CPP Middle School Art Blog

Encouraging my students to write more and develop their creativity beyond the visual arts, I had them complete a writing assignment where they chose a famous painting and created a fictional story based on the evidence they found in the piece. These are a few of the results (this was my first time doing this assignment and I will be definitely making this a permanent part of my curriculum).

Creative Writing by Camrynn K. Based on Starry Night by VanGogh

The wind is howling and the clouds are swirling. The big cypress tree is swaying with the winds. Stars shine and glow through the moonlight. People stay in their houses and enjoy the scenery as the hill roll into the sky giving it shape. The sky swirls in and out with the stars and clouds. The town is peaceful in the silence as the wind rolls through, tucking daytime in and making everyone tired. The gentle swaying of the trees seems to be a song as the lights go in and out and the people in this starry town drift into a deep, deep sleep. Saying goodnight until morning comes, the stars fade, the wind slows, and the music of the swaying cypress trees dies down. In the distance a rooster crows saying “Goodnight starry town”.

Creative Writing by Lauren T. based on Starry Night by VanGogh

Far Away in a land no one knows of, there lived a village of children. The children were young the children were old, but all of the children loved their father. They listened to him and learned from him and helped him with his chores, hopping to gain bits of wisdom just from being at his side. The children loved each other and they loved their nature, they played in the fields and ran through the forest. Whenever a child didn’t love, they were thrown to cypress tree, where they vanished forever.

Sometimes there were children whose minds wandered to questions like, why are we here? Those children still loved so they stayed, but were forced to cover their curiosity. The father did not know these children, and some started his wisdom. Still, it was a happy older a safe haven from the awful world around it. The most beautiful was the night, she waited until all were in their bed and came out and danced through the sky. Few have seen her, the curious ones wondered what happened while they slept so they stayed up and watched the night, and the moon, and the stars put on a show.

Creative Writing by Lauren M. Based on Box Too Small by Karen Dahl

It was cloudy, rainy, and cold. This was typical for London though. I decided to make myself some oatmeal for breakfast. Going through the cupboards, I couldn’t find it. I started searching through the pantry. I moved aside a can of pumpkin, only to find the oatmeal. As I grabbed the food, something caught my eye. Something that brought back loads of childhood memories: a little green teapot.

We were seven; Dalia and I. We would set up one of those cheap plastic tables in her sugar-coated room. Then we’d open up her closet and pull out little mini chairs and stools for our “guests” to sit in. It was an elegant tea party, well, as elegant as two seven-year-old girls could make. And, I would always remember the big green tea pot sitting in the center of the table.

I missed Dalia. We had talked very little in the past few years. We both could’ve contacted each other, but didn’t. All I know is that we had slowly drifted apart. I wanted to patch up those big, gaping holes that were what we used to be. I grabbed the two cardboard boxes; one large and one small. Then I grabbed the teapot. I sat in my kitchen. The teapot didn’t quite fit the box. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t find another. Just as I was about to grab my car keys to buy a bigger box, I thought ‘Dalia was a free spirit.’ She would be amused by this. I took a pair of scissors, and carefully cut holes for the spout and handle to pole out. In the smaller box went a deck of cards; a game played at every one of our tea parties. On went the mail carrier. And my heart knew, that those big, gaping holes had been patched up again.

Creative Writing by Adyn U. Based on The Winter by Giuseppe Arcimboldo

I couldn't move. I was miserable. It was warm. Ever since summer had taken charge of the world, I'd been paralyzed. "Now Winter," she had exclaimed, "I like you just fine, but the animals don't. They can't find food when you put your snow on the ground." "But they can survive!" I interrupted, "They have survived when I have visited, some of the animals just sleep through it!" I exclaimed in exasperation. "Yes, but that causes Autumn to be stressed with all the animals eating and storing his crops for you. It is just better this way." she finished. "But---" I cried, but it was too late. Now I stand as old as a forest of old trees, waiting to be awakened.

I was in a deep slumber when I became aware of a rustling in the leaves, but it was a big rustle. I hope it is not a bear. They rub against me to scratch themselves. But no, it is not a bear, it's Spring and Autumn. They hurry and wrap a blanket made out of wheat around my shoulders. Autumn wraps fruit tied to a string around one of my branches. "Come on," Spring prompts, pulling Autumn away from his wrapping. "O Mighty Winter," they chant in unison, "king of the snow and cold, awaken! We bare you with gifts! A blanket woven with wheat, and new, fresh fruit! AWAKEN O'MIGHTY WINTER!" With that, the spell was broken and I collapsed on the floor of the forest.

"Hey, wake up Winter!" It was Autumn, shaking me awake. "C'mon! Spring is ready to go already." Groggily, I asked, "Go where, exactly?" "Well isn't it obvious?" Autumn answered, "Now we go to end Summer's tyranny!"

TO BE CONTINUED