Me, “Maybe I just cry at everything.”

Friend, “Artists are antennas for the future, that’s why they have to be so sensitive. You’re just a well lubricated antennae” – a very comforting, although perhaps ‘egotistical’ thought, I can work with that, this really helps my soul!

We have been talking, in one of my classes about art that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Art that transports you.
Art that puts you on edge.
Art that makes you shudder.
Art that makes you squirm but you still want to look.

And what the value is of this type of work.

The art I make is often incredibly personal.
Often what most people would call, too much, too close, too raw, too intimate.
too too too.

But maybe this means it’s “working”,
because I want to make people feel the way that I feel.
Like so much, so close, so raw, so intimate.
so so so.

Before you remember how to be yourself and so instead are so much more.

I love when you meet for brunch and you haven’t been home yet.

I love that messy space between happiness and comfort.
That messy space before you’d had time to collect yoursel, to process your actions and experiences and all of the new people in your life as of last night.
Space before you’ve had the time or energy to put on good face, to remember who you’re supposed to be and what your insecurities are, when your groggy, hungover, giddy and greasy. Before you remember how to be yourself and so instead are so much more.

The possibilities streatch and expand you, the laughter tumbles like a nervous boy stutters when talking to a beautiful girl and connections are made deep, below the surface of expectations and reputations. You are weaker in manyways but vulnerability is a wise monster, and vulnerability is the key to making real friends, and vulnerability is essential to growth and change and discovery.

Thoughts on a Home Hunt/Like Trying to Fall in Love by Next Week

I’ve been internet shopping for an apartment in Montreal for weeks and it feels almost like I’m internet dating with a home for the next part of my life and it makes me wonder, how anyone can stand to internet date (for real) at all, because love to me is all in the instincts, the feelings, the quirks, and these things are terribly hard to read through a screen, but even in between the negotiations of how much I’m willing to pay and what neighborhood I’ll be in and if they like cats, I have been able to find a few places thats character and charm speaks to me (and some I even yearn for) but then it’s all ‘well they haven’t called me back…’ and ‘someone got to them right before me…’ and ‘well, maybe I only liked them because I was drunk…’.

And in my (possibly foolish, unrealistic, unpractical and idealist) romantic ways, I’d like to believe that there’s an apartment out there (with all requirements met) that’ll be perfect for me(and my roommate) and exactly what I need right now, and that when it works out it’ll feel natural and comforting, and that maybe that’s possible within the next week? Yikes!

Home hunting feels like dating because it’s all like a delicate dance of mutual desire.

Running with Sentences.

I just finished writing this post for SEED‘s blog about some of the things the store (and myself) is (are) doing this summer, the most important part of it being this sentence:

“Festivals for us, are like a hippy treat, a gypsy fix, a place to find a loving home for every silk patterned beauty we would at any other time of year need to layer over and under with fleece.”

My school teachers always told me not to run my sentences on-and-on-and-on, but but but, I just can’t stop! (and according to Vladimir Nabokov, I may never need to) Cause,  they don’t teach style in school, right? So you have to make it up. Cookie cutter me out.

the days I spend not wanting to be myself seem to be piling up.

feeling restless. procrastinating every email, every phone call, and blog post even.

wishing I was alone in a field with nothing but a sketchbook and a pen. so much there is I wish to say, to articulate all of these incredible experiences with accuracy, but feeling they deserve better than my uneasy distraction.

the plus side is, these seem to be the only days I can stand to clean the house.

Patterns

Not writing what I intended to,
only what I never knew I needed to know.

Learning lessons while evesdropping on my own thoughts.

Sometimes in the silence I hear nothing but the voices of others.
And yet, when surrounded by so many, the music and conversations of hundreds,
my own voice calls out clearly to my fingers.

Sometimes these fingers know more than can be told,
knowing me best when I’m distracted.

Not wanting to rhyme,
I prefer to make sense of what you didn’t think possible,
to find the beauty in what others miss.

Who says florals can’t go with stripes?

Twart

Text based art, twitter sized statements, captions, moments, snip bits of conversations, feelings, observations. Images of words, words as images.

I’m so into these right now.

Between facebook, twitter, texting and the faster moving, quickly changing, highly stimulating world, I find that there’s an ever increasing pressure to be sharp and witty on a constant basis. To label, identify and process these vague relationships, situations and emotions at a more accelerated rate than ever before.

Even subconsciously I find myself compartmentalizing my life into this format. Regardlessly, I was surprised that upon seeing this type of art created by others, I related to their statements instantly. Out of context, they become so vague and universal that the viewer can/will apply them to their own experiences.

For these reasons, I think “Twart” can have incredible power due largely to it’s often  freakishly immediate and subconscious impact. (I also love to write in this style.)

Which is better, with colour or without?

I’ve been working on art journaling.

It’s one of my favorite art forms (to see/appreciate), along with mixed media and collage, but as much as I enjoy them, I also find them all quite hard to do. They feel completely contrary to my perfectionist nature, which often results in just not starting, worrying about “ruining it” or collecting pieces of paper that I never use.

So I’m practicing.

I was inspired by something I read on Anahata Katkin’s blog once about how she works her pages in layers, leaving them unfinished and then returning to them with different materials until they’re complete. I like idea that the pages will shape into that I want/need them to be over time. This takes away some of the “perfectionist” pressure, leaving  more space to experiment and forgive.

I’ve also recently discovered a love for text based art. I’m fascinated by the act of taking thoughts, statements and snipits of conversation out of context and isolating them on the page to see how they stand on their own.

Check out the incredible-ness of Sabrina Ward Harrison and Anahata Katkin. Ironically, AK just wrote a blog post about SWH and her beautiful feature on Apartment Therapy. Like SWH, I would like for my home to feel like you’ve just walked into one of my journals. Although, in my case maybe it should be the other way around. My art journaling practice may be able to learn something from chaos that is my bedroom.

Here are some of my recent pages.