"a smile fell in the grass"

So, I guess you can cross #1 off the list...


My former boss from Georgia, and one of the most delightful people you could ever meet, has um, shuffled off her mortal coil... and no I'm not okay. I'm almost thinking that if I was still there, I wouldn't have been able to handle this. I can barely hold myself together as it is. I recently considered calling her soon too. Rest in peace dear friend.

The skull tapestry is a mini scarf I found for 98 cents, btw.

I found this out right after picking up on my art projects again. I've been putting them off because previous inspiration has been thwarted, as always, but I can't give up (as always). I have finally finished the one with the collaged pants, where another mistake led to finger painting. I did the background by smearing ink with my finger, which I now realize was with my left hand. Then with my right hand I used the line method with the pen. It's dirty, and raw, and it's done. And check out that hair detail! I'm not showing the image in it's entirety because you have to experience it. Take in every detail, the rough edges, the harsh marks, the visible mistakes that make it what it is.

"There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting."

With no plans for the holiday weekend, it actually turned out pretty well. That's what I love about spontaneity; plans leave too much room for disappointment. Such as how a sudden power outage led to a campfire in the backyard. We were searching for marshmallows in the dark.


And I went to the Arts Fest in Harrisburg for the first time, despite all those years when I only lived 10 minutes from it. I was surprised by how many artists were there and from all ends of the country too. Impressive.

But it was crazy hot, and so many people were there we were shuttling down the street unable to really see all of the art. I've noticed this pattern happening a lot: I remember First Friday's in Philly, in a few of the galleries everyone magically gets in a lazy routine slowly waddling through, never really "looking" at anything. And if I stop at an eye-catching piece, the whole system is foiled and the people behind get annoyed. [Are you serious!?]

Anyway, it is interesting to see so many artists mass-producing their work, confident in selling it. I recently read an article in the newspaper about a local artist trying to make a living in this doomed economy. It takes so much to promote yourself as an artist and your work, but to successfully live off of it is a rarely achieved feat.

I never thought of a career like that since I only really make things for myself just because I want to draw something, or use my creative endeavors to jazz up a birthday card. It's more of a hobby I guess, which is why I decided not to major in Studio, and instead majored in everything else. :)

And look where that got me... but I have an idea. If nothing happens for me in the job market by the end of the summer, I will pursue one of three options:

1. Move south and get my old job back at the coffeehouse.
2. Travel abroad and teach English for 1 year.
3. Just pick a major already and go to Graduate school.

It won't be long before we find ourselves at the end of summer either...

"Why has the pleasure of slowness disappeared?"

it's all crazy ! it's all false ! it's all a dream ! it's alright

Summer is unofficially here! And I'm still officially unemployed. Words of advice: DO NOT agree to a phone interview. Trying to talk to 3 people on speaker phone is annoying and dumb. Before this disaster, I did have a great interview at an Art & Framing Gallery earlier last week. Although the position is part time, it would be perfect.

It is a small gallery in a historical, tourist town in the woods and it holds a variety of artwork of about 32 local artists. Most of the work I saw there was actually quite amazing. I distinctly remember a sculpture of twisted metal spikes pointing towards the ceiling, very cool botanical collages, and everything else from unique jewelery designs, abstract paintings, and of course landscapes. There is always someone who feels so inclined to paint landscapes... it's almost like a functioning gallery requirement. Gotta have landscapes.

I hate landscapes.

I also realized that I hate pencils. I haven't sketched with one in years, and after attempting to draw my aforementioned [and still unfinished] picture, I may never use them again. Using a pencil forces you to also use its convenient eraser, which for a perfectionist like me is not a good idea - it took me forever to sketch the damn thing. That's why I like pen & ink; the mark is permanent, so any "mistakes" are worked into the image. That's when your work really becomes your own.

I want this album. And you should too. Seriously, check them out and prepare to be transformed.

"I have only words to play with"

Take a bad picture with a broken camera and you suddenly find yourself digging through Victoria's Secret bags for pink tissue paper. Overlap varying hues of white, pink, purple, and paint them together with watered-down glue. The thin colored paper blends together to create chromatic shades. [I hate all of these colors so it makes for an interesting interpretation] It's a fun technique, but I have yet to master it. I should stick to what I know.

A detail of what I started, but don't know how to finish. What you're looking at is a lightly drawn hand over blue jeans (which looks better from a distance and the colors aren't so graphic). A cross between collage and mosaic, I glued colored bits of paper cut out of magazines. At first I wanted to do the entire thing this way, but considering the original image is mostly the same washed out and faded white, grey, brownish tones, I think I'll sketch the rest with ink, keeping this one focal object bold. I got crazy with the glue and it stained the paper, which only adds to its rather brash, disclosed aura.

Also, I have just finished reading Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, an ingenious author with a journal-esque writing style and quick-witted diction. [I highly recommend Pale Fire to everyone who is capable of reading.] The story of an older, possessive, lunatic who is hopelessly in love with a spoiled, barbaric, minor. I felt disturbed by the characters' relationship and refused to sympathize with them. I certainly didn't hate it, but I suppose I wasn't mentally ready for it: a doomed love story? no thanks.

And pray tell me, how did they ever make a movie of Lolita? let alone two?

"Seyn oder nicht seyn -- Das ist die Frage"

Has anyone noticed I don't have anything interesting to write about anymore?

I always tried to keep journals when I was younger, but halfway into filling the blank pages of each book, I'd stop. Hating everything I have written, despising every thought, every moment, I would secretly take my journal outside and burn it. I've done this at least four times that I recall; start a new journal, set it on fire.

I can't exactly set my laptop on fire, but I have reached that point in my journal-like utilization. I will refrain from deleting my previous entries though, as I've decided to just revamp this blog. An idea I've had for awhile, I will use this more as a gateway between imagination and creation.

Instead of whining about bullshit or whatever the hell I've been doing the last several entries, I will focus more on my artistic endeavors. As a writer, an artist, and one of the biggest book nerds you'll ever know, I will update on the writing and art projects I'm working on, discuss the books I'm reading, ideas, goals, etc.

This will help me to stay motivated because I haven't done anything in nearly two weeks. But I have uploaded pictures of the projects I've already completed within the last few months. I posted the link to my album on the sidebar.

So to kick off my new and improved blog, I must tell you that I have memorized all of Hamlet's famous soliloquy. I already own 19 copies of my favorite Shakespeare play, and thus deemed it necessary to memorize my favorite speech. Success! Now to take my ultimate nerdiness to a more extreme level, I have a bloody fantastic idea: memorize Hamlet's speech in German! Although this may take me a bit more time to achieve...

By the way, for those who've read my Lit. Sem. thesis, (which is none of you) you'll find this picture very ironic.

"And then, something happened."

I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.

With things to look forward too, plans to keep my mind briefly occupied, I've spent the last few days successfully avoiding what I fear the most. But it seems that holding onto hope is only setting myself up for disappointment. Hope is temporary happiness.

In hoping for a rainy day, the clouds separated revealing a shimmering sun. Beautiful really. But to think something so... unofficial, can save your life is a bit of a stretch. Building an unstable confidence that will eventually bring you back down from that man-made pedestal.

A dark, empty house all to myself, I twirl the melting ice cubes of my third drink around the glass, wondering how I always get myself into these things. Wondering if it's worth this bi-polar inducing torment. But what I realized is, so what? This is all I got. And it isn't really the act of hoping in itself, but my knack for making a bigger deal out of what I am hoping for.

I just need to let go.