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after all is said and done
we live to shit to kill to come
It becomes increasingly difficult to handle now that I've had a taste of the potentialities. According to quantum mechanics, those potentialities are hovering above me in the form of space-time. What could have been (but never was) is only a gaze away, is only one upward tilt of the chin, is only one innate command to eyes otherwise plummeting sideways.

Is Only is part of the problem. What is ever Only this? Only that? I've yet to find an Only that only is as only claims it is. But I digress.

Even though I am the product of an Only relationship, I find myself fantasizing still. My rational self knows very well that there is no use--in fact, I admit to still being below ground. I fantasize and dig and fantasize and dig deeper and fantasize and dig dig dig.

It's the taste that got me. A bite would have been preferable; a taste just leaves me with an insatiable appetite.

My only recourse, I suppose, is to continue fighting the battle between progression and regression, though still uncertain about which I hope comes out on top.


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With my feet upon the ground I lose myself
between the sounds and open wide to suck it in,
I feel it move across my skin.
I'm reaching up and reaching out,
I'm reaching for the random or what ever will bewilder me.
And following our will and wind we may just go where no one's been.
We'll ride the spiral to the end and may just go where no one's been.

I suppose I took a sort of (unintentional?) hiatus. I apologize for not commenting, friends list. My brain has been consumed by the AP gods. Seriously, the terms visual coherence and breadth and drawing concern are on repeat, and I submitted my drawing portfolio 12 hours ago.


I guess this is the piece I'm ending my AP studio year with. After the struggle and strife of this year, I think I can finally say that I am genuinely proud of myself.

Off I go. I love you.

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Current Music: tool - lateralus

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Okay, okay.

I am seriously considering making an Etsy account for selling. But before I dive head first into a potentially very bad idea, I need to gauge interest.

If I were to make small, silly pieces like this guy, or sell prints like this guy, or take custom orders, would anyone be interested in purchasing?

Great for, uh, putting on your bookshelf?

I can even sell the triptych from this post, or take orders on business cards, but.... well, I don't know. I need suggestions. What should I sell, not sell, etc? If you have interest in any of the above, please let me know.

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Current Music: madonna

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Sunday.Collapse )

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Current Mood: productive-kind-of-sort-of
Current Music: no doubt

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quick update to say

a.) hello, how are you?
b.) providence is incredible.
c.) I'm in love with RISD.

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Grado.Collapse )

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Current Mood: stressed stressed
Current Music: opeth

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I just spent the last three hours with my head in between my speakers (literally), completely and positively immersed in sound and thought. It's unreal how fucking uplifting a night of music and intellectual inquiry can be.

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Current Music: heavenly, heavenly audio

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When I made the process book for my found object series, I was set on its topic: dehumanization. I began work on the pieces, but it was near impossible--I was going through what probably was my most intense artistic rut. I was questioning my path, my art, my career choice, etc, but I wanted had to at the very least redeem myself after the Failure that was my last project's. Caps, even.

I needed inspiration to work. I searched tonnes of illustration/graphic design websites, magazines, editorials; I even went to a few gallery spaces during Art Basel week. Nothing.

I had a conversation with a good friend friend about these pieces. I kept interrogating my poor buddy, "Do you think Ms. ______ will like this?", "Is this a cop out?", "Is this college-review worthy?" Yeah? No?
She gave me the wake-up call I needed. Work for you, she said. Not for Ms. ______, not for colleges, not for competition. For you.

A completely new concept to me! I was so wired into producing work that would please my teacher, my GPA, my college reviewers. To think that I could work for myself! I swear to you, LJ, this was unfathomable to me < two weeks ago.

At the same time, I was dreaming up peculiar phrases/subjects. I woke up with sentence upon sentence, concept upon concept ingrained in my skull. My subconscious was warning me: don't date triangles from the convenience store. My left incisor fell out. I survived a tidal wave (quite literally) of ~256 pool goers cannonballing at the same time, but my friends were not so lucky.

I wrote these down, directly on my 7 x 7 pieces. "Dehumanization" evolved into the visual reproduction of my subconscious and its degeneration.

There is a suited man pulling on a bird femur. I cannot translate my subconscious's messages if only through guttural noises.
He is replaced by a vellum silhouette. The red string becomes dotted. My struggle withers.
He disappears and is replaced by a red, stringed noose. The bone, dragged along in the previous two pieces, utters the words.

This is the most personal piece I have ever made.Collapse )

I made a pretty mess, too.Collapse )

BONUS! Abnormal strawberry goodness!Collapse )

Fuck, it feels fantastic to be finished.

Current Mood: accomplished accomplished
Current Music: SPK

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It's a funny feeling, this lump. Certain days I feel proud to carry it, as an indication of my sort-of actualization. Most days, I want to leap out of the 93 Max in hopes that the lump will degenerate in the 16 mile walk home. What is it's half-life, I wonder?

Entries like this just remind me that I've made no progress. I progress, I regress. Progress, regress. That's all.

I am blinded. I have lost my sense of realism. Emotional necessity is nonexistent--or so I keep trying to tell myself.

I refuse the easy solution. I don't know what I'll do; I only know what I will not do. In the meantime, my feet will suffer.

Current Mood: glum
Current Music: jazz.

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This about sums up how I've felt for the past week or so.

Current Mood: see above.

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