The Blues

The field trip with the girls to the Art Institute went very well. Today they got the follow-up assignment to the work they did there. I did a teacher model, as I often do for writing assignments. The footnotes are where they have to identify and explain their diction and syntax choices. Here's mine.

Alicia Locke lounged[1] on the ecru white ultrasuede couch that sat in the middle of her living room and stared out her panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows at the wet snow still falling. Situated on the northeast corner on the South Loop, Alicia’s swank condo could hardly be distinguished from Grant Park, which lay to the north, because of its white-on-white décor. The walls, painted snowfall white, were bare, and every piece of furniture in the room, from the built-in bookshelves to the chaise lounge and tufted leather ottoman were shades of seashell white, white dove, or – in the case of the glitzy wine cabinet – white diamond. In the snowfall, indeed, it was hard to tell where the room ended and the real snowfall began. But Alicia could tell the difference, snuggled in her cloud nine fleece pajamas, toasting herself before her the fireplace. She sighed.[2] “I’m so tired,” she said aloud to no one at all. “All I do these days is work,” she thought now silently, “but now that I’m at home, for my first day off in months and months, I can’t even relax enough to catch a nap.” Searching for distraction in her room with no TV, Alicia looked above the white marble fireplace at the Van Gogh print. She had received the cheap framed print as a gift from a well-intentioned[3] friend who thought it a crime that someone who spent all her time decorating rooms for Chicago’s rich and famous should have a room so completely devoid of color. The famous painting, Vincent’s Room, Arles, 1888, depicted a simple room with a bed, two chairs, a small table, and a window. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the content of the painting. It was beloved more for its style and, well, its color. Certainly, Van Gogh’s room was hardly devoid of color, with splashes of yellow, browns, reds, greens, and, ah yes, all shades of blue.

Alicia was contemplating this very thought when the door to her balcony blew open suddenly. Snow and sleet swirled into the living room as Alicia scurried[4] off the couch to try and close the door. The force of the door surprise her and knocked her off her feet. Before she realized what was happening, Alicia was being lifted off the balcony in a twister reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz. Terrified but yet serene in this cloud of white, Alicia screamed and then went mute, briefly unconscious after being knocked about by the windy city itself.

When Alicia came to, she found herself sitting in a plain wooden chair with a woven straw seat on the opposite side of a small room. The place seemed oddly familiar, though she knew she’d never been there. Across from her rustic recliner sat a bed with sturdy head and footboards of a rich orangey wood with butter yellow[5] sheets and pillows and a poppy red blanket. Over the bed on the opposite wall were four pieces of artwork, two portraits, one of which depicted a familiar face, though she couldn’t yet place it. Two doors flanked the opposite sides of the room, leading to nowhere in the particular. To her left hung a honeysuckle yellow towel on a hook on the wall. In the corner of the room was a small table with a drawer, with a pitcher of water and basin atop, and a mirror hanging above. A window at the far end of the room was ajar[6], giving a glimpse of the trees’ vibrant green leaves fluttering in the warm breeze. The sun’s golden rays shone through the windowpanes, adding to the comfortably warm room without overheating it. “I’m certainly not in Kansas anymore – or Chicago,” said Alicia quietly, breathing in the sweet warmth of the air. Between the table and bed was another chair like the one in which she was sitting, and behind the headboard hung several floral shirts. The floor was an amber wood, well-worn, and the walls were hues of blue and periwinkle. Only after taking in the walls and returning to the familiar portrait on the wall did Alicia realize where she was – in her living room painting. The familiar face on the wall was Van Gogh’s famous self-portrait. Presumably she was in Arles in 1888.

Satisfied that she was safe in her blue room, Alicia climbed under the butter yellow sheets, pulled the poppy red blanket up to her chin, and slept a peaceful sleep.

[1] Lounged; sat, reclined, lay; I chose lounged because it reflects Alicia’s feelings of being bored and just hanging out in the living room. She is trying to relax and be comfortable, and she’s still in her pajamas.
[2] Syntax choice – She sighed. This short, simple sentence interrupts the long sentences preceding it that describe the scene. This interruption makes it noticeable, which is good because it helps set the tone that Alicia is somehow malcontent or unhappy.
[3] Well-intentioned; nice, generous, thoughtful; I chose well-intentioned because it shows that although Alicia appreciated the gift because it was given with love, she didn’t necessarily like the painting or think it looked good in the room.
[4] Scurried; walked, ran, hurried; I chose lounged because it shows that she moved quickly and probably not very efficiently. I imagine she was warm on her couch but a little unsteady in her footing once faced with the cold, snow, sleet from outside. She may not even have had shoes on.
[5] Butter yellow; yellow, soft yellow, sunshine yellow; I chose butter yellow because it’s a soft, not bright yellow, and butter yellow sounds soft and inviting, which is how Alicia perceives the bed. Also, because Alicia is a decorator, it’s a color description she might use herself.
[6] Ajar; open, cracked; I chose ajar because it makes it clear that the windows were completely open and nor were they just cracked. Ajar also suggests that the degree to which the windows are open was not intentional, as though Alicia was blown into the painting through the window.