Picture1

Many people can get inspiration for stories, poems, or songs from pictures. The story doesn't have to do anything with what the artist themselves meant the picture to mean; what it should mean is what ideas you get from it. In my writings class we were given 3 pictures to write about. The first one I am going to share is called 'The Execution of Lady Jane Grey' by Paul Delaroche. We were asked to write a story on the perspective of two of the people in the painting; keep in mind that we didn't know the background of this painting.
I wrote from the perspective of the person standing against the wall, thinking that the person was a man. I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman (the painting was a little blurry). So, i asked my classmate if she knew, to which she replied that she thought it was a man as well. In fact it is a woman. So, I suppose this little story could go either way, but for me it was meant to be a man. The other perspective I chose was from the man holding the woman, who, i thought was a priest but is in fact the jail guard. A story can unravel before you just from a picture whether you know the story or not. Don't be afraid to let your imagination take you.

Just another little note: I wanted to revise this but I couldn't.

The Lover by the pillar

I cannot watch. I cannot! I cannot watch my love going to her death. Her mother sits at my feet on the uncomforting stone floor, the cold pillar at her back her only support for she will find none here. How can I console the mother of the woman who broke my heart? How can I speak words of ease to the woman who birthed a harlot?

                Jane why could you not have loved me? Why did you find passion in the embraces of another man? Why could you have not found love in my lips?

                You kneel there weeping, I could have saved you from those tears if you but loved me! Never will your ears know that it was I who betrayed you. Never will your blue eyes gaze my guilt and shame. You should have loved me! I cannot watch you go to your death.

The Priest

                “My dear Child, do not cry,” I whisper in her ear as tears of despair moisten her cheek.  “Find comfort, child, that the angels await you. Your crimes are forgiven. I place my hands on her sweet soft arms to comfort her and dispel her fears. but, alas, I say these words to ease her heart; A heart that is wicked and treacherous ready to do the devil’s will never see the gates of God.  She will spend her time in purgatory, damned, until her family can pay. then, and only then, will she go to God.