Entering a Shaded World

"Entering a Shaded World"
-- by Ezra S. Tessler
Bending my head to pass through the low doorway I blinked deliberately, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light of the cavernous room. Everything was a clouded dream, one that you are unable to disentangle as it spins through your unconscious,
but which somehow begins to unravel and become clearer only after you have awakened. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness into which I had just entered, I
caught sight of the seated figure illuminated by the dim light. I was unable to tell if he was miles away in my world or inches away in a distant world.
I approached the dark figure, knowing that his eyes had felt my presence but were occupied and could wait to meet my nearing figure with a familiar face. Then, he
raised his head slowly from the drawing in his lap, his soft dark eyes focusing on mine as he gave a slight nod and a gentle smile, acknowledging me with a few muffled words in Spanish. I studied the face and noticed the subtle details. He was barely thirty, but his face was creased with lines of struggle, pressed into a clay mask by many hard years. His dark countenance transported me through time to a
place where I stood in front of a noble Aztec leader.
I had come to this land to experience a different culture, to learn a foreign language,
and to encounter new people. I had arrived in his studio like a blank canvas: he had found it, stretched it, and prepared it for the transformation that would soon take place. With a gentle hand he had lifted his paintbrush from his palette, and
passionately sweeping his brush across the canvas, he had created a new composition in me. He then carefully handed me the new painting, and with it, his
palette and paintbrush, still holding the paint he had used. I left containing the
shades of his world and holding the tools needed to face my world.
His eyes shaded by memory., he had told me with humble pride the stories of his people. He had recounted his struggles his fighting in the revolution, and his combat
in the countryside of Chiapas. He had described the oppression he and his family had suffered from the government, all with the gentle breeze of hope blowing
through his words.
He had looked at me one day as we both sat hunched over our sketchbooks, and whispered in his lingering Spanish a single thought: even if things did not change,
even if his hope was not fulfilled, he still had something that no government could
take away, something that was his own and would wither away only after he had breathed his last breath. His soul was his, and he wanted to share it through his
artwork.
My mind floated back into the cave, where it blinked, rubbed its eyes, and soared above the scene. The scene had two figures facing each other, inches away in place and time, but years away in experience, slowly connected inwardly as they proceeded in being amidst each other, joined by a connecting truth and by the soft light which threw its buoyant flicker over the two masses, distorting and twisting them into infinite and amorphous shapes wavering on the muted wall. ANALYSIS
This is an example of how an essay doesn't necessarily have to tell something about the author forthright. Although he succumbs occasionally to the use of clichés,
Tessler is talented at writing, and he exhibits this talent unrestrained in a piece at
once mysterious and engaging. It doesn't try to be an ordinary essay, nor does it try to sneak in a list of achievements. Tessler constructs the essay as though it were a
painting, filling it with detailed color and showing – not telling – everything he observes and imagines, unafraid to delve into the abstract.
Subtle aspects of Tessler's writing style produce a sense of enigmatic fantasy which
emphasizes his ability to write and yet may confuse the reader./ the first paragraph
sets the stage for the essay by casting a "clouded dream" of confusion even on the
part of the author, unsure of who is in what world, vacillating between the conscious
and subconscious. And in the last paragraph, he separates his mind from himself and refers to this mind in the third person. Through such techniques, he envelops the reader in his imagination. The story is likely to be different from most college essays and would help instill a lasting impression on his critical readership.
Unfortunately, some might find this mystery to be too extreme. Certain fundamental ideas, such as where Tessler is and with whom he is interacting, are unclear. And the point of the essay seems lost if one does not consider the exhibition of writing style and imagination to be a major aspect of the piece. This may be to Tessler's disadvantage if the admissions staff reading this essay is left more in a
state of bewilderment at what the essay was about than of admiration at Tessler's writing aptitude.
For the most part, however, the reader is likely to be left with a sense of satisfaction
after reading this work, particularly due to its unusual nature. Taking the risk of slightly confusing the reader, in this case, is not inadvisable. If the reader is
confused, the writing style will certainly make up for this. And if the reader is not confused, the essay succeeds in strengthening Tessler's application.