of Marga Minco. Taking place in the post Holocaust era, the story demonstrates the effects the war had on her. Her story doesn't go into detail about how she fared during the war, or the difficulties she would have encountered. It takes a more personal tone, explaining how being a fugitive, on the run, has affected her, without any account of her journey. The story speaks merely of nostalgia.

Returning to see relics of her past, it should be assumed the narrator was searching for some form of closure. However, once she found 46 Marconistraat, and entered, nostalgia struck. This was where her family's belonging's had been kept. She seemed to however feel relatively disappointed, as though rediscovering her past belongings should summon all that was once good.  I find I can greatly relate to this sentiment. I, like many people, try to find closure in various things, and I always seem to end up unsatisfied by the closure, or at least, not satisfied in the way I would expect. I figure this is due to the fact that I develop a vivid memory of how something made me feel, and how it affected me. This sets a certain precedent for how I should feel when I encounter it again. The problem is that I have evolved since my past experiences and so the things that made me feel a certain way, say five years ago, no longer have that same effect. I would assume that having experienced the war, the narrator would have obviously changed after going through that, making her past items a little less valuable sentimentally.

'But gradually everything had become normal again. There was bread which was steadily becoming lighter in colour.' This passage essentially says that the war had changed her perspective. It had perhaps made her apathetic to the world around her. Not being able to enjoy the world to the same extent, seeing everything as 'darker', could be compared to some form of clinical depression. It also implies that her view of material possession had changed, objects became less important. This reminded me of when I had good friend of mine killed in a car accident, a couple years. I went through a very similar period of darkness, and possible depression. The circumstances were obviously different, but i believe that they don't have to be to feel that way.

The whole story reminded of the details of grandfather experience through out the war. He was a Polish and Jewish citizen who was taken captive by Russians and brought to a syberian work camp. When he would recount the story he explained everything with a very disconnected tone, as though it didn't matter or it wasn't a substantially difficult experience. He was almost indifferent about it, as was the narrator in 'The Address'.

The Address Article Source Citation

Minco, Marga. "The address." TriQuarterly 78 (1990): 243+. General OneFile. Web. 24 Apr. 2014

Finding the source citation was very easy to find, however I could not find an actual copy of the article as easily.