My Works

 “Bye grandma!” I call into the kitchen as I scramble to put my shoes on. “I’ll see you at the library later!”  “Katy, don’t you leave just yet.” She calls from the Den. "Where are you going anyway?”  “Jessica’s here,” I reply, making my way into the den where I find grandma with her easel set up in front of the big bay window. She’s been painting a lot lately, and she’s actually getting really good. Her current painting just looks like an amalgamation of greens, but I know she’s got a vision for it. She always tells me to “trust the process.”   “We're going to get breakfast with Sammy.” I tell her.   “When are you going to be at the library?” she asks me while dabbing her brush on the canvas.  “I’ll be there at three,” I reply. “We’re going to hang out for a while.’  “Two-thirty, I need help with these assignments.”  “Fine," I reply. “But you’d better have some good books for me today.”  “I might have a couple,” She replies, I can ...

Predetermined nouns I had to work with: (Clyde, Dani – New York – Radio, Gold, Umbrella)  “Generations’ Song”       It’s evening in Central Park. It’s quiet. It’s my favorite time to be here. It always has been. A time where the busy city almost stops to catch its breath. I’m sitting on a park bench nestled between two bright yellow and red Sugar Maples. A few yellow leaves dot the asphalt and grass beneath its reaching branches. It’s so perfect here. A few people walk some of the trails, and a hot dog vender is not too far off, but still, it’s quiet. The breeze rustles through the branches above me sending a few more leaves fluttering and dancing before they rest on the ground.       I remain on the park bench, lost in tranquility, watching as the yellow and red drizzle continues. I watch as my breath puffs in front of me and disperses into nothingness. I listen to the breeze swishing branches and rubbing leaves together. A new sound enters ...