Print Final

I gained some revealing insight into how people perceive my silly art in my printmaking class final crit.
     My classmates told me my work is understated, approachable, always contains unexpected details.
     I'm not really the sort of person to want the limelight, I like being invisible, a background character. My favorite place to be is behind the scenes. I ask myself all the time why I chose to study art. My work isn't flashy, and sometimes contains a dry sense of humor. I'm terrified of becoming self-obsessed and absorbed. This, I feel is a deep problem in the upper-levels of the art world, and to some small extent, in the college art world. I imagine this translates to my work being understated, humble (maybe, although even writing that world makes me feel self-obsessed), honest and sincere.
     One of my classmates said my art equally reaches children and adults, without talking down to one or patronizing the other. My work for that particular class focused on the problem of plastic grocery bags, but everyone felt that I was being informative and encouraged without guilt tripping.
     In one of my designs, I included a little plastic bag hooked onto a edge, as if it had blown by and gotten caught like you will occasionally see in trees. Many of my classmates didn't notice this detail until our final critique. In my perspective, this also translates to the dumb little mistakes I always make in my work and which I've become resigned to. Missing a couple pieces in a background pattern here, forgetting to color that little bit there. It's infuriating and I know for a fact that I have missed on opportunities because of this personal defect, but I try to compare it to the tradition of making intentional mistakes in weaving.
     This critique was one of the most insightful I've had in a very long time, and I felt bad I didn't participate more when we were talking about all of my classmates work. It was definitely nice to know my artwork seems to represent what I want it to.

Tug of war (also very old, forgive me any unfortunate soul who wades through this)

I
Want you in,
keeping you out
building barriers I
expect you to break down

Holding you in my heart,
needing your presence.
Come hither,
But stay far away.

Like a moth to the flame,
Me falling in love with you.
Then falling out again,
I confuse myself more than you ever could.

II
Ever since I first met you,
I've been trying so hard not to fall in love with you.
Of course,
I have failed.
I love you,
But I know I can't have you,
I dreamed of a conversation with my parents, and forgot it by morning.
But it felt like they were saying I could not be yours, I would be in the way of greater things for you.
There was a vaguest hint of 'yet' in the dream, like a lingering whisper of "belum".

I know,
I know,
I know,
But I am so disappointed.

III
Struggling with my feelings,
I would not give myself permission to love,
And so loving you was painful.
It hurt, to love you.

I admit it now, that I love you,
And I'll probably love you for as long as I know you,
But it doesn't hurt anymore,
Love is a happy feeling once again

I love you.

IV.
You fell in love with my sister,
She loved you back
I write this in the past tense
Because she let you go

Maybe you still want her back,
You were so beautiful together,
You gave each other so much.
It made me happy to see you
Loving each other.

You Don't Understand

As much as it frustrates me when people say "You wouldn't understand", or "you couldn't/can't understand", or even "They can't understand", I understand I'll have to come to terms with this truth sooner or later.
I really believe in the power and beauty of empathy, an ability to understand other people's feelings and viewpoints.
However, empathy can only go so far, and really, it is still hard to truly understand another person's experience if you haven't had that or a similar experience.
My main problem with "You can't understand" is it tends to be a device to push people away and alienate them. It's a way to separate yourself from someone who could benefit from understanding you, or who could benefit you in their understanding, however shallow that understanding could be.
"You can't understand" tends to be a way to get out of explaining yourself or your feelings. I understand that sometimes this is just because a person doesn't want to attempt to explain themselves to another person.
I am attempting to reconcile myself to the fact that sometimes I cannot understand another person's experience or feelings, this is due to things out of my control, and this is okay.

Chance Meeting

Walking that grey, winding hallway,
I was following unseen,
Only felt
Threads blindly.
I trusted to the pattern
All around me.
I asked a question;
It had no body,

But its form dissolved,
Was taken up into my surrounding
and condensed into you;
an open door in answer

Research paper for my art majors orientation class last semester

Photography as a Flexible Career

9/25/14

Art Orientation

I see photography as a potential link through my many art interests, including land art, painting, and textile art. Photography is definitely an asset in recording and sharing a variety of artworks with other people.

To gain more insight on the field I chose to research, I interviewed Larry O. Campbell, a retiree nature photographer. Photography isn’t a professional career for him, he came upon it after twenty years in the air force, and ten years raising cattle and operating a resort. After he retired, he picked up a camera to document a cross-country trip, and in his own words “…The rest, as you say, is history.”

Larry enjoys photography because it gets him out of doors, something that has kept him in great shape, and keeps him connected to the natural world’s cycles and seasons. He has also connected his photography with his writing, publishing books full of his work along with the work of his friends and colleagues.

I like how photography so easily interfaces with natural world. I enjoy working outside and incorporating nature into my art. As an artistic genre, land art is very connected to the outdoors, even when confined to gallery spaces. Photography is important in the land art process, both in its documentation, and its availability to other people.

The only thing Larry says he doesn’t like about being a photographer is the art’s “Restrictive nature; not being able to get out when I want to sometimes.” Nature and wildlife photography, and by extension, land art and its documentation, are often dependent on fair weather. Many artists in the areas persist right through miserable and harsh conditions, sometimes even embracing them for their unique beauty.

I’m not really interested in photography as a solo or specific career, but I feel it is suitable for me because of its flexibility in subject matter, and its application to many different interests and forms in art. Many artists come upon their chosen styles in a progression or a roundabout exploration of many different fields of art. Brian Usher, for example started as a ceramic artist before discovering glass sculpture. This is why I think the skill of photography would be particularly suitable; an artist trained in photography can more effectively compose images of their work for documentation or distribution purposes. In addition, photography is an elegant and communicative field of art intrinsically.

      

Busy day and movie night (friends near and far)

Delicious food, great
Friends. A drawing together,
Threads and roots in life.


Rough (first) draft:
Delicious food, great 

Friends. A drawing together, 

Alike souls and minds.

Mini Memoir

What experiences am I proud of, Facebook?
What a strange question...

I am proud of the Summer I made friends with two fantastic people, and that same Summer I found six four leaf clovers, two of them in one of the fantastic people's back yard.
I am proud of the small patchwork quilt I made in 2009 by myself, and the baby quilt I made for my youngest sister. I raced to hand-finish the edging the night she was born; now she is six, my brown-eyed shadow.
I am proud of the garden I grew four blocks down the street from my house last summer, and I am proud of the garden I am tending in my backyard this year.
I am proud of my experience participating in a scholar class when I was fourteen; I didn't earn any gold stars for their chart, but I worked hard in everything I did and gained a lot of insight into World War II and the life of my heartfelt book-friend, Anne Frank.
I am proud that I built my own longboard with the help of my good friend, and I am proud that I learned how to ride it in spite of my awkwardness and timidity.
I am proud that I went to the DLD alone to get my Learners Permit, and that I studied so hard with tools I found on the internet in order to barely pass the test; but pass the test I did.
I am proud of my experience growing up the eldest of two, then four, then nine children.

I've never won any medals or awards, I've never accomplished anything stunningly grand, I've never had a grueling job in a competitive workplace, I haven't attended an high-ranking private high school or traveled to another country; but what I'm saying is; I have my little experiences that mean a lot to me, and I don't intend to play them down next to what I imagine to be societies values and milestones.
I am quite content to live a small life, and I am equally content to pursue the things I consider big and worthwhile to me.
Thanks for the question, Facebook, and though at first I started out critical of your inquiry, I enjoyed thoughtfully writing out what I am proud of. 

First Love

(inspired by an upcoming Readers Write subject for The SUN Magazine.)
The first few weeks after we broke up I dropped my phone constantly. A gift from him, the act of accidentally letting it slip (hard, smooth case; forgetful mind) from my hands came to represent how I'd accidentally severed the threads of our relationship.
Not my first love, granted, but my first boyfriend, the first who loved me back. The first who loved me back at a time in life when forever was almost possible, but still not quite.
We broke up during a phone call; I overestimated my understanding of him and the strength of our relationship. As we spoke, I could feel things spiraling out of control, but, passive, I did nothing to steer the conversation in any direction. I spilled too many awkward honesties at once using language unfamiliar to me ("I'd like to date other people", "we're going too fast", "but I still want to be your friend") In my rush to be honest, I forgot to be considerate, compassionate, and thoughtful; I forgot to weigh the possible meaning of what I said. There was a fatal flaw in creating girls' minds so different from boys' minds. To him, all of these phrases meant rejection and replacement.
I came to think of that phone call as a sort of clumsy but earnest flailing that ended much differently than I'd intended, but not enough differently for me to take possession of what was slipping past me.
I haven't really regretted breaking up, but I have regretted the circumstances, I feel that I could have done much better with my timing and communication. The past is only the past, though, and maybe someday we can look back on it all as good friends once again, but not, as he says, right now.
It's hard not to sound melancholic, when writing about this, I mean, a metaphor involving a phone given me by my first boyfriend? Cheesy, I'm sure. But I've come back to drafting this narrative in my head many times since that long, gray month.
I continued living. It wasn't like life ever stopped. Over time I managed to stop dropping my phone so frequently. I still have it, and in the ups and down since, I'll drop it increasingly over the course of a week, and struck by the poignance of it- (we'll have spoken in slightly unfriendly terms to one another, or I will feel neglected as a friend)- I will work to master my hands and my feelings once again and do my best not to just throw the whole thing at the wall, smashing it to pieces. 

I am a composite of every person I have held dear, and I am also Myself

I've grown up watching my parents and imitating their actions, tastes, and opinions. This has carried over with other relationships in my life with my siblings and friends, and the people I've worked for. I suppose this is sycophantic, but I like think of it more in the terms of "the best form of flattery is imitation".
I pick up my taste in music from what the people I love listen to. My parents came of age in the eighties, and have exposed us to a lot of alternative new wave and punk bands; The Smiths, The Clash, The Cure, Blondie, Siouxie and the Banshees, Talking Heads, Devo, Madness, and The English Beat among others. I've heard almost everything from the genre, even if I may not immediately be able to name songs or the bands playing them. My friend Raven introduced me to Mountain Man, described as an indian folk rock trio, and The Lumineers, a folk band best-known for their song Hey Ho. My dear friend Yo opened up the world of Les Friction and Led Zeppelin (the former, indirectly) to me. He also brought Ben Howard to my attention, as you well know if you read this silly blog regularly.
I read most of the books my friends and family recommend, and I aspire to read every book on this list compiled by me, my mom, and my dad. I adore JD Salinger, my dad owns every book he's released to the public, and my dad also introduced me to Orson Scott Card through the Alvin Maker series. Three or four of my friends told me I had to read The Hunger Games; I held out pretty long, but Yo finally lent me (or rather, my dad) the first two of the trilogy. I got into the Harry Potter series because my great Aunt told my mom to give it another chance; originally she'd sort of banned it. That's one of the more indirect examples I've written so far, but it does illustrate my point pretty well.
Longboarding is something I decided to learn because of my siblings and Yo, who are all fantastic longboarders. I built my own board with another longboarder friend because I knew I'd be more likely to actually learn it if I had my very own board. (At the time, my siblings shared a few boards given us by the board-building friend.) I'm not very athletically inclined, though I do enjoy climbing trees, hiking, and playing games like tag. But I really would not have picked up boarding were it not for my family and friends.
One of the more abstract examples included in this essay-list; Sometimes, after spending at least half a day with a person, I'll find myself thinking in their voice and syntax. This happened with a southern guy I work for and it happened when I spent the day with my college-age friend a couple Springs ago.

I've grown up closely watching my parents and imitating them. Along the way I've also learned a lot of things and acquired likes and interests from my friends and the people I've admired. I haven't neglected my own innate tendencies or tastes in all of this; I am fairly discerning in what I copy from other people. I don't pick up everything my friends do or enjoy; I know very much who I am, changeable as that may be.

Love and Let go

Hello little sister.
You know what is ridiculous?
It is ridiculous to feel resentful toward a person because you have afforded them every kindness you could think of, every kindness you could remember, and still they seem to ignore you.
It is ridiculous to in that moment forget every thing they have returned to you, but also ridiculous to scrape those things together and shape them into something beautiful again, as shredded as they are by neglect. Let them go, I suppose, and let them be. They are not melancholy, they are not morose, they are not tragic. Merely, they are left behind. They are memories and phantoms, and maybe you can turn them into beautiful pictures and language, but that will not bring any person back to you.
It is ridiculous to expect other people to abide by the same rules as you do. Prideful as you may be of your little loyalties and thoughtfulnesses, other people have their own in their own ways, and it is their choice, their choice only, whether or not to apply them to you.
It is ridiculous to cling so tightly to the word 'friend' in conjunction with a person who clearly has no intention of walking that path with you, of being connected with you by that little sunshine yellow string. It's hard to say if it is worth holding on to, as far as the other person may stray. I don't know the future. You don't know the future, but even that you cannot count on. As ridiculous as it may be to keep stamping your heart with their faded name, I suppose it can be comforting; this little bit of faithfulness, but if you are not conscious, it can feed bitterness, and that certainly is not worth your energy.
It is ridiculous to feel resentful toward a person because you feel the need to remain attached and they don't. Continue to peacefully love, no expectations, no conditions, or just let go.  

Tranquil storm

The hills that day, to the north of us as we worked, were heart-ache, soul-ecstasy-beautiful. I have never seen anything like them; dark blue clouds misting upon low, smooth crowns, like some moor in an old English novel, like I'd imagined the heath in "The Secret Garden".

I wanted to be in the middle of it. But I suppose it might not have been as pretty, beheld as a tiny human from far away, lent god-sight by proximity and imagination. My favorite way to observe landscape much of the time is from the passenger seat of a car moving rapidly down the road, my eyes acting as fingers and hands feeling the geography. In my mind, feeling the ground and trees with fingers and hands that exist only in my eyes.

I desperately wished I'd had a camera of some sort, or my iphone. But I rarely take technology on jobs, especially that far away, so I have only my memory and whatever I manage to put down in writing.

Not So Far Away: Sincerely Reaching Out In This Time Of Tech

It may no longer be the season of holidays, nor 2001, but this post by the coolest man I've ever met rings true even as the glove of winter slips from the slender hand of the year of our lord 2014.

Paste Paper

So yesterday I learned how to make paste papers with a few of my siblings at a friend's house. It was a lot of fun, there's next to no limit to what you can do with this medium creatively, even if some people refer to it as "glorified fingerpainting", haha :)

My first paper

I created this pattern with a wad of plastic wrap

Handprints 

The last paper I designed.

I have no idea what happened to the color when I photographed this thing. The feathery splotches are white, not blue.

(Click to see them full size and all that.)

If You Are My Friend, Chances Are The Same Applies To You

I think and say often that our baby boy is so loved, he has eight other siblings and two parents who adore him. The thing that struck me yesterday, though, is it is the same for all of us, we have a large family, and we all have ten people who love us dearly and know us so well. And that isn't even counting how much our friends and extended family care for us. God, we are so loved.

Every-day Meditations

I
Bread dough--
rough polish on my nails

--Sometimes I forget every-day meditations
for the ethereal allure of cocooned spiritual practice
and living

--But the idealistic future
lives no where--
except the present,

if you'll let it


II
My heart is made of galaxies
but it's also grown over,
twisted through
winding ropes of knuckle-kneaded
bread dough-
and my prayers, my meditations
are grounded in

The hugs of little children
"Goodmorning!" sung from a friend across the valley
Sunrises
Kisses
Simple poetry
Incense lit on my dresser
My native landscape
and
You

One way to do one of those "looking back over the year" things...

Subject: Bridging the gaps of an evolving heart
After watching "DMT: the spirit molecule", having finished, started, and finished two crochet projects of the prettiest color. 10/10/12

This morning was lovely in so many ways, as I lay here, listening to "Secret on the moors" by David Arkenstone and remembering hanging out with Starchild and Yo at Starchild's apartment, I am happy. 10/23/12

Sledding at the cabin, underneath the full moon with my siblings. Everything so bright and beautiful and happy. December 28th 2012

Subject: The smell, sound, feel of rain. Utter bliss with siblings.
Running around the block, bare feet and socks slapping on the wet asphalt, one of my brothers took his shoes off at the start of the third black, barely in the faint orange light of the lamppost. Torthadiel, Erumeren, Hammer head and me. 4/1/13

Sigur Ros Untitiled No. 3 in my room, dark from the overcast sky outside. I am working on my bacterium story, happy to write unreigned, unrestrained. The song turned up as high as it can go, humming in my bones, sweet in my throat and loud in my ears, my heart rejoicing. 5/17/13

Subject: Contact from very dear old friends 3/28/13
Receiving an email forwarded by dad from our dear friends -- They say they have internet now and they'd like to skype with us!

Just a thought

Well, I just figured out why this whole "true power comes from within" and "look inside for the answers" is kinda messed up and definitely unbalanced.

It forgets the importance of community and friendship, and the very reasons why we converse with other people. There are so many other viewpoints, why learn only of and from your own when you can learn of and from the experiences and philosophies of others as applicable to your own life or purely abstract? 

We're not meant to be alone, we're not meant to rely only on ourselves, on our own strength. We're meant to have relationship, community, support and we're meant to support others. We are strong and we are weak, and we do life better with other people around us. 

Namaste y mae govannen to every and all

• Beauty in everyday life, spontaneous and immediate. If you wait, it will always come, heartbreaking and eye-opening. I am always a little bit less blind than I was before. 
• Yo, my best friend and love.
• My lovely, still growing family.
• Every single one of my siblings, adopted, blood, and soul-relatives.
• All of my friends, which usually translates into siblings.
• Fantastic food and teamwork.
• Snow.
• Music, musicians, and musical instruments. Also, the music of the natural world in all senses.
• Memory. 
• Writing.
• Doctor Who, in all of it's complexity and simplicity, intertwined duality. Funny, beautiful, heartbreaking.
• Enlightenment and transcendence, the unattainable, ever-won quest and weave. 
• Emotion and expression, creativity and god.
• Skin.
• The space between the ears, all at once infinite and perfectly encapsulated. 
• Life, always

Voice

Man, nothing will come to me today. Can't seem to write anything well, neither poetry, essay, nor stream-of-consciousness. Nothing will really fit together, and I'm dissatisfied with all of my drafts and writing ideas at the moment. I want to write, but it doesn't come out very well, I'm still not complete or clear, I've got shallow-digging dis-ease (as our friend G would call it) and ADD in some form today. Don't know what to do, and what I want to do, I think I should do something else instead. At least I finally practiced guitar today -I want to learn; I want to learn how play guitar, drive, write, be with people, and just generally apply myself. I can be fierce and focussed, but I guess I don't fixate much. --Even that isn't true though, I like to think I'm not obsessive, but when I really look into and at myself, I am totally obsessed. I am so so so redundant, but, balance. It's hard to talk of balance, though, it's so easy to fall into duality and polar opposites and untruths. Juggling differently colored balls from hand to hand and back again. Why keep them moving though? Can't they just be? I'd like to think they're not even separate; the yin and yang symbol, though overused, is beautifully fitting; two things as inseparable, interconnected one. -That's pretty cool, and in some ways it simplifies things, and in others, complicates. But you know, this world is more than one dimension, and to look at any one thing differently, the whole web shifts. Nothing is just surface, or just depth; no one is only one thing. I dislike referring to people as occupations because it seems to dehumanize them. I'm not even a "writer", I'm Amoniel, but that doesn't quite cover it either, I'm this thing that takes form around, I'm this that changes shape constantly, that never fits into the world the same way for longer than right now. Yes, I fall into shallow-digging dis-ease every once in a while, but even that is not how I work always. --I want to dive deep deep into the world, life, the universe, -it sounds silly, and I don't always want that, but -everything. I love stained fingers and dirt and all of the marks life and time leaves on us, scars are beautiful; wrinkles, freckles, and moles, absolutely lovely. I love to get paint on my hands and graphite all over my fingertips and face. I love calluses and rough hands, tough feet. I don't want to be perfect, I want to be alive. I am life's canvas, my own canvas, the canvas and paper of others, mirror and imprint. When I get firewood with my family, I like to see the scratches on my arms from the hard work of loading and carrying and unloading, and I like to watch all of the marks fade away. All of these things that fix and flow us in time, now then tomorrow. I want to dig deep into my own soul and examine it intently, and I want to do the same with others. I'm looking looking finding the thread that ties and unwinds all things. Maybe it has a name, maybe it doesn't, but I seem to be able to find and talk with and about it just fine without a name, and even with an imperfect name. The imperfect name reminds me that it won't fit forever, I think; that I know it all and I know nothing, and everything fits perfectly. 

I said I couldn't write today, but perhaps I was trying too hard. And now I have found my flow, my track; my voice.