Lines of Pain

words tumble out like tears.  urged on by pain.
it eases the ache some to write.  i can let some of it go that way
ease the pressure against my ribs.

someday i'll never weep again.  i'll laugh always because i'll be with my Savior
'til then I wait
my heart the broken, scarred palace of the Creator.

i wait and write and trust the rest of the pages
to the Person who knows every line of my life-book.

The Heart of the Universe

My heart is a wild stallion, it heeds no guidance!
It bucks and runs to the call of the wind.
It leaps in a moment,
its course is uncertain and dangerous.

It doesn't heed reason's reins
yet it knows the voice of its Master.
It will turn when He calls.

It will leave the plains
and rest in meadows of peace.
It will sleep,
content in the Heart of the universe.

[Contents: Me]

So very big.  Me. 
All the miniscule epiphanies that make up 
myself.

I'm full, no
filled. Filled up
and overflowing.
Are you sure I can stretch this far?
                           up.
                pulled
      being
I'm 

Words. Music. Colors. Nature.
They pull me up
Upward.  Heavenward.

The stretching starts to hurt
I can't do this!
You're giving me too many words.

I'll break

I'm filled and filled and filled
Until I can fill the pages.
Pages and pages
all full of myself.
Not of myself,
of what filled
Me. 

Endless circles of filling and full.
Life, death, and new life again
until I finally break
and the words soak out
onto the pavement and
into the dirt.

They stay on the pages
waiting for another empty container to fill.

Copycatting

I look.  I look.  And look again.
I see.  Not everything. 
Just some things but those things,
they are beautiful 

They are teachers and the world is a classroom...

Design shows me the Designer
How can a mind exist big enough to imagine every shade and tone of a sunset?
In the beginning, the world was a canvas, formless and void
and then words.  light.  forms. colors.

And ever since, we've been copycats
because we are in awe of the original

And we can't comprehend how it was done.

Air to Breathe

Well...apparently a result of switching majors is that you fall off the map for a while!

I'm a month into my spring semester and it is intense.  Neither of my professors took anything out so its two full classes condensed into seven weeks.  Its been really stressful but the art class I'm taking: a film photography  class is amazing!

It's like doing a magic trick.  I put the paper in just the right spot under the photo enlarger, shoot the light onto it for just a few seconds, dump it into developer liquid and voila!  A perfect image appears out of thin air!

Spending hours in the dark room gives me lots of time to think too.  Its really neat learning the tricks of this art that's been around for so long.  It has a history.  Tons of brilliant photographers before me have stood in a very similar dark room, hoping their photographs develop correctly.  Its neat to realize that I'm now linked into that chain.

And that is honestly what art is all about.  No one creates in a vaccuum.  We all stand on each other's shoulders.  We inspire one another.  Ansel Adams, Van Gogh, and Monet have already impacted my artwork.  Their color choices, or lack thereof, and their compositions spark my creativity and get my juices flowing.  We worry today about copyright issues and I think that's important.  I certainly don't want some guy to steal my stuff and get the benefits for it but at the same time, we need to also realize that if we lock everything away inside their own cells, we are going to be the worse for it.  Artists and writers have always worked in groups, talked about their ideas and fed off one another.  There is nothing more inspiring then bouncing ideas around with someone who understands your passion. 

Art needs protection but it also needs a little freedom to breathe and grow and thrive!

Identity Theft: Me Changing Me

Tons of decisions lately!

The biggest one so far has been a drastic shift in my major.  All my life, I've considered myself a writer.  It was part of my identity.  I was a word-smith.  It was what I was good at, what I loved, what I wanted to do for the rest of my life and that was final.

Then, I took a 2-D art class this past semester.  I've always had a part time interest in art, drawing my characters and painting every once in a very great while but this was different.  I would leave class full of colors and compositions.  I learned to blend colors, to place together to cause the exact right reaction in a viewer.  And suddenly, I discovered that I was becoming bilingual and that words were no longer my only love.

As amazing as this new knowledge was, it also proved difficult as I considered changing my major to a focus on art.  But I was a writer! That was part of who I was.  It took some time before I could accept this art passion.  I pondered and painted and prayed... A LOT!  I was two years into school.  What was I doing changing focus now?

In the end, the colors won out.  I accepted my dual identity was writer-artist, got inspired by the possibilities of that combination.  And I chose to go for a Bachelor in Fine Arts, thus adding a year to my education, and endless art classes to my itinerary.  It has forced me to take both spring and summer classes as well as a ton of art classes in the fall.  It is taking time and effort and lots of research.  But I love what I'm getting back.  I will always be a storyteller: now I just have more ways to tell my stories. 

It's an exciting ride and I'll keep posting.  I'm sure there will be lots more words and colors to come...

No Limits to Inspiration

What inspires you? For me, there are so many things in my life that inspire me. A few would be when I can see the thunderclouds and smell the rain but the sky above me is still clear, when my sisters and I laugh until we run out of breath, and when my favorite song comes on during the last few minutes of my drive home and I can blare it at max volume. There is so much that I want to do, so much that I want to give to the world. My writing and my art let me do that. Colors and word let me explain what I feel like as I'm watching those thunderclouds roll in or how I go all softy smiles when my nine year old brother gives me an unexpected hug. Art isn't always seen as something that is very valid or important but it lets us communicate those moments of inspiration to one another. Without them, how could we explain such wonders? Anyone can add art to their life: maybe your art is the magenta tie you add to your conservative outfit or the garden you are growing outside or the sharpie doodles you always do on your hands. Art is the outward expression of inward genius and the best part about it...there are no limits to the ways you can use it.

Eyes Open

Stop.

Right now, stop. Wherever you are, stop. Look out the window and stop. Do you see it? What do you see? Do you see what I see? Do you hear what I hear? Maybe you see something new. Did you notice it? Notice when you saw the world in a totally new way?

Before color goes on canvas, before a camera shutter opens, before clay is slapped onto a wheel, the very first ingredient is sight! You must SEE to CREATE! Look, look, LOOK! Inhale the world you live in. Suck it in through a straw, a vaccuum hose, anyway you can. Get it inside you, fill yourself up, even to your fingertips.

Have you ever looked at sunlight? A perfect, soothing gold color. Noticed the way it glints off leaves, illuminates the green from behind. Or how it can pull the red from a brunette's hair? Ever listened to the different voices the wind has? Does it scream today or simply whimper? Is it being playful, kissing at your hair, ruffling the edges of your papers?

This world is too big for us to ever be full. Look, look, look, and then, look beyond. How did the sunlight get its perfect gold? Where does the wind go to sleep? There is beauty here. There is complexity. There is life. There is design. Look, look, look, and then look for the Designer.

Dreams = Loneliness

How can you sit in a room full of people and still feel alone?

How can you talk to everyone you know and still feel that they haven't heard you?

How come you can display the masterpieces in your brain and no one see it?

In some ways, to dream is to be alone. Because no one else can ever know your dream like you do. But the dreamer is still content, because he has his dreams. We try over and over and over to explain our dreams. The best days are when someone catches a glint of our dream in their eye.

Flight

The horizon just keeps opening up. Never ending.

Sometimes I just feel limitless. It hurts to be stretched out so far. There are so few certainties. Can you be terrified and giddy with pleasure about the same thing at the same time? It is proving hard to break free of my cacoon. My wings are still limp yet. Can you see me soar? Watch how high I go. Can you see?

I have visions, whispers, colors in my head. Can you see? I can. Let me show you...

Definitions

Life: an agonizing mix of ecstasy and anguish.

Art: the result of life focused and funneled through an artist's hands.

Sometimes...

Sometimes, I want to live my whole life on a creative/emotional high point. Despite how chaotic my brain can be during these periods, I love them! I feel so alive. Everything holds a drop of inspiration. The possibility of poetry is everywhere. But if I only ever stay on a high, they'll become average to me. I have to starve a little to understand the feast of creative thought.

I have to be afraid before I realize the comfort of my Hero's arms.

Art: Good, Bad & Ugly

Art is about passion. Therefore, artists are passionate. There are so many different stereotypes of artists. One idea I've gotten a lot from my family and friends is how easy they think it is for me to create. They see my finished work and can't believe it. But I don't show them the hours of thought and struggle to get just the right lines or words out onto the paper.

To the outside world, we artists create because we love it. But we know better. We do love it but in some ways, we have to love it. When the inspiration comes, I don't really write/ draw because I want to. I do it because if I don't, the ideas will drive me literally crazy. To be an artist is to have voices in your head and if you don't get them out, they'll kill you.

And along with all that passion comes a lot of emotional ups and downs. Art is about highs and lows so guess what an artist's life gets to be like? I've noticed that the more creative I get, the more trigger happy my emotions are. I experience everything to the extreme and those extremes fuel my work. I'll admit, its hard. Lots of times, it is a total pain. It distrupts my life, school, my relationships. It makes everything just a bit harder.

But it is worth it. If I have to live the rest of my life with these crazy unpredictable extremes, I'll take them to have the creativity. The voices drive me insane but without them, I wouldn't be me. So I'll take it all: good, bad, and ugly.

Designed

Talked about Gastault in art class today, which is basically the psychology of how humans interpret visual information. Ever seen the pictures where if you focus on one spot, you see two human faces looking at each other and if you focus on another spot, you see a vase? That's Gastault.

Anyway, my teacher pointed out that a result of humans' visual perception is that basically every culture will interpret certain things the same. Examples are a smiley face or a frowney face. Almost every culture will respond positively and not feel threatened by a picture of a smiley face. He pointed out how cool that was that we all interpret those things the same.

He's right. It is cool. But it isn't coincidence. Humans respond to things like that because they were made with the same design. How can we all respond the same, even though we are separated by oceans and technology? Ever wondered how every culture has some sort of flood story? Maybe its because we didn't randomly evolve but were created with a design in mind. And if we were designed, then we might just have a purpose? And if we have a purpose, we probably need to find out what it is...

Genesis 1:27

Masterpieces

Life is a painting. Chaotic colors mangled, twisted, slicing across the canvas. My life is color and light. Light everywhere. Emotion. Beauty. Passion. Life. Creation of my own; imitations, mimics of the Ultimate Artist. It blossoms from my brain, sparks out from my fingers. Music: the voice of my piano. The nursemaid of my thoughts. Poetry. Translations of myself. Blended together. The world is singing. I listen.

Words

Write. write. write.
Will the words ever stop?
What if I can't write them down one day
What if I'm left
with mountains of words stuck in my throat
No way to let them out.
What if I end up alone
With just the words...

The words are beautiful.
Diamonds:
hot and bright in my chest
behind my eyes.
Sunlight that comes from inside

Words are terrible.
Razors. Fire.
The taste of vomit in my mouth.
They end wars
Break hearts.
Words like a knife still in the wound
Sticky and slick

Words.
So much power in such little things.
How much can be done with a word
Infinte scenarios. Trapped
Inside the right words.

The Word. Word into flesh
All the words in the universe
hung on a criminal's death.

God is. Words.