4_28_10

sva

My semi-exaggerated reaction from getting accepted into SVA. Double win-win as this also counts as some more expression practice.

And...there is actually hope for me. Dear god, there is a little hope.

tears on fire

Yeah, so I still kind of suck at drawing expressions..........working on it. I also really need to work on my life. But damn, you know, that'll come later.

Well, I'm already 20.

At odds with myself.

Erm...okay, so I didn't really wear this today. It was a damn 80 degrees! But...I just felt like drawing hats and scarves. Oh well.

4_22_10

Still attempting to give this blog a raison d'etre. Perhaps this will turn into a what-i-wore/daily-sketch blog??? This will be quite a challenge for myself though. Hmmm.

Outfit parcels, if anyone happens to be interested:
Sheer vintage scarf, vtg liz clairborne sweater, thrifted D&G pants, justin roper boots, plastic shopping bag that contained my delicious baguette. Mmm, best part of the outfit. Yum.

An Eastern Ballad

I speak of love that comes to mind:
The moon is faithful, although blind;
She moves in thought she cannot speak.
Perfect care has made her bleak.

I never dreamed the sea so deep,
The earth so dark; so long my sleep,
I have become another child.
I wake to see the world go wild.

Allen Ginsberg

Coffee Me

I am not sure how I came to be such an avid coffee drinker. I remember that when I first tried it as a child, I hated it. It was bitter and foul, and I piled on so much condensed milk that it would no longer dissolve. Even then, I don't think I liked it. But I kept on drinking it anyway. It was different from all the soda, despite having the same coloration as coke, and the far most distant cousin of all the juices I'd drank. Maybe it's because of that, coffee became one of the first steps in life where I taught myself to do things despite hating them. Coffee was the tip of my small bitter lesson. Life is full of things you don't want to do, but end up doing anyway, either through social circumstance, expectations or because it has been ingrained within you that it must be done. So my child self drank it, already well bought into the idea of mind over matter without being aware of it, and drank. And drank. And drank, believing that the more I drank I would learn to like it.

Well, seeing as how much I like it now, it must've worked.

Coffee is something that I've taught myself to like. It's flavor is still bitter, but I've learned to relish it's bite. It's a rich, heavy aroma that I've come to love that nothing could ever compare with. Teas, in general may be just as strong but it has different qualities that could personally, never win me over coffee completely. Coffee is something that I will always end up going back to, no matter how long I may tire of it.

Sing

Right now, I honestly feel as if singing has that whole new quality of catharsis magic that I've lost in my art.

Just...sing.

Raw

You'd think that I'd learn my lesson from writing a post fresh from feeling some raw emotion. In general, it is only when I feel something negative that I pour it out into words, or into a drawing...because despite how true my feelings may be on in those words, or in that picture I always regret it. Always. I've leafed through a few of my old drawings, and my old vents. ...Though there is a quality that I cannot describe within them...that keeps them fresh. Perhaps it is because a part of myself truly resides in those words, those lines and scribbles. It is real and raw and alive in it's creation and still remains so very much. But still, it is not something I am proud of. For it only reminds me of my sadness, and that that, whatever that may be, came from me. That depression. It was torn and it was desperate. And it was small. And cowering. And most definitely, in pain.

I think in iterating this, one of the biggest fears is that it most likely is still there.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson from writing these things, yet here I am again. Feeling bitter and lonesome. Writing.

Another Love Song

Why are there so many love songs? Love, love, love. It seems that we are a nation obsessed. Actually, there are plenty of sex songs two. The line between the two seem to have been blurred within the media.

Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, I mean there certainly worse things to obsess over. But it makes me wonder about the state of things. The focus. Romantic love has been around since man. To go so far as to say it is the invention of man, would be tricky and stepping into a sticky situation. (I'd rather not step into defining love and whether or not animals are capable of romantic love or not). But the point of my wonderment is that I wonder how all this came to be. You can state evolution, and the standpoint of looking for the perfect mate, but I..don't think that necessarily explains all of it. How did it get so twisted into finding the one? The soul mate. Your other half? When did we become a people born with half souls? Mmmm, I'm rambling...

Romantic Refuge?

I have recently taken up to wandering around aimlessly. Okay, so that really isn't all truth, I have always wandered around aimlessly. I'm full of wanderlust. But this time it's a little different. This time it mostly happens with me behind the wheel, driving through the winding roads of the small hills of residential areas not too far from my own home. There is something charming about living on a small street, a closely knit neighborhood...with a view of the city below. Not too grand, not too spectacular, nothing near glamorous really...but there certainly is a charm. And it's the best that I've known. The higher, and the closer knit the trees/houses/buildings are, the more content I am.
Truthfully, I am hoping to find some little niche that I can call my own and just...be at. A sort of little refuge or secret place that you always hear about in movies and stories. A small intimate space that the hero or heroine can escape to. It's a little romantic too, I realize. But hey, whatever. I rarely get into romantic things, either romantic as we mean today or Romantic in the literary sense. Personally, I highly doubt that I will ever succeed in find this little niche. I doubt that even a place exists here. But...I can't help it anyway. I drive endlessly and wander in hopes of finding something anyway, as the meter of my gas tanks drops lower and lower with every twist and turn...

I still look around every corner in hopes that I'll find something.

Pen & Paper

Despite being much happier now than I was younger, there are some things that I envy about my younger self from the past. One of these key things was how I was able to rely on, and express myself through drawing, writing, and whatever other mediums possible. I found peace in painting, and it was more than enough. It calmed my soul, and whatever troubles plaguing me would steadily dissolve into something much more approachable. If I had to really say, being able to draw helped me a lot through my depression and it did so many things for me then...that I wished it still had the same effect now. Now I can only pick up a pencil to copy something, which is just as artistic in many ways, but also...in my opinion, a strangely removed experience. It is almost grows with a business-like quality for me. Enough pleasantness in which I generally like what I'm doing, but...given the choice of how I would spend my free-time, I'd much rather spend it doing something else.

"I have a pen and paper to keep me company."

Those are the words of my younger self, quite a few years ago. How...depressingly nostalgic, as I recall saying this to a dear friend who tried to reach out to me. I truly believed those words then, and when I spoke them then, they were true. Indeed, they were true. But unfortunately, years later, I am now eating my own words because the pen and paper are not enough. And I sit here and struggle, trying to grasp and fit into the old skin of my past, hoping to get the same feeling of beautiful catharsis.