All posts by ripley

Visual Art: Troilus, the Brave

This visual art is symbolic of how Troilus finds himself to be torn in act one; he is expected to maintain his strong and stable composure as a soldier, but on the inside, his desperate love for Cressida tears him apart.
This visual art is symbolic of how Troilus finds himself to be torn in act one; he is expected to maintain his strong and stable composure as a soldier, but on the inside, his desperate love for Cressida tears him apart.

The image of Troilus on the left is symbolic of the archetypical soldier that he is expected to be. The armour symbolizes strength, order, conformity, and illusion. The image of Troilus on the right, dressed in darker clothing to symbolize his woe, depicts the way he really feels while he is forced to wage war instead of profess his love to Cressida. His lack of armour represents the vulnerability that is a natural product of such intense emotions.

Visual Art: Cressida Fair

This visual art represents the idealistic way that Troilus thinks of Cressida before he learns of her infidelity. He worships her fair complexion, her cheeks, her lips, her face... He dreams only of her, and sees not her flaws.
This visual art represents the idealistic way that Troilus thinks of Cressida before he learns of her infidelity. He worships her fair complexion, her cheeks, her lips, her face… He dreams only of her, and sees not her flaws.

I chose to draw Cressida in a cloud to represent the way that she falls short of Troilus’ daydreams in real life. She is only so fair and pure to him since love is clouding his vision.

Movie Poster: Troilus and Cressida

My theatrical poster for Troilus and Cressida, in keeping with both the play's tragic genre and the two main plots (the romance and the war).
My theatrical poster for Troilus and Cressida, in keeping with both the play’s tragic genre and the two main plots (the romance and the war).

The rose is symbolic of the (failed) love between Troilus and Cressida, and the sword is symbolic of the Trojan War in which the story takes place. I chose red and black as accent colours: red for the rage, the blood, and the passionate love, and black for the death and suffering that occurs.

Sonnet: Tales from Calgary Transit

The grass has sprung, the air is light

Beneath the shelter we all sit

The bus is late; we huddle tight

While many cigarettes are lit.

 

Safe from the smoke, in my own seat,

I’m made aware of one man’s plight;

His voice, crude like an ape, doth bleat

As his own words provoke a fight:

 

”Where is this bus?” he yells aloud,

while startled others glance about.

For his impatience, he is proud:

he stands up, now, to curse the route.

 

I count the minutes as they pass,

But this man surely will not stop.

He paints himself to be an ass!

Oh, why cannot my seat be swapped?

 

And suddenly, his accent slows, as he draws breath, his own eyes wide;

He says, “I’m at the wrong stop, folks,” as from collective glares he hides.

Reading Week: The Sonnet

To study texts in solitude,

births tears anew in morning’s wake.

Since work doth not improve my mood,

I think I’d rather eat this cake.

 

To check my grades on d2L

would surely break my spirit strong.

My sober clicks land me in hell;

my study habits have been wrong.

 

And so, I promise to myself

My time shall not be turn’d to waste.

My head, it slams against against my shelf

I scold myself: “I must make haste!”

 

Though, three more tranquil days of freedom do, somewhat, console me;

for my green-eyed friends, but two remain—I’m smirking at their jealousy.