Souviens-toi!
Graphite, charcoal (vine and compressed), white chalk on charcoal paper
Completed August 9, 2005
18'' x 24''

Here's one of my summer assignments for the AP studio art class I'll be taking this fall. This particular assignment was to create a still life from observation that includes a wide range of value and use of space (forground, middle ground, background). My drawing was inspired by a poem by one of my favorite writers.

--NOTE--The original piece was all done with traditional media, hence why I placed it in that category. However, the charcoal bits were being difficult and kept giving me a glare whenever I tried to take a picture. The picture I feel came out the best had a tiny glare on the vase, and I removed it with paint shop pro. I also added the black border with this program. I did the best I could to make it look not so obvious...hope it worked ><

Oh, and I AM aware that the roman numeral for the number 4 is actually IV rather than IIII...strangely enough it wasn't like that on the clock I used so I just decided to copy it even though it's wrong. Observation is a major part of any successful drawing, so I draw what I see.


The Clock

Frightening, impassive, sinister, the clock
Raises his finger like a threat: Remember!
Your heart becomes a target: griefs past number
Aimed at its quivering centre, strike and stick.

Pleasure evaporates: will disappear,
Fade like a dancer as the stage goes dark.
Your joys are rationed: each one leaves its mark:
Devours you, and diminishes your share.

Three thousand and six hundred times an hour
An insect voice reminds you like a rhyme:
'I'm now.' Then, 'I am once upon a time--
A filthy tube through which your life will pour.'

'Souviens-toi. Remember.' Unsparing! 'Esto memor.'
(My metal throat speaks all the languages)
'Don't lose your chance, and don't be frivolous.
Extract the gold; treat minutes like an ore.'

Time is a gambler who can't stop. Remember!
He always wins and doesn't need to cheat.
The gulf is thirsty; sands are running out;
Day fades. The night draws in. It is December.

The hours will strike: Chance, the Divinity,
Or Virtue, your distinguished virgin spouse,
Or even Remorse, the last room in the house,
--Or everything, will say: 'Too late now. Die!'

~Charles Baudelaire