Write a visual portrait of your person. Imagine you're a painter and you're going to pose your person for a portrait. Where do you put them? What props, specific details are there? What are they wearing? Pose? Facial expression? What style is it painted in? Van Gogh? Rembrant? De Kooning? Bacon?
You really have to understand the subject to paint a good portrait. Do it with words, using only external description. Don't say she's sad, say she's looking down at her feet away from the viewer. Visual clues!
Here's the address of the hip-hop portraits we saw today: http://www.npg.si.edu/exhibit/recognize/paintings.html
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I asked David to sit by the window so that there would be natural light instead artificial, facing a mirror so that I could capture his strong cheek bones from the right side of his profile and the front of his face.
I told him to think about something in his life that had brought him great sadness, I could tell as he began to think because his eyes were so glossy like glass that you could reach through and touch his soul, then tears began to fall but as he sat there on the cold hard wooden floor he never raised a hand and wiped a tear.
The tears began to run down his cheeks and neck barely missing the rose petal tattoo continuing along his freshly waxed bare chest.
With his long legs stretched out across the dusty wooden floor and crossed at the ankles the tears pooled into his lap.
I will paint a puddle of tears on his lap although you cannot see them because the only piece of clothing he is wearing are white linen pants against his dark chocolate covered body.
As I am painting David I notice that that he is propped on his hand with all four and a half fingers spread out and the finger that is missing the tip is gently tapping on the floor but there is no sound from his fingers just from the tree outside the window with brown branches and green leaves softly swaying from side to side we can feel the wind against our skin eventually drying the tears that David had shed.
He never said a word I never asked him what he was thinking about he just continued to sit in the same exact spot. Not even a flinch in his eyes or the use of his tongue to moisten his pink lips not even a scratch to his perfectly curly hair just the same glossy look in his eyes minus the tears.
Peter Frost
This wasn't going anywhere. No matter how many times I told Mike to sit still, he would just give a childlike smile which indicated that he was coming up with another childish prank to annoy me with. But who could blame him? He looked like one of the damn lost boys.
He finally sits still. His long hair is brushed from his eyes but he always would play with it to keep it scruffy. I don't think it's been kempt for days now. He wears a handmedown shirt, probably one of his father's track shirts from the 70's, to which Mike takes great pride in wearing such a "vintage" item. His bluejeans are filled with holes that are crudely closed pinned and on his feet are ankle socks that don't match color wise. Covering these socks would be his new bought nike skater shoes that are always untied.
The portrait itself is coming out nicely. He's been still for five minutes, a miracle itself. All of a sudden he's found a new toy on the floor. His newfound friend is a rubberband which he wastes no time aiming at my face and firing without hesitation. He hits the target and grins. He gets up and sits back down and plays with it aiming at random things around the room.
I finished and he thanked me. He apologized for being annoying, and he left with the rubberband held tight in his hand
I told Nick to come over to my house so I could make a portrait of him. When he got to the house he had his usual unhappy look on his face. I told him to follow me into my room so I could start the painting.
He sat in the corner leaning up against the wall. By doing this there were shadows cast over him and not much light. He also had on dark clothes that matched his long dark hair. There is a dying plant on his right side. Like the plant, Nick had a dead look over his face. He has one hand on his face covering part of a cut he suffered when he fell off his bike. Before I finished the painting I covered his hand with blood, and dripped blood down his face. The painting had a dark style to it and looked very impressive.
While I was painting he was mumbling, but we never said anything to each other.He kept still the entire time until I told him I had finished. As soon as I finished he got up and left the house.
Taylor Bearden
**BTW I don't know if the way I wrote it was all right, but I like it so I hope you do too. I didn't take it as I was telling him what to do. I took it as a memory I had in my head of what this boy was like in person.
The living room was unoccupied unlike on a normal day. There are empty chip bags as well as coke cans all over the end and coffee tables. The couch cushions are indented from all the people that had sat for hours at a time.
There is a young man, Beau, sunk into one of the many holes. His feet are on the coffee table, separating the coke cans just enough to make room. You can see the small toe coming out of the left sock and a heel poking out of the other. Grass is sprinkled all over his ankles and calves. The same grass samples on his legs are on his shorts, originally tan, yet today is a special day they have turned some what green.
He was leaning on the left arm rest his shirt coming up on one side showing his Christmas boxers. Yet, the sun shining in his eyes causing him to squint a bit shows a nice summer day. His shirt was a light red. (Perhaps his shorts turning green and his shirt red inspired him to wear Christmas underwear) The shirt has holes all over the bottom of it. Sweat stains were more than visible around the neck and chest area.
His lips perched together and his brows lowered. His eyes were small yet there was concentration in them as he stared at the television. His hands are both attached to a white controller, his thumbs over 2 different buttons. The arms seem almost robotic in the position, yet his shoulders were slouched and relaxed. Hair strands are sticking up in every way thought of. Some of which are even sticking to the hot, white leather couch.
Ngoc Huynh
"Why in the world am I doing this right now?" he asks annoyed. As I stare aimlessly, trying to come up with a descent pose, I immediately get distracted from the distinct smell of strong tobacco of a lit Marlboro Menthol cigarette dangling from his lazy fingers. After irresponsibly tossing the disgusting cigarette to the ground, he moves his black DC hat to the side, sags his Roca Wear jeans a little more, and carelessly kicks off his brand new white G-Nikes. Slouching on the black leather sofa, he takes out his trio and begins to text. His eyes are glued to the screen of his phone; a slanted smile appears and his creepy dagger tooth sticks out so far that one can spot it from ten feet away.
Knowing that I could not get him to pose properly, I figure that I should just start painting. I begin with his face. His thick black eyebrows awkwardly turned inwards, lazy small dark brown eyes gazing in the other direction, tightly closed mouth covered by his thin crooked mustache was pretty easy to draw.
As I continue to sketch his clear forehead, I notice a small scar smack dab in the middle. After wards,I decided to outline his athletic body. His muscular arms were kind of hard to sketch, however, his pudgy beer belly that noticeably stuck out of his white muscle shirt was not a challenge at all. His long silver dog tags hang low right before the belly of beer. Next was the typical generic Gucci belt of course that are pointless since he wears his jeans at his knees. His silly monkey boxers sag out slightly overlapping his $10 belt. The faded dark wash jeans were next to sketch; His dark wash jeans were challenging to sketch because they were all scrunched up at the bottom of his ankles. As soon as I thought I was finished, I was still missing some finishing touches: the shiny sticker on the tongue of his DC hat, his rigid uneven side burns, his flashy fake diamond studs, three scratches on his right arm, and a hole the size of a quarter in his left sock, revealing a repulsive ingrown toe nail. "You Hungryyy??" he asks impatiently. "Want some Mcidies?"
As I finish up the sketch, I sign my name in the bottom right hand corner and flip the drawing towards him. "That's tight, now let's go."
Only taking one quick glance at my masterpiece, he didn't even notice the words at the bottom.."To my awesome big brother, Phu Huynh.
Kirsten McDowell
He sits cigarette in hand, slouching, with his head cocked to the side. There is a mischievious smirk taped across his face. As he stairs right back at me, I can see the sarcastic joke rising up in his throat. The smirk turns to a grin and the grin to a huge smile plastered from one side of his face to the other. He wants to say it but for some reason refrains.
Suddenly his eyes glaze over as they rotate toward the picture on the mantal. His head wilts and now his glassy eyes just staire down towards the floor.
Knowingly I just sit, wait, and watch him, as he thinks to himself. Finally, he stands, reaches for the picture, and slumps back onto the once floral patterened but now raggy stained couch. As he collapses onto the couch, picture in one hand and cigarette in the other he doesn't move, doesn't talk, almost doesn't breathe.
He never speaks of the pain he is feeling and has felt for so many years. He feels he is strong and does not need the sympathy of others. But, the one tear that rolls down his cheek speaks for him.
Benjamin Pham
I asked cynthia to sit on my sofa as I hopelessly tried to paint a portrant of her. She sits anxiously, and texting rapidly on her recently purchased phone. In her blue abercrombie shirt, and rock and republic jeans, she asked me repeatly "do i look good enough?" I replied "yes" over and over til she's satisfied.
Her eyes have bags under it from what seems like a late night of drinking with her friends. Her arm has a distinct scar which originally came from her childhood falling off a bed. Her hair was black, but with a hint of blue was easily seen when the sun reflecting off of it. She looks dead at me with her hazel eyes, and seems impatient, and wonders what i needed this for. As i try to capture the perfect angle, she moves once again, going to the bathroom to check if she looks good enough. I did not have time for this, and i was becoming impatient myself.
I then told her it would not take long, and she apologized and sat still. With legs crossed, and arms to the side, this was the perfect portrait. As i started to paint, she started asking me questions, and would not seem to shut up. It was coming out nicely, and i captured her perfect expression, the innocent face, but dead body motion it seemed like. After a while, i told her i was done, and she anxiously ran to the portrait. To my amusement, she thought she looked ugly, but i assured her that she looked great. With that she left, and i thanked her, which she replied "no problem, anytime"
Kayla Mason
One Saturday morning in July I was enjoying the sound of the waves crashing into the sand as my family and I enjoyed a vacation to the beach. Sitting next to me in a pink striped beach chair was my cousin Tina. Not knowing that i was watching her every movement and expression, I got out my sketch pad and began to paint her.
I began with her long glissering brown hair that was blowing in the wind coming from the ocean breeze. Her big brown eyes were covered by huge black Gucci sunglasses and she had a smile from ear to ear as she watched her son splashing in the waves. I then beagn to draw her blue and green tropical bathing suit that she was sporting that day in the sun. Next to paint were her french-tiped nails that were holding her People magazine in one hand and a strawberry daiquiri in the other. Her tan legs were covered in sand and the only part that showed were her chiped pink toenails that were wiggling as she sat there. After putting the finaly touches to the painting I decided to show the family my artwork! Amazed at what I had captured they all praised my good work and I felt that my job there was done!
Bianca Day
"Hey, so um I need a huge favor like usual." In response...."I'll be right over!" Amanda walks through the door and is up for anything. I let her know I will be painting a portrait of her. Amanda's face told me she really was not up to just anything. I suggest going somewhere to do this to make this more fun than work. Amanda walks to the car looking at her phone the ENTIRE time and the whole ride to the lake front. Maybe she had better things to do? Who knows, but she still came.
Sarcastically she smiled as if she was enjoying this. I laughed which lightened up her mood. Thank you! Finally! She laughed. Out of the bad mood possibly?
I told her I would paint the portrait wherever she wanted. We walked to the swings where families usually go on Saturdays. It was a busy day, kids all around us. She fit in perfectly, nothing to worry about and no one to impress. Her hair up in a bun with a t-shirt and shorts on. The more she had made childish faces it made me realize she was relieving all of the stress from the day.
Emily Julian
There he was walking in the door after finishing his daily workouts for baseball. His hair was drenched in sweat, batting gloves hanging out of his back left pocket, and white pants full of rusty dirt.
As he drops his hat and bag, we sit down at the table together. I could tell by the look on his face that he was exhausted, but some part of him still brightly showed the passion he has for the game.
As he begins to tell me about his day at practice, I can tell there is something different in the way he's acting. It is almost as if he has too much to say but the right words just won't come to mind. I feel as though it's not the right time to ask. I'll just sit in the silence and continue my painting.
I made Cameron sit by the window to get the perfect lighting for the background. When he sat down I asked him to choose a pose himself. As expected he decided to do a pose that would show off his prideful biceps.
Giving a goofy face like he normally would, and pointing to his left arm biceps which was flexed, I began to paint. About three minutes into the picture Cameron got a little side tracked and started to slouch like he normally does. I tell him to stay that way because it seemed like a more natural picture and made it easier to fit him on the canvas. His long, dark hair was aggrivating me though because it covered up his face which made it very hard to paint. I asked him to take out his UFC hat and wear it so that i could paint his face.
The painting took what seemed like forever cause his clothes were similar to ones you would wear when working out. Thus, making putting ripples very essential due to its lack of detail. As I began to put in the shadows it was dark which made the shadows i initially applied move. I then grabbed a lamp and put it behind him. After enough conversations and distraction the portrait was finished.
Cameron looked at it with a big grin and thought he looked like a badass. He thanked me and we then put the portrait in his car to put on the wall for him to admire himself all day long.
Alexandria Cavaretta
He doesn't know that I'm doing a portrait of him. I mean i don't paint ever and Im in the bleachers at his first soccer game of the season. i went to support him.
He's shorter than most of the others, but by comparing him to the others he is in no way at a disadvantage by the looks of him. Every single muscel, that is visible, is showing; even from where I sit way in the bleachers. I'm so used to his body that none of what I see is new. He starts to run and I focus on his dark tanned calves that buldge at every move he makes. The way his muscels look as he does this reminds me of a panther's muscels look when they pounch apon their prey. His face is stern and focused and I know he has no other thoughts in his head except the ones that should be, "get the ball". It's a time out and he stops in the middle of the feild, the grass is green with dropplets of dew on the untouched spots of the field where the players have not trampled over yet, Jordan is bent over his hands are braced on his knees as he catches his breath. His whole body is glisening in the sun where the sun catches where the sweat droppels hang over his toned body. I again focus on his face and his he has sweat running down the sides of his face, eyes closed as he groups his thoughs about his next move as soon as the game restarts, and his hair slicked back from him running his hand through his hair and the sweat holding it back, and this is the portrait I capture on my canvas.
Chris Nelson
Chelsea doesn't realize that there is anyone else in the room with her. She is slouching on a couch with a laptop barely balancing on one leg. The rest of the living room is dark except for the glow of the TV that she isn't paying attention to. Her hair is wet, and she is wearing PJ's, obviously fresh out of the shower. The light from the laptop lights her somewhat frustrated face with a dim blue glow as she continues to play some silly game.
As a young man, round the age of eighteen lookin round the age of thirty two, entered the room i fell silent. He looked at me and i looked back at him, suddenly the awkward silence was abruptly ended by an uproar of lughter that was caused by nothing but friendship. Its my friend david who i used to be best friends with when i was in the sixth grade. I told him how i wanted to depict him playing guitar on top of the monkey bars because when i envisioned him thats what i envisioned. He climbed up on the monkey bars cursing as he bumped his knee and before i could even hand him the guitar he did a back flip off cackling on his way down. we had our laugh and i got him to climb back up. His long black hair was consuming almost as if it was a black hole to any common fair goer that may have been sucked in by its trance, however i was not. The brand new fender telecaster with its sunburst paint job reflecting in the sun was just as tantalizing as the hair, but i did not fumble with it. His odd arrayment of clothes started with a pair of capris that were once a pair of kakhi pants, then a tattered headband, a dirty pair of crocs, and his gleaming white chest (because he never wore his shirt)were almost subject to insanity, but i did not question him. This strange yet unique figure is unlike any like him yet i don't see him as most people today. I see a different David. When i look at david his long black hair transforms into a brown bowl cut. His breath taking telecaster fades away into a first act guitar that me and him built our lives around. His awkward fashion sense is blown out of the water by the old catholic school uniform we used to have to wear. Whenever i see david i see his innerchild that i remember so when i decided to portray him i decided to let the surrounding help do some of the speaking.
I debated long where I should paint my portrait of Sarah. Finally I decided the brightest room in the house would be perfect. I had her sitting somewhat relaxed in a small chair. Sarah was wearing her softball uniform, sometimes I feel like she lived in that thing. She had one leg crossed over the other as she leaned back a bit, angled in the chair. The support leg was resting on a ball bucket normally found on a softball field.
With her right elbow on the edge of the arm of the chair, she balanced a softball bat in her hand with the other end on the ground. I told her to smile, and of course she tried to look quite innocent. She needed to be more natural! I said I wanted a big more ‘fake’ smile. This fake smile fit perfectly with the overall picture. Sarah is not a big girl. She is not tall at all, but as she sat in the small chair it gave the effect that she was much larger then usual. From the look in her eyes you could tell she felt like she was in control, and she loved it.
Claire Dore
Rob and I were vactioning at the beach, and one early evening I painted him. He was posing in the sand by the water. He was standing facing me, just close enough to the water that the waves crashed into his ankles.
THe water was almosta carribean blue. The fading sunlight danced on the waves making them sparkle. As the sun was setting the sky had turned to a slight pink and orange, making his skin look even more golden.
He was wearing white swin trunks that said Billabong up the side and he was holding a skim board in his left hand. In the background there was a small sail boat with red sails. There were a few people throwing a frizbee in the water and a little boy, about the age of five, building a sandcastle in the sand.
People keep walking by looking interested in what we're doing, but the whold time his eyes never lose contact with mine. They're light brown, almost matching the few freckles on his face. It is so easy to get lost in his deep eyes, because it is as if they're always saying something. They're magical.
He never once stopped smiling. His teeth are perfectly aligned and they're all a pearly white. As I aint his body, every muscle is clearly outlined and formed, from his bicepts to his washboard abs. As I finish, I go back to his eyes, as if they're not done telling a story. I make a few finishing touches and hope I have captured them in the way they should be, and he winks at me.
As I was desperately searching for the perfect location to paint Michele’s portrait, I arrived at a small, rustic, rundown house, with 30 acres of green tall grass surrounding it. I felt like this setting was picture perfect and the best place that represented Michele. The old rustic looking house represents Michele’s not so picture perfect life, but on the other hand the open field represents Michele’s free spirit. As I proudly place Michele sitting down on the bare wood planks that rested flat by the broken front door. I could tell it was once intended to be a fancy porch, but many stormy and windy nights wore the paint off of the wood.
I told Michele, “Feel free to position yourself in a way that you will want others to picture you for the rest of your life.” As I was tediously organizing my materials, I slightly glanced up at Michele to how she was positioning herself. She was in the process of slightly angling herself to right while throwing her shoulders back. As I pronounced that I was ready to begin painting, she rapidly begins ripping her fingers throw her long, straight, recently died brown hair. As she gently places her bangs to the felt side, covered her eyebrow slightly, she exclaims that she is ready too.
When the time came to capture her face, her eyes caught my attention. The black eye shadow that surrounded her eye made her piercing blue eyes more pronounced and defined. As I was painting her over extended smile, her teeth glowed like a florescent white light in a dark room. Her fake tan, and glossy plump lips made her look like a model posing for a photo shoot. The royal purple dress that was torn in multiple place on the high neckline represented Michele represented a different side of Michele to others. The dress is a perfect example of Michele’s nonchalant characteristics. She was very pleased with the portrait and she told me that the portrait is the best representation of her.
Standing on her neighbor’s porch in Virginia is the last image of Katie I’ve seen recently. Katie was wearing shorts and an electric blue, low cut shirt and, like she always does, she has a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in her hand. Even though I don’t live anywhere near her anymore and don’t get to see her very often, she still looks the same as the last time we were together.
The first thing most people would notice about Katie are her huge boobs. She is short, which made her boobs look even bigger. No matter what she eats, she always stays thin. For as long as I’ve known her, she always had a toned, athletic body, even though she’s never played a sport in her life and definitely doesn’t work out.
She has a heart shaped face. Her hair is very thick always kept short and straight. Most of the time, her hair is put up in a short ponytail. The color of her hair is somewhere between dirty blonde and brown. Her brows are always very thin. Below her brows, she has large green eyes with very small, thin lashes. She has never liked her nose. She says it’s too big and has an ugly bump on the ridge. But most people don’t see what she is talking about. Her lips are thin and light pink. Her mouth, all together is very small.
Lisa Abel
Standing on her neighbor’s porch in Virginia is the last image of Katie I’ve seen recently. Katie was wearing shorts and an electric blue, low cut shirt and, like she always does, she has a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in her hand. Even though I don’t live anywhere near her anymore and don’t get to see her very often, she still looks the same as the last time we were together.
The first thing most people would notice about Katie are her huge boobs. She is short, which made her boobs look even bigger. No matter what she eats, she always stays thin. For as long as I’ve known her, she always had a toned, athletic body, even though she’s never played a sport in her life and definitely doesn’t work out.
She has a heart shaped face. Her hair is very thick always kept short and straight. Most of the time, her hair is put up in a short ponytail. The color of her hair is somewhere between dirty blonde and brown. Her brows are always very thin. Below her brows, she has large green eyes with very small, thin lashes. She has never liked her nose. She says it’s too big and has an ugly bump on the ridge. But most people don’t see what she is talking about. Her lips are thin and light pink. Her mouth, all together is very small.
Hannah Cavalier
I walked into Ashley's room. She's sitting on the floor, one leg folded indian style while the other is stright out. Her long brown hair is in a pony tail with a big red ribbon. She is wearing a t-shirt and soffees because she is about to be off to cheer practice. She is sloched over looking down with her squinty brown eyes into the computer screen. She is constantly fidgeting while singing to the music playing and looking at the T.V. every now and then. That's Ashley, she has everything going at once and can't stay in one place for more than five minutes.
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