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.
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.
The light and happy colour themes of the poster fit with the play’s genre. The catchline? I’m unapologetic about that one. It just had to be.
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.
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.
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.