Assignment
8
Author’s Note: The lesson covering assignment 8 discussed
proper scene structure. The correct order (according to my professor) for a
scene is to include the following elements in exactly this order: goal (the genesis for the scene), conflict,
disaster, emotion, thought, decision, and action. While I beg to differ with
the professor on this topic, academic success isn’t determined by disagreeing
with your professor (unless, of course, you are in a philosophy class). So,
here is my scene with the elements in the correct order. I got the idea for the
topic of the scene from a recent lecture in my art history class about the
treatment of women artists throughout history.
Grade Received: A
Piece
de Resistance
Lorelei
knew what she had to do, what she had to be:
the best sculptor in the art school. She was the first woman admitted to
the prestigious academy, and the Beaux Arts had only admitted her under the
pressures brought on by the changing societal zeitgeist. Society was now
demanding works by women artists and respect for them and their interpretations
of their thoughts, feelings, dreams, and environments, but the Beaux Arts
wasn’t feeling it.
Her
professors, some of the most respected artisans in the world, were certainly
highly displeased at having a lowly, stupid, incompetent woman in their midst.
“That
is childish! Have you learned nothing? Disgusting! Absolutely disgusting! Do it
again!” spat Monsieur Beauchamp, Lorelei’s human anatomy sculpting professor,
as he destroyed her clay model of the nude model reclining on the stage at the
front of the studio.
Lorelei
sighed in frustration at the looming prospect of sitting for hours upon end,
shaping and reshaping, squeezing and molding, working and reworking a large
block of clay alone in order to achieve what the establishment—her professors
and the academy—would consider “acceptable” or “great” art.
She
watched as her professor and the rest of her classmates at the art school—all
male, of course—filed out of the room as the class ended. She sat in
disappointed silence as the model redressed herself slowly and left. She was so
frustrated at the way she was being treated—how she was being dismissed and
ridiculed and disrespected and taught absolutely nothing because she was a
woman—a supposed non-entity, a non-human—like she didn’t have the worthy ideas
or creative insights that were constantly being praised when they manifested
mediocrely in her male classmates.
She
stared at the disfigured mound of clay that now sat in front of her. She grew
angry. I will show them what good art is, she thought with venomous
inspiration.
She
went to the supply room and selected a smooth, beautifully flawless chunk of
pink granite. She picked it up and smiled as the waning sunlight delicately
caressed the stone and made the gold flecks within it twinkle like stars in the
night sky.
She,
because she was merely an insignificant woman, was not allowed to sculpt in
stone the way her male classmates were. Her smile broadened as she felt the
cool contours of the block and recalled how her professor, Monsieur Beauchamp,
had expressly forbid everyone from
using this particular piece of granite because he was going to use it to create
the piece he had planned to submit to the Exhibition.
It’s
mine now, she thought to herself with a small laugh as she made her way to the
stage in the studio.
She
positioned the block of granite on a small wooden stool that she was careful to
place in the exact center of the stage. She knew she would be expelled from the
academy for this act of defiance, but she didn’t care.
This is art, she
thought gleefully as she positioned the chisel, raised the mallet above her
head, and struck the stone with a forceful blow.
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