hernameisnoelle
New Member
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2010
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- Female
- HSC
- 2012
I wrote this when I was in Year 10 and I was wondering, would this kind of writing get me a good mark for that?
Life’s Masterpiece
On a table I lay silently, faced before a blank canvas. Beside me are splodges of paint that were smeared across an old wooden palette like iridescent wild flowers inexplicably growing on dry land. The artist who resides in this studio has made at least 6 billion masterpieces and oftentimes, He is what they call The Creator. Out of all the paintings I’ve seen, I could never recall seeing the same one. They were especially diverse and bold; beautiful in their own way. After He finishes with one, I stare at it vividly as it gradually comes to life. Flicking through a big book filled with no less than 800 pages, The Creator mutters to Himself.
“Ah, there we go.”
He continues, reading aloud the words that were printed on aged parchment that seemed like thousands of years old.
“Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me written in your book before one of them came to be. Psalm 139:16.”
He writes it down on pieces of paper, sticking it behind every canvas. What did those words mean? I see Him walk towards the easel, with the blank canvas. The Creator is ready to paint another picture, I can tell. He clutches the tubes of paint in his hand and squeezes them out onto the palette. The paint brightly shone under the light; grabbing me by the handle, He dips me into a bath of multiple colours. Whilst holding me in His hand, he looks at the canvas as if He was planning everything out. In a blink of an eye, He presses me against the canvas, beginning another work of art.
Everything He paints usually goes from the middle and outwards. But this time, it’s different. On the corners, He brushes me onto the canvas and uses various strokes. Different mixtures of paint were used but then again, they are always unique. I am amazed of all the ideas that could come from this single man. With this man’s imagination, anything is possible.
Almost finished with the first quarter of His painting, He smiles and blithely continues the big and messy strokes that he created. You can see the content in His face, not caring about what the outcome of this particular section of the painting. The acrylic was drying on the canvas and I could see Him stare at it with pride. Again, He turned the pages on his big book and read some more words out loud; as He spoke He had a massive grin on His face.
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
It was as if His inspiration came from this book; as if this makes Him more alive and it looks as if it makes Him much more joyful. The Creator is always like this every single time He reads through this book which is basically every time he makes something.
Progressing onto the next quarter of the painting, He clutches me with his firm hold. As He brushes me on the canvas, it could be seen that He looked concerned. Quickly, He keeps on painting and the hairs on my tip are getting ruined. Never has He looked so worried before. He rests for a while and leaves me on the table next to the palette and the palette had all the colours mixed together. I see the painting and that section He just painted seems all much of a blur but some things in the painting were certain. He clasps a tube of dark red paint in his hand, labelled ‘Vermillion Red’ and forces the dyes to come out. He takes me and dips me in the paint almost as dark as blood, and sweeps a dark red heart on the painting. And again, he goes to His book for motivation and as always, He reads it out loud.
“Children, obey your parents because you belong to the Lord, for this is the right thing to do. ‘Honour your father and mother.' This is the first commandment with a promise: If you honour your father and mother, things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on the earth.”
Resting for one more time, He lies down and closes His eyes. He’s probably thinking of what to paint the next section. After a couple of minutes, He gets up with the look of exhaust on His face. The wrinkles were increasing but despite all that, He still has the energy to keep going.
Three quarters of the way, He was almost done with His painting. He used both dull and bright colours. Like there were things good and bad. Everything was much clearer and I understood everything about that part of the painting. It symbolised knowledge and the acknowledgement of all things. The strokes that could be seen on the third quarter on the canvas were simply amazing; it consisted of big strokes, little strokes but altogether, it was extremely detailed. He takes the ribbon out from in between the pages of the book and exclaims,
“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”
This time, He keeps on going. Minimum amount of bright colours were used for this last part of the painting. The colours looked grim and dull. Clinching onto his pencil, he draws a cross at the top with yellow light around it. Dark clouds like shades of grey and black occupied the right most part of the canvas. He was excited that he was almost done with the painting but at the same time, He felt sad that it was all coming to an end. Reaching that bottom right hand corner, with the last stroke, it was finished.
“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”
He sways to the table with his book and puts his hands together like it was an old ritual. I could hear him utter words that were unintelligible, similar to a chant. It was beautiful. Another masterpiece was finished. Then, He takes out another canvas…
Any tips would be much appreciated.
Life’s Masterpiece
On a table I lay silently, faced before a blank canvas. Beside me are splodges of paint that were smeared across an old wooden palette like iridescent wild flowers inexplicably growing on dry land. The artist who resides in this studio has made at least 6 billion masterpieces and oftentimes, He is what they call The Creator. Out of all the paintings I’ve seen, I could never recall seeing the same one. They were especially diverse and bold; beautiful in their own way. After He finishes with one, I stare at it vividly as it gradually comes to life. Flicking through a big book filled with no less than 800 pages, The Creator mutters to Himself.
“Ah, there we go.”
He continues, reading aloud the words that were printed on aged parchment that seemed like thousands of years old.
“Your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me written in your book before one of them came to be. Psalm 139:16.”
He writes it down on pieces of paper, sticking it behind every canvas. What did those words mean? I see Him walk towards the easel, with the blank canvas. The Creator is ready to paint another picture, I can tell. He clutches the tubes of paint in his hand and squeezes them out onto the palette. The paint brightly shone under the light; grabbing me by the handle, He dips me into a bath of multiple colours. Whilst holding me in His hand, he looks at the canvas as if He was planning everything out. In a blink of an eye, He presses me against the canvas, beginning another work of art.
Everything He paints usually goes from the middle and outwards. But this time, it’s different. On the corners, He brushes me onto the canvas and uses various strokes. Different mixtures of paint were used but then again, they are always unique. I am amazed of all the ideas that could come from this single man. With this man’s imagination, anything is possible.
Almost finished with the first quarter of His painting, He smiles and blithely continues the big and messy strokes that he created. You can see the content in His face, not caring about what the outcome of this particular section of the painting. The acrylic was drying on the canvas and I could see Him stare at it with pride. Again, He turned the pages on his big book and read some more words out loud; as He spoke He had a massive grin on His face.
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
It was as if His inspiration came from this book; as if this makes Him more alive and it looks as if it makes Him much more joyful. The Creator is always like this every single time He reads through this book which is basically every time he makes something.
Progressing onto the next quarter of the painting, He clutches me with his firm hold. As He brushes me on the canvas, it could be seen that He looked concerned. Quickly, He keeps on painting and the hairs on my tip are getting ruined. Never has He looked so worried before. He rests for a while and leaves me on the table next to the palette and the palette had all the colours mixed together. I see the painting and that section He just painted seems all much of a blur but some things in the painting were certain. He clasps a tube of dark red paint in his hand, labelled ‘Vermillion Red’ and forces the dyes to come out. He takes me and dips me in the paint almost as dark as blood, and sweeps a dark red heart on the painting. And again, he goes to His book for motivation and as always, He reads it out loud.
“Children, obey your parents because you belong to the Lord, for this is the right thing to do. ‘Honour your father and mother.' This is the first commandment with a promise: If you honour your father and mother, things will go well for you, and you will have a long life on the earth.”
Resting for one more time, He lies down and closes His eyes. He’s probably thinking of what to paint the next section. After a couple of minutes, He gets up with the look of exhaust on His face. The wrinkles were increasing but despite all that, He still has the energy to keep going.
Three quarters of the way, He was almost done with His painting. He used both dull and bright colours. Like there were things good and bad. Everything was much clearer and I understood everything about that part of the painting. It symbolised knowledge and the acknowledgement of all things. The strokes that could be seen on the third quarter on the canvas were simply amazing; it consisted of big strokes, little strokes but altogether, it was extremely detailed. He takes the ribbon out from in between the pages of the book and exclaims,
“Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”
This time, He keeps on going. Minimum amount of bright colours were used for this last part of the painting. The colours looked grim and dull. Clinching onto his pencil, he draws a cross at the top with yellow light around it. Dark clouds like shades of grey and black occupied the right most part of the canvas. He was excited that he was almost done with the painting but at the same time, He felt sad that it was all coming to an end. Reaching that bottom right hand corner, with the last stroke, it was finished.
“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”
He sways to the table with his book and puts his hands together like it was an old ritual. I could hear him utter words that were unintelligible, similar to a chant. It was beautiful. Another masterpiece was finished. Then, He takes out another canvas…
Any tips would be much appreciated.
