Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Critique # 3

The Swing: A Critique
            Remember the swings, as a child?  How it always felt like you were flying and that you would never touch the ground? In Essence, that is what Fragonard captured in one of his masterpieces. In The Swing, Fragonard makes use of dramatic light, whimsical colors, and striking focal point to convey the feelings of child-like innocence and freedom.  The dramatic lighting of the sun and the playful colors of the entire painting emphasize the focal point of the striking woman in the piece.
            The dramatic lighting seems one of the most vital pieces to his composition.  For it is in one particular area, starting from the top left hand corner, going diagonal. It goes straight to the focal point, the woman on the swing and which adds to her emphasis. There also is the darkness surrounding the other figures, the men and in the trees. The lighting all together gives this surreal effect all together.
            What also add to the surreal effect would be the whimsical colors.  To some, it might seem just a lot of bright colors with some darkness. But notice how even the darkest areas, aren’t more tinted brown or black but rather more of a navy or deep sea green. The pale pink of the woman’s dress and the flowers underneath her tie the piece together.  All the playful colors add to the child like feel to it. Even though it’s clearly not a child’s perspective on the world, the colors bring the feel of innocence.
            Finally, the focal point is where everything boils down to, which would be the woman in the swing.  She is given a brighter, and more emphasized presence. Yet her position is casual with her expression care free and one shoe falling in the air. The lighting adds the almost ethereal feel to her, as if she is more at that point. This reflects what a child could perhaps feel or just going back to a place where things were simpler.
            This piece is clearly based in a reality.  Everything is possible or real. Yet the way he conveys such youth and innocence makes this piece more.  For it sort of could even be looked as a fantasy in a reality.   For what is to say that someone wouldn’t want to live in this sort of reality?  A reality where everything is real, but more.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Community Project

Reality and Fantasy are not preferable topics for this particular assignment. Yet, I decided to have a few students compose a free write based on a surrealist image. The very definition of surrealism is realistic images done in a fantastical or unrealistic way.  I chose a Rene Magritte image, and here our the compositions and the student are one heavily involved in arts and English classes.   I simply asked them to write whatever they wanted for however long they wanted but based upon the image.

"I think I've seen this image before but I'm not entirely sure. I enjoy illusions that take multiple glances to notice, like a lot of MC Esher pieces. The broken section of the horse in the center of the painting is the only spot that really seems to scream 'Hey, there's something wrong here!" I really love works like this" ( S.S)

"I've seen this picture before but I've never had to write about it. Its one of those impossible optical illusions because the layers are all messed up. I always see it in sections: a horse section, a sky section, a tree section, etc. Because the layer are impossible, the whole picture never adds up, even though you can tell what it should be: a man riding a horse in the forest." (D.G)

"The Violet Woman,
O My O My,
making her way through forest brush
on a horse of caramel color...

She is gone from sight,
Yet reappears all the same
On her steed she goes without rush
in her jacket of lavender...

Vanished, then here,
have I gone mad or am I tired?
She seems to be one with the forest Brush
on her horse of caramel colour.

With reigns in hands
She descends deeper in the wood,
only with a forest so dense and lush
does she travel on her stallion,
and they draw a certain allure

O my Oh my
She is gone again,
Riding with pride in the forest brush
on her brilliant mount of caramel color" (K.P)

Based on these response, I was surprised the responses I got were mostly literal. The poem though, was a bit more fantastical by actually creating a narrative. All of these make the image interesting in their own right.

Friday, May 13, 2011

20 Pieces of Literature

  1. Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller, America {1949}
  2. White Rabbit, by Jefferson Airplane, America {1966}
  3. Julias Ceaser, by William Shakesphere, England {1599}
  4. The House of the Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne, America {1851}
  5. Reservation Blues, Sherman Alexie, America {1995}
  6. Ceremony, by leslie Marmon Silko, America{1946}
  7. Shelter From the Storm, Bob Dylan, America {1975}
  8. Persona, Blue Man Group, America (After 2000?}
  9. Shadows Part2, Blue Man Group, America {See above}
  10. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens, England {1843}
  11. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens, England {1843}
  12. Light In August, William Faulkner, America {1932}
  13. The Tempest, William Shakesphere, England {1610-11}
  14. Ceremony in Death, J.D Rob, America {1997}
  15. Midnight Bayou, Nora Roberts, America {2002}
  16. Masque of the Red Death, Edgar Allen Poe, America {1842}
  17. The Raven, Edgar Allen Poe, America {1845}
  18. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey, America {1962}
  19. Lord of the Flies, William Golding, England {1954}
  20. The Chaser, John Collier,  England. {1975}

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The Five Excerpts of reality vs. Fantasy

1.  Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Caroll, England {1865}
"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds—the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep bells, and the Queen’s shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd-boy—and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamor of the busy farm-yard—while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle’s heavy sobs." 

2. The  Wonderful Wizard of Oz,  L. Frank Baum, America {1900}
"She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the little room. She sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran and opened the door.
The little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her, her eyes growing bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she saw.
The cyclone had set the house down very gently--for a cyclone--in the midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely patches of greensward all about, with stately trees bearing rich and luscious fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees and bushes. A little way off was a small brook, rushing and sparkling along between green banks, and murmuring in a voice very grateful to a little girl who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies."

3. Young Goodman Brown, Nathaniel Hawthorne, America, {1835}
"Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in the forest and only dreamed a wild dream of a witch-meeting?
Be it so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for young Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath day, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could not listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit with power and fervid eloquence, and, with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery unutterable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly at midnight, he shrank from the bosom of Faith; and at morning or eventide, when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowled and muttered to himself, and gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave a hoary corpse, followed by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grandchildren, a goodly procession, besides neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verse upon his tombstone, for his dying hour was gloom."

4.  Macbeth, Shakesphere, England, {1606}
Act 5, Scene 1
You see her eyes are open.
Ay, but their sense is shut.
What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands.
It is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.
Lady Macbeth
Yet here’s a spot.
Hark! She speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
Lady Macbeth
Out, damned spot! Out, I say!—One, two. Why, then, ’tis time to do ’t. Hell is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.
5. Dear Mr. Fantasy, Traffic, America {1967}
Dear Mister Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar
Make it snappy
You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had
We wouldn't have known you all these years

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Dialogue poem {an honest and heartfelt attempt}

Based on Don Giovanni by Alexander-Eariste Fragonard (1830-35)

He stared at the body
At first, alone and then;
He was not.
The presence was not deity
Nor was he quite certain what this was

He had thought he had been alone
Yet the being cried:
You are man
You wish not to face your actions

He pleaded in return:
I was in my own defense
I was swayed
My crime was not without reason

That is where you are wrong;
The other protested him,
You only give excuses for crime
And that is what makes accountable

You man, deserve no more
You kill each other and I go weary
The man tried again; but how
Can I only be represented by others?

Why do I not deserve a chance?
The being thought before looking
Only asking for one thing;
Then speak honest,

But if you lie, be warned man
That you shall know nothing but pain
So think of your reason well
What did you truly gain from his death?

The man thought long and hard
He finally said nothing
The being only shook its head
And the man was truly alone

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The Clear Line {Wavi short story, based on Alternative by Josephine Walls}

The breeze was cool yet the air was warm like spring. All around her the fauna and foliage bloomed with the vivid colors of spring. She had to be wary of her steps in these ruins. She had to avoid the rubble and sharp stones on her feet.  This place was peaceful and not morbid, if simply just a result of castle decay. No, this place brought content as she walked on the path.  Yet…up ahead she saw something, so vague but calling to her. It was just a mirror she realized, a simple object of glass and wooden frame. Yet she stepped closer and closer and what appeared to be simple solid glass let her pass through with the lift of her long skirt.  And then she was in the busy streets on the dim rainy day. Everyone trying to rush away, and ignoring her as they did so; which she found so odd. She was in a ball gown of light pink silk that seemed inappropriate to be in, even if she wasn’t so out of place in time. But no one even gave her a glance.  She walked down the streets, and as she looked in the shop windows, she looked into a place she had been before. The sunny, beautiful peaceful ruins she walked in, while she also walked in this dim, dreary rainy civilization. Yet something interrupted her in both existences, and bumped into her. And then, the alarm sounded.
            She woke with a groan of hatred towards the infernal machine that almost every household had on their nightstand. A wary hand lifted and slammed repeatedly on the alarm until it stopped making the racket.  She didn’t bother looking at a time.  She knew she was punishing herself by waking up at the ungodly hour almost every day. Her hand meandered around the nightstand grabbing a decorative journal and a simple pen with some bank logo on it, before beginning to record her dream, mumbling to herself “old castle…Victorian era…poofy dress”. Not many people knew that Sarah Gannon, a twenty-four year old nurse, kept of dream journal. Then again, many people didn’t know much about Sarah.
            They probably didn’t know that her bedroom was a dedication to fairy tales and fantasy with shelves stacked with books ranging from leather bound books to cheesy paperback novels, and decorated with glass figurine of fairies, dragons, and other mythical beings.  They wouldn’t be aware that Sarah got up every day at the cursed hour of 5 AM because it was the only time period she found where everyone in her apartment building was still asleep. And they most certainly did not know that Sarah strapped on a hook like prosthetic called a Cheetah on her stub of a left foot and got up to run three miles in athletic wear.
            It was mostly the fact she had no foot that was interesting. She always had hidden it well, even if it had taken years of neurotic and paranoid behaviors and habits to perfect. College had been an utter nightmare for she always had been the last one to fall asleep, and the first one to rise. She wore pants that were too long and never would Sarah be got dead in a flip flop or the extremely dreaded…peep-toe shoe.  What people knew about Sarah was fairly basic. They knew she was an average height for a woman, with a long wheat brown ponytail and gentle green eyes.  They knew that she had worked in her hospital for two years and with a lack of experience she made up for being extremely grounded, reliable, and just plain good at her job.  Perhaps a more observant coworker would know that she always had a book in her bag and she’d read during breaks in the nurses’ station, or that she always had a small treat for herself. A good friend and coworker would know Sarah had very nice, loving parents who were just and grounded and firmly believed in good business sense. They would perhaps also know that she had been close to her grandfather, a loving man as well but who would fill her life with fairy tales and dreams.
            Yet what Sarah knew was basic: She had no left foot, and she wouldn’t be getting it back anytime soon and that dreams were things that never came true. 
            She had passed by her usual stops in her run, and luckily the brisk morning gave her a nice thing to look forward to. When she ran, besides the thought of her pace and actually establishing it, she only thought of the pot of coffee that would be waiting for her when she got home. She made a turn down the street, finally pleased enough with her stride and hoping to keep her pace for the next few blocks. She would run to city hall, and then back to actually start her day. Ever since high school, Sarah had run three miles every day of her life. It was mostly for perhaps a very vain or very noble reason. She never wanted to be told that she couldn’t do something and she didn’t want her foot to have complete control of her entire life. So she ran, every day pushing her body as an act of pride so she knew to herself that she was worthy that day. Yet, today wanted to be different for Sarah and which would just end up pissing Sarah off.
            She passed through the street, and found herself passing by a shop and then stopping.  She literally stopped in her tracks and almost fell flat on her face because of it. The cheetah was known for a good running speed. It was not known for stopping.   So Sarah swore fluently at herself and then looking to see what she had been so interested in.  The entire store and inside was dark. Mostly likely because the shopkeeper of the establishment was an absolutely normal human being and wasn’t up at this hour. The stupid sign saying: Closed, stared at her in the face and she finally looked up at what did interest her.  It was a sign, by the name of Finn’s Treasure Chest. It was a rather ornate yet simple sign, clearly done in ornate fancy font of cursive that looked something you’d expect to find out of a medieval scroll.  She couldn’t see anything inside, not even some merchandise, which she found odd. Simply she had never known this place she ran by every day was even opening a shop. Now that she thought about it, she wondered what it had previously had been before. She couldn’t come up with an answer and the only thing she could do was simply stare. She had been about to give up on pondering about this shop. It was too early, and Sarah told herself she didn’t really care about this shop. It didn’t matter to her and it would just be something else she ran by in the morning.  And then, the dark window grew lighter, as what seemed to be a burst of red energy and fire shot through the window and nearly collided with her head had she not been naturally knocked back on her feet. Instinctively she shielded her eyes from the rain of glass and then the door suddenly opened.
            “Oh, my word, are you all right, Miss?” A smooth voice called with the soft Irish lilt. Dazed she looked up into a face she had not recognized. He looked almost foreign with his darkly tanned skin and slightly untamed mane of thick dark waves to his shoulders.  Wicked eyes looked into her, and with a touch much too gentle for a handsome yet intimidating face helped the stunned runner up, when he only gave a mild glance to her stub and prosthetic with mild amusement.  He was dressed in a sharp charcoal grey suit with a deep crimson tie and from the view she had, she noticed no-nonsense business man shoes.  Nothing about him made sense to Sarah as she tried to figure out what happened. Nothing made sense here, that day or anything in those next few seconds.
            “What was that…?” Sarah finally asked knowing the aftermath, and the effect yet not the cause.
            “Oh, well, it’s the strangest thing really” the man said folding his arms “You see I was walking through the store and I couldn’t find the light switch. So I accidently trip and my vases were up in the air and shattered the window”.  It was said with too much ease, but all ready Sarah saw fault in the logic. No vase could be possibly so strong enough to break a glass window. She looked down at the pile of shards littering the ground and there was nothing there that she saw that would resemble fire, such as red or yellow. No all of the shards were like diamonds and crystals littering the street.  He seemed to know she wouldn’t fall for it, but he gave no other excuse; just a calm smirk towards her, eyebrows raised with interest at this new person.  “Are you all right, Miss?” The man asked again.
            “Ah, yes, I’m fine, I think…” Sarah murmured “Your window….”
            “Will be replaced by noon” He said calmly “I’m glad you’re all right though, I do apologize for my clumsiness. My name is Erebus O’Terre, the owner of this fine, well once fine establishment”. With the flick of his wrist he had a business card that mirrored his sign almost. It read: Finn’s Treasure Chest: For all your bewitching needs. It had the address and phone of the business as well and it was all pretty and the like. Still though, Sarah stared at it as if it was a passage from the satanic bible.
            Sarah tucked it away, before realizing very quickly that he could see her leg. And Sarah did not like that.  She mumbled some excuse to leave, saying she was sorry about the window and hoped his business was a success. After that she bolted as fast as she could, away from this strange man and his even stranger shop.  While someone would have just brushed it off as a strange encounter to start of the day, Sarah thought deeper.   It had to be this sort of shop opening, and that strange sort of man who saw her at what she considered her most vulnerable state.   She ran all the way back home, not caring about her pace, that her left calf was on fire, or she had been rather rude to that man. Sarah didn’t care about all that; she just wanted to go back to safety; to start the rest of the day normally and begin her mundane life.  Even if she dreamed of fantasy, she was more comfortable in reality. Reality had its rules and its fundamentals.  There was no God or no Fate that had decided that she would miss that car that day. No, the rules of reality had known she was just a stupid kid who ran out into the road. She was a stupid kid who had tripped, at the right moment, and survived. Well, most of her had survived.
            With a thermos of sweet coffee in her hand she had made it into work on time.  She went to the nurses’ station as usual, and to the lockers, making a round around the entire place before changing into her daily uniform; a pair of light periwinkle blue scrub pants and close toe shoes but a light pink scrub with little fairies and sprites upon it.  She grabbed her folders and clipboards about patients she would meet, working in the clinic for people who needed treatment. It was always the same thing it seemed. There would always be one hypochondriac who insisted he or she had some incurable disease. There would be the teenage boy who had broken his arm while trying to become the next hit Youtube sensation, and the child who had the common cold but his over protective mother believing it was bird flu.   And her personal favorite, the business man who had some easily solved problem, but because he had to wait even an excruciating five minutes, he would complain about how the service was terrible and loudly voice these complaints much to the delight of the nurses.
            So was the day in the life of Sarah Gannon. She was hoping to further some point in her career but for now, she liked the clinic and even its undesirable patients.  The first few hours passed with no slip or problems besides the occasional error in technology.   At the reception she stood in the door way.  “Next, please” Sarah beckoned and she was handed the folder. She looked at the file in confusion at the letters on the page and didn’t recognize the name in any form.  Then a revelation came in the name and before she could realize it, she was looking at wicked eyes and the sleeve of his suit rolled up and blood trickling down his arm while he held something to try and catch the blood. He gave a pleasant smile but the look in his eyes gave it something entirely different in connotation.
            “Why, Hello Nurse” Erebus said calmly “Might we get started, my handkerchief is sadly not that porous”
            She said nothing but made a gesture for him to follow to a small doctor’s office.  She gave the usual questions (Any allergies, medication, health issues that should be known) as she began cleaning up the thin gash in his arms. It didn’t really look like it needed stitches or any more than a bandage and a disinfectant but she might have the doctor look at it anyway.  “What happened…” she asked finally looking up to him, noticing his gaze had been either direct eye contact or on the floor, amused by this entire process.
            “Well, nurse, you see that I was putting away more shelves while waiting for the repairman and would you not know it but I accidently bumped into the shelf and another vase fell off and a shard scraped my arm” Erebus said smiling a little towards her “Aye, I’ve been quite clumsy haven’t I?” Many things, Sarah could tell Erebus was.  Clumsy was not one of them, she knew for certain. And he seemed to know that she knew the truth. Once again though he really didn’t seem to care about that or the fact he was injured.  “I’m honestly a bit surprised I ran into you again. Fate must have plans for our encounter” He said easily.
            “I don’t believe in fate” She said quickly as she finally wrapped up his arm tightly.
            “What do you believe, Sarah Gannon?” He said watching her eyes widened as he casually gestured to her ID pass.
            “I’m not supposed to discuss religion”
            “Oh, come now, for the sake of conversation, and I said nothing about God. Don’t worry about your little doctor’s oath. I won’t tell. In fact, you aren’t even a doctor.” He finally mentioned and received a piercing gaze. 
            “I believe people decide what happens in life. There are only coincidences and lucky chances, and maybe one force or God above” Sarah finally answered, getting a tad annoyed with him.
            “But you don’t believe that, I read people very well” He retorted “But you like for other people to believe that you believe that. Well, thank you, its beautiful job”.   After paying for the bill at the front desk, saying no more than a goodbye to her, he left, going to only god knows where.  So there she was, standing there, looking at the clinic room, and in a less annoyed voice, calling for the next patient, before diving into work. The entire day he had been on her mind, and not in what would have been a hormonal way, which would have made any thoughts she had acceptable and explainable. But no, she was just plain bothered by him. No, that hadn’t been fate, Erebus O’Terre, as paranoid as she knew she sounded, had found out she was a nurse, faked an injury, and then waltzed in here like it was accident. It wasn’t any accident, Sarah was very well aware of this.
            Finally her shift was over and after carefully changing into the too long jeans, and a fairly basic tank with a butterfly fairy graphic on it; Sarah decided what she needed was a walk.  Her feet slapped along the ground, as she walked with her hands in her pockets and her mind in rather deep thoughts. She remembered when she had been able to go back to school, go back to her class after the incident…just to be made fun of. Oh, yes the kids saw her as the freak she was. Sarah had been stupid and her punishment for stupidity was never going to cease.
            The only one who had she felt had been at her side, had been her family. Her parents were perfectly supportive, and remained strong through the entire process.  Her grandfather though, it was an entirely different story.  He was a man who had tried to cheer her up with fairy tale books at the hospital, and tales of how life would be okay.  She supposed he was the only one who really knew what she had needed.  What Sarah had needed was an escape, and fantasy was the only way to find that.  Yet now this man who defied what had been a clear line between what was real and what was not.  And now, Sarah found her foot and prosthetic planted right in front of Finn’s Treasure Chest, with the window completely repaired and the shop open for business. Oh of course it would be.  Green eyes gazed at the store with a sigh, not really wanting to bother and go inside.  Yet, she knew that she was going to have to do it if she wanted anything settled in her mind. So she stepped into the store, looking slowly around.
            The store, as she suspected, was not what she suspected. It was all very neat and tidy yet with a bit of an antique like feel to the entire face. There were bottles and bags of assorted drinks, brews and potions, and on the other side there was a shelf filled to the brim with old leathery books and shelves next to it displaying glass, ceramic and crystal figurines of fearsome beasts, dashing knights, noble castles and playful fairies. The counter to pay was a glass counter where inside seemed to be pendants and stones with neatly written tags. An antique cash register stood on top and manning it was Erebus. “Why Hello, Sarah” He said, for once looking friendly, and mildly surprised to see her. He had probably guessed she would have showed up sooner or later.
            “…Hey…” Sarah finally mumbled out shuffling her feet and looking around “This is a nice place you have…”
            “I assume you aren’t here to window shop, out with it” He said curtly which surprised her a bit.
            “That wasn’t a vase that broke the window…and you didn’t accidently cut your arm did you…” She said looking to him.
            “Very true”
            “So what was it?”
            “What do you think it is?”
            “It looked like a fireball”
            “Was it?”
            “It couldn’t be”
            “Could it?”
            She now got frustrated and him and gritted his teeth. He shook his head with a light smile but sighed. He stepped out from behind the counter and looked to her very calmly. “Sarah, I find you fascinating. I find all of humanity fascinating but you in particular…because you like the truth, as I can see…but you seem to lie to yourself constantly” Erebus answered.
            “I don’t lie. I just know that things happen no matter what and…everything has a reason”
            “Your foot, I’m not going to ask the details, but, tell me you believe in conflicting ideals. Which I understand, nothing is so black in white, but Sarah, I ask again. What do you believe?”
            “I don’t know…” Sarah said and her eyes widened before she turned around rubbing her temples.
            “Yes, you do, think about it…”He said calmly as he stayed where he was. It was quite for a long moment between them and nothing was said. Sarah truly thought about it before her eyes widened, an epiphany befalling her.
            “I believe there’s not a reason for everything and there are some things, you can’t…explain” She said slowly “It’s not my fault…it’s no one’s fault…it just happened”.

Friday, April 15, 2011

The Two of the 3,2,1 {Where are the Ribbons?}

This is a Frida Kahlo piece, called Amoroso (1949) and a work by Rene Magritte, Le Blanc-Seing (1965).  In the Kahlo piece, the focal point or center is the woman with child.There are several ribbons going around the woman in the red dress and the "child" she is holding. In the Magritte work, it is an optical illusion of sorts where all the ribbon lines are there in the piece and attached but seperated by space which all come together. It is more dynamic in the sense that the movement is still there even though there is seperation.