Nocturnal Artist

In my mind I always knew
I didn't have much for looks.
Rather than catching young men's eyes,
I turned my own to books.

Though art and thought occupied my time,
I grew increasingly jealous
of girls who never read a line,
but were still upheld desirous.

With later age
my body changed
my acne-marked face cleared up.
Frazzled hair became soft and tame,
and those books I soon forgot.

Now I've known lust a thousand times,
and with more partners than I care to name,
but I owe all love to my intelligence,
not the beauty I became.

We don't always like what we put on the page. Understatement. The inadequacy can be shameful, disgusting, and painful. Some days, I don't keep more than a phrase. The brushwork seems sloppy, and the proportions are off. I have thrown away paintings and whole journals without regret.

Friends, family, strangers...

After some internal debate about fears and publicity, I've decided to reopen this blog. Maybe it's to share my thoughts, or maybe to get a glimpse of my own head from the outside, but I'm not sure. I've been pretty confused lately.

Truth be told, I've spent a long time trying to disguise a fucked up psychology. A poem from 2012:


The more I learn, the more I realize that modern psychology is just a means of applying a label to a set of symptoms. And it's harmful.

It's harmful because at 13 years old I got my first diagnosis. I was told, in paraphrase, that I was mentally ill, that most people with mental illnesses never get better, and that my future was likely suicide if I didn't fix myself.

It's harmful because it implies that there is a correct way to live life, and that it's not okay to relax with symptoms that are really quite human. It creates an expectation of constant happiness, but we have all experienced more emotions than visible colors. There is a sense of shame and inferiority stamped on every label. It also places so much importance on things that are out of your control. The past can't be changed, but it supposedly molded you. Genetics are also inescapable, and for the longest time, I think I identified myself with that pile of diagnoses more than I identified myself by my own name. However, the human mind is remarkably malleable, and the present moment is completely new. Every single second of your life is fresh.

At 13, I got my first bottle of pills. I got my first stay in a mental institute. I got my first journal, and I've been writing ever since.

I've had enough with hidden issues. Sometimes I panic, sometimes I get depressed, sometimes my thoughts race, and sometimes I can't sleep, but I'm not going to spend the rest of my life hiding in a drawer beside my bed.

This is an acrylic painting of Robert Fripp based on the album cover of Red by King Crimson. I submitted this painting to the UMF art gallery at the end of my fall semester, and found out only when the painting had been taken off display that it was hanging in the first place. Too bad I couldn't post a picture of it on display!

I have never taken any serious interest in watercolor before, so I thought I would give it a try. I'm definitely liking some of the paintings I've been experimenting with.

Hello! I've just created a community art project called Letters From Strangers and I would really love it if you would check it out and participate!

You send an anonymous letter to a stranger. You get an anonymous letter from a stranger. Pretty cool, huh?

After intense struggles with life itself, I've finally reached a place of contentment. I transferred to a new university with a clean slate. My classes are stimulating, and both my productivity and creativity have soared lately! As a result, I'm posting to the blog again. My classes are fairly rigorous, but I have heaps of spare time as well.

Along with the university is a new painting class. I'm exploring mediums I have very little comfort in. Recent practices have been with Cray-Pas. I find them gooey and imprecise, which contrasts my usual style. My first attempt with them was an unsharable disaster, but to the left is the result of my most recent practice session.

The drawing is a study of color, done in patches rather than in intricate detail. I spent nearly three hours in a field sitting on moist grass. My legs were asleep, and every time I switched positions I was jabbed by pins and needles. Nevertheless, every artist should step out of his comfort zone to grow and become more in touch with his creative process.