So I went out to see the planets aligned because I was awake anyway. And instead of taking a blurry picture of the sky, I just enjoyed it.
Showing posts with label Contemplation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Contemplation. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Life - Early Morning
Life - Early Morning
So I went out to see the planets aligned because I was awake anyway. And instead of taking a blurry picture of the sky, I just enjoyed it.
So I went out to see the planets aligned because I was awake anyway. And instead of taking a blurry picture of the sky, I just enjoyed it.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Comics - Camp Weedonwancha
Comics - Camp Weedonwancha
I'm not really sure why, but the newest Camp Weedonwancha comic for yesterday really struck a chord with me. I was thinking about it for a while all day today, even tweeted creator Katie Rice about it and expressed my admiration.
You can see it here.
http://www.campcomic.com/comic/55
It took me a little bit, but I think I understand why now. It's a laugh, a poop joke, and then something serene and beautiful to balance it all out.
Maybe that's a metaphor for our lives.
I'm not really sure why, but the newest Camp Weedonwancha comic for yesterday really struck a chord with me. I was thinking about it for a while all day today, even tweeted creator Katie Rice about it and expressed my admiration.
You can see it here.
http://www.campcomic.com/comic/55
It took me a little bit, but I think I understand why now. It's a laugh, a poop joke, and then something serene and beautiful to balance it all out.
Maybe that's a metaphor for our lives.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Art - Blank pages
Art - Blank pages
Beginning art is paralyzing. I know that from having lived as an 'emerging' or 'young' artist for so long. Beginning ideas, putting words to thoughts, brush to page, or ink to paper is a paralyzing task. It's a vulnerable proposition, committing. I used to think of myself as being generally noncommittal, floating through life where the currents take me, but I've begun to realize that in fact to be a good artist, you need to have a sort of sense of stubbornness to you.
Beginning things starts with the simplest of things for me. Sometimes I watch ink run down a page, or the interaction of people. I scrawl notes on scrap paper, quick little ink drawings of gestures and facial expressions. I concoct elaborate scenarios and scenes in my mind of how moments might have played themselves out. The exchanges of people, the gestures, the way they look at each other, their worlds and what they see.
Pull back the camera, look at them, study their motions, imagine their home life, their relationships.
Their thoughts.
And then I throw it all away and ask them.
People are blank pages until you ask.
I'm no longer paralyzed by creating new things, there are no new things to create, only existing stories to be cataloged, imagined, and shared.
Beginning art is paralyzing. I know that from having lived as an 'emerging' or 'young' artist for so long. Beginning ideas, putting words to thoughts, brush to page, or ink to paper is a paralyzing task. It's a vulnerable proposition, committing. I used to think of myself as being generally noncommittal, floating through life where the currents take me, but I've begun to realize that in fact to be a good artist, you need to have a sort of sense of stubbornness to you.
Beginning things starts with the simplest of things for me. Sometimes I watch ink run down a page, or the interaction of people. I scrawl notes on scrap paper, quick little ink drawings of gestures and facial expressions. I concoct elaborate scenarios and scenes in my mind of how moments might have played themselves out. The exchanges of people, the gestures, the way they look at each other, their worlds and what they see.
Pull back the camera, look at them, study their motions, imagine their home life, their relationships.
Their thoughts.
And then I throw it all away and ask them.
People are blank pages until you ask.
I'm no longer paralyzed by creating new things, there are no new things to create, only existing stories to be cataloged, imagined, and shared.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Dusters - Erasure
Dusters - Erasure
I would've liked to have known more.
It was interesting in the silence, around the rise and fall of my own heartbeat, the sort of sublime elegance in the flakes of rusty dust to have realized that moment. I would have liked to have known more, to have seen more, done more, been more places, said more words, to know. More.
I could feel her behind me, silent feet stirring up the ash and flecks, there was a causality to her movements, a sort of twinged, predatory hunger.
She broke the silence.
"Do you have any final words?"
I looked at her then, steel and ice, and realized I knew her not at all in that moment. She had become another thing, a different thing and I understood. I was not exactly afraid, but nor was there any anxiety, it was as though all things had settled, and I felt balanced.
"I never saw a sunrise."
She scoffed then, "You saw plenty, on many different worlds and from many different places"
"No. I think I never really saw one." And that was a truth.
I bowed my head, and closed my eyes.
The rapport of the gun was strangely quiet, and I knew, but did not feel the world move into darkness.
I would've liked to have known more.
It was interesting in the silence, around the rise and fall of my own heartbeat, the sort of sublime elegance in the flakes of rusty dust to have realized that moment. I would have liked to have known more, to have seen more, done more, been more places, said more words, to know. More.
I could feel her behind me, silent feet stirring up the ash and flecks, there was a causality to her movements, a sort of twinged, predatory hunger.
She broke the silence.
"Do you have any final words?"
I looked at her then, steel and ice, and realized I knew her not at all in that moment. She had become another thing, a different thing and I understood. I was not exactly afraid, but nor was there any anxiety, it was as though all things had settled, and I felt balanced.
"I never saw a sunrise."
She scoffed then, "You saw plenty, on many different worlds and from many different places"
"No. I think I never really saw one." And that was a truth.
I bowed my head, and closed my eyes.
The rapport of the gun was strangely quiet, and I knew, but did not feel the world move into darkness.
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