Thursday, July 12, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
I am having the worst time focusing on things.
I'm not meant to focus on things. it could be Wednesday,
and around here
every day is Friday
Why now in the summer?
why now when work doesn't exist tomorrow or forever
no such thing as work
its all just life.
life life life life
money isn't real
money isn't life
moneys for the damned who are disillusioned.
Caught like fish on hooks being pulled
higher and higher.
they think the money gets them higher
closer to the surface
closer to the sun that's warped through the waters
like a giant gold coin.
gods money shimmering
what divine is waiting?
money brings them higher and higher,
money brings them higher and higher
money brings them higher and higher
money brings them higher and higher
until they are on the top of the world. and then...
a rip into the universe they should have never tried to obtain key
they cant have everything
they want whats not their right
desire of all things
sun like fire on gilded scales. The winged creatures pick at there flesh and rip away whats not so rotten.
the birds tear apart their wasted souls.
mutilated skeletons, at the top, above all
ventured out to own everything
to grasp everything
in the sanctuary of winged beasts and giant gods
they cant go back
they have obtained all
they scorch they burn they suffocate
YOU PIECES OF ROTTING WASTED FLESH
how does it feel to be this high?
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Ok... so this is going to sound nutty, but I feel like I am on to creating a new un-meme! lol. I feel like I am creating a new un-meme which basically starts out like "I like my coffee like I like my women" and then ends with some funny correlation between women and coffee.
I probably haven't come up with it first but I haven't heard of it in my area of the world until I thought it up myself. So its original from my head at least. Meaning I didn't steal it from anyone else. I swear to god all on my own I was sitting drinking my beloved black coffee and I thought Damn I really love this black coffee.
And Im a white woman, so I thought it would be funny to make my status saying
"I like my coffee like I like my women, Hot, bitter, and black"
I got a few lols and next thing I knew I had like.... 30 comments with variations to the coffee joke. including:
I like my coffee like I like my women- french vanilla
I like my coffee like I like my women- Low fat mocha
I like my coffee like I like my women- from a gas station
I like my coffee like I like my women- with a little bit of whisky
I like my coffee like I like my women- In the kitchen
I like my coffee like I like my women- Pale and sweet
I like my coffee like I like my women- black, but Imma put a lotta cream in it
I like my coffee like I like my women- Pipin' hot and spilled on my lap
I like my coffee like I like my women- Any time, anywhere.
I like my coffee like I like my women- ground up in a can.
So it seems to be a pretty hilarious trend in my small Cleveland suburban area. Of course I can't take all the credit, but I do have some pretty creative friends. No lie. Gooooood times.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
So I was starting new. This is when I came back to art, like the guilty lover who left for better things only to discover the grass is never greener on the other side. When I realized that all realms of creativity were art I didn’t hesitate to explore all of my talents. I started with writing, went on to drawing, then painting and singing, finally acting and dancing. I realized and reaffirmed the talents I had harnessed in classes and courses as a child. All those hours spent drawing and writing as a child came back to me and helped to show me what I truly was. I was an artist. (A creationist, in the words of singer Kerli - and I recommend all artists to look up her song, “Creationist”)
Once on my own I realized that the last thing I wanted from my life was ordinary. That I couldn’t go a day without drawing some creature which crept out of a dream, or admiring art portfolios of some of my favorite local artists. I learned that this was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Her words came back to me as I continued my passion. What once was hobby quickly turned to life ambition and thus along with it there was great struggle. I finally understood what she meant however, as I looked at the turnout for all my projects. The small amount of money I did earn went right back into creating. I always knew the saying "starving artist" was a true one, But I never actually expected to be one. I always figured it would remain a fun hobby.
Despite the lack of money I knew that what she said was right. I will not stand by for anything conventional. Not that conventional is wrong in any way. Every person has a story to tell. Every life role is important. But I cannot possibly see myself in any kind of position like that. My brain is constantly wandering, my souls constantly contemplating, my heart urges me to sing and to put love into all I do, and my feet never want to stay still. I need to move, jump, run and thrive! I need colors and expression. I have such a challenging time dealing with my imagination on paper let alone containing it in my head. I must create. I need to let these thoughts escape! I am constantly looking around me with an artist’s perspective. Seeing everything with the beauty, the irony, the emotion, the bitterness and the true messages our life symbols allow us to interact with.
She certainly knew what she was saying back then. Perhaps she knew what I was before I knew. My life is art. I won’t blush or simply nod in agreement now, I feel it. I know it. I need this life. I don’t care how I end up living. I will always create. I will always strive to bring my imagination out into the world. I will always try my best to inspire others and I will always remember that life without passion is death in waiting.
I am so amazed by all she was able to do and the beauty she was able to create. There is one specific conversation that stands out for me that occurred between the two of us one cloudy Wednesday evening. We were over near the ovens, I watched as she molded white clay and explained to me the tender connection she had of the chalk portraits she had done of her daughter. They were on display to hopefully be sold. She expressed that she sells the portraits to make a living and stated strongly that the money didn’t matter to her. She disclaimed that the most precious thing to her was her daughter, but went on to say that her life is not about living in a house, not about driving cars. It was not about the clothes she could buy or the places she could travel. Her life was and still is simply art. That was all she needed. That was all she ever wanted. With a tone of humble honesty she explained, that there were years where in total she wouldn’t make more than 5,000 dollars total. There were years when she did very well and could save for all future expenses. Her life was up and down. This was the kind of life she had to expect. She pointed to one of my drawings and said that she could tell I was the same way "for people like us,” she said, “art is all that matters. It won’t change us if we can’t pay the bills of live conventional lives; because if ever there was a time when we were forced to discontinue our creation it would simply be impossible for us to continue living. Art is living. Nothing else matters, because anything else is death.”
I felt slightly guilty that she included me so strongly her ideals. At the time I felt art wasn’t my life. With a narrow mind I didn’t include music or acting as any kind of art form. My shallow teenage soul put labels on everything. Everything fell into categories. Foolishly I thought only pen and paper artists were artist. I also knew that the most important things in my life at the time were my boyfriend and the future I planned for us. Every bit of my happiness relied on a good outcome for the two of us. I admired her dedication to the craft and wished that someday I could feel as certain about what I needed to keep me going.
years later I learned that the last year and a half of my relationship with high school sweet heart was only running on the hype and anxious promises I made as I clung to something I thought would make me happy I didn’t realize that the future I was creating was not my future. In the life I had built up for myself there was in fact no place for me at all. Every ounce of it was about "us". When I finally had the courage to leave the relationship, I realized I was left with nearly nothing. All of my life for the past three years had been composed of planning things that never even happened, things that were way off in the future, and I was constantly relying on someone else to spend time with. I didn’t have any hobbies. I never did anything alone. Eventually I realized I didn’t really know who I was or what I liked, having focused so many of my growing years on what “we” liked.
Monday, April 2, 2012
In the four months I was there I excelled with my sketches and oil paintings and was able to create with such an ease I had never before experienced in my life. In all honesty I am currently les refined in regards to skill and technique due to the lack of guided practice and less structure in my foundations. Back then, however, there was nothing I felt I couldn’t make.
All it took was a gentle nudge here and a little push there and my ability blossomed. Once I was able to feel comfortable in my capability there was nothing preventing me from imagining wonderfully elaborate things.
Being able to think something in my head and then actually accurately draw it out to life was, and still is, one of the most important aspects of art to me. I use my art to bring my wild whims out into the real world so I can live in them physically with added texture, mobility, scent and obviously sound. As a musician and an artist I love to incorporate sound into art. I think the added touch truly brings everything to life. I occasionally use bells, wind chimes, rubber bands and guitar strings.
For me the process of convincing a wild thought out of my mind and into the tangible world is a frustrating task because I don’t just want to explore a partial version of what I think, I want it to be complete. I want the real deal in its entirety. I want to feel like I am walking into a dream. There are short periods of time where my writing and painting is a complete wreck and turns out nothing like I planned it to be. Not only does this stop me from creating, it stops me from imagining anything at all. I’m very stubborn you see, even when dealing with myself. Sometimes things must be perfect. Compare my frustration to going on a grand vacation and wishing you had a camera to record you experience, but alas, you are not allowed to bring one. I want to relive the things I think and keep them forever in time, preserved so that the whole world, or as least anyone who cares to see, can march in with me and experience the realm’s only vaguely available to me personally. And even then it’s experienced in little bits and pieces.
My wonderful art teacher started out charging me standard rate for lessons, but when I could not manage to pay for them any longer, she allowed me to take lessons in return for cleaning services, and occasionally baked goods :) She was a splendid woman. During my lessons we discussed every topic imaginable. I learned a great deal about her youth, her love life, and her experience as a mother with a teenage daughter only just younger then myself