Tag Archives: Art

det tar tid

21 Feb

“it takes time”

About half of my existence is spent pondering the Could-Have-Beens, the little moments where my meddling took me down one path or another. It could have happened. A lot of things could’ve happened, but hell, if they did then things would be a lot different than they are now.
I’d imagine it so.

There are three things that don’t belong to me on my wall- well, not so much not belonging to me as not made by me. Or both-
One of them is a scratched drawing of a ‘peace robot’ on that special black-coated paper that has bright colors underneath. A boy at my church gave it to me. It is made of awesome.
There is also a print hanging above it- I found it in the trash can in the art room before winter break- it’s actually Jacob’s, and I wonder if he’d like it back. It is very well made. He printed it somehow so there are about three repeated copies, all on top of each other, flipped over and twisted. I don’t know how he did it, but I aim to replicate the feat.
Under that, I have a folded-up copy of a poem Wil wrote (well, not so much wrote as pasted together) that I found crumpled on the sidewalk outside Mrs. Grace’s room. It’s almost not his style-Wil usually writes poetry in long alliterative sentences- but I like it nonetheless. I can’t read it from my bed, but I can see the little words serpentining down the page.

Those are my three ‘foreign objects’.

I used to be afraid of a lot of things.
Stupid things, like geese and bees and stingrays and large dogs and the dark-
but I’ve realized, over the years, that these sorts of things are inconsequential. I know what I really fear, at least nowadays:
Being alone;
Change;
Being ignored or forgotten about;
and helplessness.

I’m going to try to face my fears, one by one.
It’ll take a while.

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well i see you as you take your pride-

19 Feb

my lion(ess)

Today was quite magnificent. I don’t believe I’ve done nearly as little as I have today- oh, it was an awesome non-productive eight hours. I am a junior, I relish these things.

Kind of wishing I had some money with which to buy some CDs, but I’m saving it all up for France (assuming I’m accepted) to buy things at that Japanese store on Rue Mouffetard. Onigiri avec thon! I got one during Mini Gusto, Audrey couldn’t stand the smell of tuna in our hotel room but it was SO worth it. Delicious!
I also hope that wherever we stay has a proper shower, not the strange little bath/showerhead combo that was in our hotel. I didn’t figure out how to use it until the fourth day- I took a lot of baths. I like being nice ‘n’ clean.

Well, going to probably do some more redecorating tomorrow, perhaps- maybe I’ll go to the FrameUp and buy some new tubes of acrylic paint (or poster paint) ‘cos the ones I have are dried out and thouroughly unusable. Gonna paint somethin’!
Speaking of painting, the one I’m currently working on is nearly done. I need to retouch the background in some spots and shade the skeleton’s ribs nicely, and then I might do some minor changes at that point.

Gonna do a drypoint after that! I actually really, really like prints. I enjoy both the process of carving them out and actually printing them, but in terms of finished product I like the blocks better. They’ve got more personality or something, I guess.

Will write more either tonight or tomorrow; expect large amounts od midnight drabbles. Cheers!

cousins

26 Jan

Hoo boy.

Firstly, a huge happy birthday to Jeff, who is like my very distant cousin in New York that writes and debates beautifully. Cheers, sir! I hope you get to see MIA in the near future!

In case you’re wondering, we are not blood-related. Long story short, he is the blood cousin of my pseudo-brother Sam (I have known him from seven years of age), therefore he is my pseudo-cousin. I hope you capiche, because there is no way I’m going to type that out again, especially on this teeny iPod keyboard. Draaahh.
But on the subject of pseudo-relatives, my friends and I have a pretty complex idea of who is whose cousin, who is their uncle, etc. I am (somehow) Lillian’s cousin and half-sister. I’m also Genna’s cousin, sister, and aunt.
We have tried to draw the whole mess (there are quite a few more people involved) out, but it requires non-Euclidean geometry and frankly makes my brain curl up and die just trying to think of it.

Listening to Contra (Diplomat’s Son, if you want to be specific), I am glad that it is at least okay. If they continue in this vein I will be pleased- if, however, they pull a Kings Of Leon on me, I may find Mr. Indecipherable Name Singer and clock him over the head with a Telecaster until he regains his senses. If I cannot find a Tele, I will use my massive Jazz Bass and clock him a few times with that.
Seriously though, that thing is heavy. For those of you who have never handled a guitar before (I hadn’t until ninth grade), a Jazz Bass is a type of bass made by Fender. It’s solidbody, which basically means it’s got no holes in it. It is a hunk ‘o’ wood. I could feasibly break many things wih it. Though I wouldn’t, of course, since I like my bass and don’t want it all splintered up and ruined. So, moral of the story: Don’t hit people with large melodic blunt objects.
Well, I’ll write more tomorrow (as usual); hopefully I will do the following before I start writing:
a) Argue with my Art teacher about my painting, which she constantly says “needs more darks.” I say “Screw it, I’m not done yet,” but she’s back talking to the other chicks in class. I like surrealism and Japanese old-school woodblocks (hence the thousands of prints I did- UGH PRINTS), but she doesn’t dig them nearly as much. Which leads to the current scenario; the other students are both doing landscapes in oil, while I’m doing a piece of a skeleton kind of breathing these paisley things. We’ll see which one she gives the better grade (landscape.) and which one she yaps about being too “cartoony” and “light.”
Jeezus murphy. I’ll deal with it. The verdict tomorrow!
Oh, and: I’m on Flannel Watch for Jacob right now, specifically Flannel Wih Pockets Watch. Ahaha. Lillian is the only one who knows why this is so grand, but it is grand indeed.
Night!

beneath my bed a monster lurks

22 Jan

So! The weekend! Oh, it is long overdue, but I am merely happy at the momen that I don’t have to do anything for two days. (Well, nothing besides perhaps helping out a public artis with this plaque idea at ten thirty tomorrow at the Fredriksted museum [COFF COFF RYAN COFF COFF]).
So I’m hoping me and my momma can go hit up Officemax and get some new blank CDs, as the ones we have are craptastic. In the meantime I’m gonna make album covers for my mixtape gifts. They will be quite the shiznit, if I do say so myself. Pictures will be provided (as well as simple instructions) once I’m done.
Listening to Sufjan, I am feeling like a jellyfish and a bump on a log at the same time: I don’t think I could be much more mellow than this. Go ahead, try to make me scream about large sea mammals. TRY.

Completely different subject: Taschen may admire/respect me more than previously thought. Updates upon that subject later, or when I can safely make a conclusion about the little phenomena that are his eyes.

Will write more later.

the rabid glow is like braille to the night

20 Jan

lyrics in the title taken from what is probably my favourite Interpol song, Leif Erikson. I am currently making like fifty mixtapes for a bunch of my buddies, and currently having a hard time doing so for Jacob (he has pretty much the same music taste as I do, give or take a few bands [Dungen]). What I have gotten so far is rather nice, so I think I’ll burn all the mixes sometime soon, or as soon as I get to OfficeMax to buy some new blank CDs. Jeezus.

Anyway, starting to regret writing Mindguisings, I may actually take it down pretty soon as I was in a very bad mood when I wrote it, and the person it’s ranting about really doesn’t deserve any of that hate. For one thing, I only saw everything that happened from my perspective, so I have no idea what he was thinking at the time-

you know, I’m just gonna let it go. And no, he won’t be deleted from the character page. That was dumb.

THIS is what I am kind of currently working on:


Yeah, I know, crappy, but I’m just doing the sketches. For some reason, all the people I draw seem to be cut off like right beneath the crotch. It is a little weird. I must attempt to draw more people with legs. Maybe they’re all amputees! AHA!

Gonna make some mixtapes, maybe post them up here for reference. Shweet!

diving down, down-

18 Jan

so! I wrote a screenplay last night, typed it up on Word over the course of a few hours, it is seven/eight pages long and actually ends, I think it’s pretty okay, here it is:

============================================================================================

WORKING TITLE: UH I DON’T KNOW YET, WE’LL SEE

scene 1——>

(scene opens in a field of grass/grain. The camera takes its time in focusing, eventually going to a figure in the distance.)

 

COHEN (voiceover): Today is March 18th. Somewhere, my mother is frantically clawing at my father’s hands around her neck. I am eighty miles away in what I think may be a wheat field. I am trying to find my friends.

(the camera has been zooming in throughout this speech, finally stopping about ten feet away from Cohen. He is slim, tall, about 16-18 years old, with an air that suggests that he has seen far too much of everything and is pretty tired of it. He is dressed in overalls and a pair of large rubber boots. Over the overalls he is wearing a bomber jacket, kind of off-center. He begins to walk and the camera pivots to follow him, but does not otherwise move.)

(Silence.)

(As Cohen nears the horizon, several clips flash- a snail, a leaf fluttering, concrete slabs, a hand clapping.)

(He continues to walk until we are merely presented with an empty field. It fades to black.)

 

(GOOD PLACE FOR THE TITLE CARD.)

 

scene 2. —–>

(Opens on a rocky hill. Roc and Hierophant are sitting majestically on two rocks, side-by-side. Roc is resplendent in a scarf and a pair of ripped blue jeans. He wears no shirt, but has a pair of fake wings upon his back. Hierophant is wearing a cow mask, a leotard, and nothing else the audience can see. They both have circles of face paint on their faces- Roc’s are red, Hierophant’s are blue and white. Cohen approaches from behind the camera.)

ROC: Good evening, comrade!

COHEN: Roc.

ROC: Yes, yes, the selfsame. How have the merry routes treated your sorry self?

COHEN: Fine enough. You seem well.

ROC: Well? Ahaha, my consort, my dear, I’ve been quite better. Hierophant here has been a bit of a godsend-

HIEROPHANT: Oh, silence, you consarned beetle.

ROC: See what I mean?

COHEN: Yes, yes.

(there is a silence as Roc climbs down his rock. He is shorter than Cohen, but stronger and more tanned. He is immune to many of Cohen’s terrors, being a product of his imagination [though the audience doesn’t know that yet.])

ROC: I daresay, my dear chum, it has been quite a nochy or two since we’ve had ourselves a fine good horrorshow evening.

HIEROPHANT: And the others are nearby tonight.

(She removes her mask. The camera lingers.)

ROC: What do you say, my droog?

(Cohen seems to consider a moment. The only sound is that of the wind and the grass shifting.)

COHEN: I believe that’ll do.

(Roc nods obligingly and they wait for Hierophant to descend from her perch. It is revealed that she is wearing sparkly black fishnet stockings and yellow hiking boots, as well as a billowing maroon cape. They walk.)

 

ROC: So do you remember the others?

(Shot of Cohen’s face, then cut to shots of: a) a crane; b) a fish disturbing the top of a pond; c) a cat suddenly pouncing; and d) an apple being smooshed by a car- all in quick succession. Cut back to Cohen’s face, than a slow zoom out.)

COHEN: Y-Yes. I do remember them.

HIEROPHANT: All of them? I find that a tad hard to believe, even if-

ROC: (interrupting) That’s enough, my dear.

(Hierophant harrumphs softly. They continue to walk off-screen.)

scene 3 —–>

(Cut to an open, green field with a house/barn/structure in the center. There seems to be gaiety surrounding it, and as we follow our characters nearer the place, we can see people prancing around. No words are exchanged until Roc reaches the door, which is guarded by Wyvern. She is a small, willowy girl with the same circular face paint as Roc and Hierophant, though hers is a bright orange. She is dressed in a petticoated gown with a tattered flannel haphazardly thrown over it. She also has pearls strewn through her hair, dangling down and dragging on the floor behind her. She goes barefoot.)

WYVERN: And ho! Our guest arrives! (Roc kisses her hand.) Thank you dear. And Cohen! Oh, the years have been weary for you as well, I see. Please, follow my lead.

(She opens the door graciously for them and leads them through a room saturated with gauze hangings and multicolored lights, making it look like a fuzzy rave. The music is loud and booming, but we can still hear Wyvern as she says:)

WYVERN: Come, they are expecting you sub-level.

(She beckons them through a trap-door sunk within the foggy floor.)

(another flash of clips: ice breaking, a dog barking, a tree on a hill, a time-lapse shot of a cloud)

 

(it is dark.)

WYVERN: Ah, well- Cohen, I’m afraid I’m going to have to change you a little.

COHEN: What?

ROC: She’s going to have to give you these. (points to face-paint circles.) If you don’t mind.

COHEN: (a little confused) Sure, go ahead.

(Wyvern dips her finger into a gourd she picks up and draws circles on Cohen’s face, a deep green. There is no visible change.)

WYVERN: Now, come, come. We mustn’t be late.

(She opens a door and we have a shot of Cohen’s face, blank but amazed, before a cut to a younger Cohen, his father (Paul) and his mother (Carol). They sit at a nondescript kitchen table. A rooster crows outside.)

CAROL: -So I was thinking, Paul, that Daniel-

COHEN: Mum, I’d like to be called Co-

CAROL: I don’t like that name, eat your beans. (to Paul) Anyway, I was thinking that he shouldn’t be hanging around those dreadful Thompson boys.

PAUL: And what makes them so “dreadful”? I see it as he’s learning how to be a man, how to defend himself.

CAROL: They tease him about his…his “condition”.

PAUL: So? Daniel knows they’re not real, right?

(Carol looks disgustedly at her husband. She turns to Cohen.)

CAROL: Daniel, please go to your room.

(He wordlessly gets up and leaves.)
(The camera stays on his seat for a second before panning to his mother’s face.)

CAROL: I swear to God, Paul, you will not say those kinds of things around him. Heaven knows his mind is fragile already.

PAUL: Carol, I told you. Only way he’s going to get past this is if he goes at it head-on! What am I gonna tell my golf buddies, that I’ve got a pansy for a-

CAROL: Fuck your golf buddies. This is your son, Paul. We can’t leave him like this for the rest of his life.

PAUL: You heard the fucking therapist- he’s delusional! There’s no way in hell he’s going to ever be normal!

(silence.)

PAUL: Shit. I…I need a drink.

(The camera follows him through the door, and stays long enough to see him place ice and gin in a glass and say:)

PAUL: For God’s sake, he talks to a bloody Hieropha-

(cut back to Cohen [close-up]. As the camera zooms out, it is revealed that the room seems to be part of an abandoned house, though with Christmas lights strewn about, woven through furniture and branches. Vines wrap around everything wrappable. There is a huge party going on in this space. Everyone has the same bright circles of face paint as Roc and Hierophant, albeit each with different colors. All are dressed ridiculously.)

ROC: I’ll see you in a few hours, my good lad. (He disappears with Hierophant and Wyvern in the heaving crowd.)

(Almost immediately, a dark girl with close-cropped hair comes waltzing up dressed in a corset, a tie, and a pair of glittery pants. Her facepaint is aquamarine. Her name is Llrona.)

 

LLRONA: Hello, yearling. How are we this fair evening?

COHEN: I’m not too sure anymore-

LLRONA: Do you still know who you are?

COHEN: Yes.

LLRONA: Then we must change that, yearling. Come. Come with me.

(She leads Cohen through the crowd, stopping near a door. There is a bowl of candy beside it, and she hands Cohen one.)

LLRONA: Eat and forget! Eat and live with me. Eat and fly with the gods.

(Cohen cautiously chews one- we see several short clips of a bear roaring, the sea, the sky, and a building collapsing.)

COHEN: What- what-

LLRONA: Don’t ask questions, my dear consort.

(They kiss passionately.)

COHEN: Ah-but-

LLRONA: Why are you asking anything, my dear? There need not be a purpose for love-

COHEN: Please, again. Your lips-

(They kiss again, more intensely.)

LLRONA: Yes, that’s the ticket, yearling. (She nibbles on his ear.)

COHEN: Y-you are so strange! What are you?

LLRONA: Ahaha, strange? But I am not the strangest one around this place! And as to what I am- I am all the fantasies, all the things inside you that screamed for the act of love, that pleaded for lust.

COHEN: Ah, ah- shall we kiss again?

LLRONA: Certainly.

(Another kiss.)

COHEN: Why-

LLRONA: Because. Come with me, dear. We will stop the screaming within your body’s reaches.

(They exit the frame.)

(The party goes on, but it seems to blur and warp and distort, until finally it fades to black.)

 

scene 5 —->

(Opens in an airy bedroom. Cohen is lying shirtless on the bed, wearing tight leather pants. Llrona is in a gown at the foot of the bed.)

LLRONA: Your familiar ones are looking for you.

COHEN: Roc? Ah, right. They must be wondering…

LLRONA: Our kind does not wonder. We know.

(silence.)

COHEN: Are you- you’re not real, are you.

LLRONA: Was the ecstasy you felt real?

COHEN: I should hope so.

LLRONA: Well then I, too, am as real as that.

COHEN: Real…I see.

(cut to Cohen’s parents sitting on the side of a younger Cohen’s bed.)

CAROL: Now, Daniel, we realize that you sometimes see things that aren’t there.

PAUL: And we know you can’t help it.

COHEN: You see them too?

(Carol and Paul look at each other.)

CAROL: No, Daniel. But the doctor you’ve been going to has given us some nice pills to make your invisible friends go away.

COHEN: But they’re my friends! Roc, and Hier-

PAUL: Daniel, they don’t exist.

(Cohen is silent.)

COHEN: I don’t think that’s true, Daddy.

PAUL: (stands up, angry) Goddammit, Daniel- they don’t exist. We’re not sending you to a therapist for 1400 dollars a session for things that exist-

CAROL: Dear-

PAUL: Shut it, Carol. Now, Daniel, you’re going to take these pills. If I find that you haven’t, even for one day, I’m going to beat your ass to Hell and back. Understood?

(cut back to present Cohen, head in hands.)

COHEN: He told me you weren’t real…

LLRONA: Hush. Roc comes.

(Roc enters through a door, disheveled and covered in gauzy wrappings. He yawns.)

ROC: An evening for the mighty, eh my friend? Ah, it’s been nice, but we must ramble on.

COHEN: I see. (to Llrona) Thank you.

(Llrona nods, then goes to the nearest wall and seems to sink through it, leaving her gown on the floor.)

 

COHEN: And where shall we go now?

 

(Hierophant enters loudly, flowers in her hair.)

HIEROPHANT: Into the underbelly of the world, into those places where we will find our friends Thunderbird and Sasquatch- into our woods, into the land.

COHEN: Let us go, then.

(A brief shot of the sheets as he leaves- they are covered in glitter- then a shot of the trio leaving. Cohen has butterfly wings upon his back.)

scene 6—–>

(outside, a woodland. Cohen opens his mouth to speak, but before he does there are clips of the moon, a cave, and a gaslamp.)

 

COHEN: Roc, can you fly?

ROC: (gazes into distance) Oh, oh once, when I was grand, and feared, and wondrous in my conquests, I could fly. It wasn’t flying, though, it was soaring, my wings spread- OI!

(a figure flits through the woods ahead.)

HIEROPHANT: Camellopard! (she runs ahead.)

COHEN: Camellopard? She was one of the first I’d seen- well, besides you, Roc. And then Hierophant, but she came later-

(Roc nods sadly.)

ROC: And then they wrenched you away from us- I remember, I remember. We were lonely, meaningless…

(Suddenly a cry sounds from the woods. They run in to see Hierophant hugging Camellopard, who is a short, “exotic”-looking girl with long, wild hair, dressed skimpily and wearing high boots. Her face-paint circles are golden. They turn as Roc and Cohen approach.)

ROC: My dear-!

CAMELLOPARD: Ah, a long time- and Cohen! Oh, even longer.

COHEN: I missed you.

CAMELLOPARD: And I you, little one. Now come. There is much to do before the night.

(They start walking through the woods.)

HIEROPHANT: Are the others here too?

(Close up of Cohen’s face, then cut to a fox, a bear, a fawn, and a raccoon before going back to Cohen. Then pan to Camellopard.)

CAMELLOPARD: No- it was their time, it was the forest’s choice-

COHEN: Gone? How?

CAMELLOPARD: Nothing is immortal but the earth. Not even we are immortal, despite being made of different stuff than you and your kind.

COHEN: The forest took them?

CAMELLOPARD: Yes.

ROC: We must continue, we cannot dally now that they are gone. We may not have much time left ourselves. Will you accompany us, my love?

CAMELLOPARD: I shall.

HIEROPHANT: The sea grows near- let us walk.

(though they exit the frame, the camera lingers on the woods for a long second before fading to black.)

scene 7—->

(Above Annaly Bay or some similar location. The four walk slowly, silent until:)

ROC: Our time grows shorter, Cohen.

COHEN: How- but you never mentioned time!

ROC: Because there never used to be any. Now we are swept in its currents- ah, the sea!

(they have reached the shore.)

HIEROPHANT: Our time is shorter still, come, come Cohen! Follow us-

(Roc, Hierophant, and Camellopard walk into the waves.)

COHEN: But- I cannot swim-

ROC: Nor can I, but I will not drown. Come, come! Quickly!

(Cohen cautiously steps in, slowly, until he is up to his neck in the waves. And Roc still beckons him:)

ROC: Come, further! Further!

(until Cohen is underwater, he is drowning, he is terrified, and the screen suddenly cuts to black.)

(Flashes of color, of animals, of trees.)

 

(Silence.)

 

(A white screen fades into a small girl, walking along the beach and picking up rocks. She sees Cohen, sitting in the sand, and runs to see who he is. She taps his shoulder.)

GIRL: Mister, mister, are you okay?

(Cohen turns his head. His facepaint circles are now a deep blue, and he looks back at the girl with a mournful, melancholy gaze.)

 

COHEN: I’ve been better, little one.

GIRL: What’s your name?

COHEN: Dani-. No. No, it’s Saeglopur.

(The little girl cocks her head.)

GIRL: Weird name.

COHEN: It means (he looks out on the ocean, obliquely facing the camera) lost-at-sea.

GIRL: Well, that’s pretty- Mister, mister, are you real?

(Cohen doesn’t answer her. Fade to black.)

END.

====================================================================

Your thoughts?

sudden realizations

13 Jan

I HAVE PAINTING IDEAS

yessssssssssss
I now will be able to do stuff in art class on friday. Hurray! Of course, this is given that my art teacher doesn’t censor my ideas.

Been sort of mentally writing stories about people I see- sort of like literary people-watching. For example, I saw this guy completely encased in a Rastafarian-coloured sack just walking along the road, his head and feet sticking out a little. Did it make me laugh? Yes. Did I take a picture? Yes. Hypothetical backstory: he works at a flag shop and sewed two together to show his rastaman pride.
Contra is growing on me, I am going to go rip it in a few minutes.
Also: any songs I should learn to play?