Being

Plot

Character

Setting

Along the edge of the abruptly-ending hill he walked, venturing for home after another unsuccessful search. The trees of the island still had no fruit to give, yet they kept living, meandering upward, away from the ground. His fading eyes followed his feet back to his empty home in his empty city, full of empty clothes and empty glasses, with empty little exoskeletons in the corners of empty windowsills.

A king of stone, dirt, pointless trees is hardly a king at all, yet King he was called when life ruled the island.

His wish was granted, along with his curse. He wished to rule, and the kingdom was his, after being stripped of man and beast and near all life. He wished to be above the world, and his empty kingdom was made highest of kingdoms, never to touch water: ocean, cloud, river or puddle. He wished for immortality, and he will live forever as the King of Solitude, never again to feel warmth or hear a voice. Becoming this king meant that no other were to verify his existence. Immortality did not hardly mean living forever, immortality meant hardly living forever.

The king will never know about the man and beast following close behind his kingdom, yearning as well to exist.

The wish-granting Trickster had recently had his others tricked away, too. The dumb turtle was not company, but a vessel for rants and jokes and venting.
The King of Solitude, surrounded with nothing.

The Trickster on the turtle, following.

Vincent van Gogh

(Pronunciation)

He was a man born on the thirtieth of March, in the year of eighteen fifty~three.
He was quiet for reasons that would lead him to remark, "my youth was gloomy and cold and sterile."

He was taught to draw at the age of thirteen, and he quite liked it.

As his appearance may have sometimes shown,

van Gogh was very emotional and lacked self~confidence.

In 1866, he went to Paris. People weren't fond of his art.

He was dead by the twenty~ninth of July, in the year of eighteen ninety.

He is seen by many of us today "not only as the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived."

"Sometimes winning is no fun at all."

~"Vincent and the Doctor"

I chose Vincent over any other person on your lists of artists because his drawings and paintings and anything gave evidence that his internal surroundings were far more beautiful than his external surroundings. His mind reacted wildly to insecurity and tragedy and love, and he showed what he saw. It wasn't until it was widely understood what he meant that his art was renown and revered, just as a crowd of drunks may be silent to a clever joke until it is explained by a clever person.

Three paintings that appealed to me for different reasons:

"Wheat Field with Crows"

"Wheat Fields at Auvers Under Clouded Sky"

"Old Man in Sorrow (On the Threshold of Eternity)"

Because.

My posts are typically posted at night or early morning, because the sun is down, which means I'm alone, which means my right brain is most active.

This is when I'm most comfortable with being productive and thinky and it's when I'd prefer to not be around people, or it's when I crave good people the most.

I need a scanner.

Colorblind Contour Self~Portrait

I can't say that this will ever be finished. If I were to be done with it, it would be nearly completely black, but for the sake of getting a grade, call it finished.

I did my blind contour, and immediately added onto it, so it's hard o tell which parts were blind and which weren't. I like it better that way.

I just noticed that "I have to stop forgetting" is on there twice, but it's doubly true.

This is a picture of me with words and my favorite coat.

Filling up Empty Bowls

We're filling these bowls with food and the uniqueness of their makers, and it's shown in the bowls' construction and appearance.

I love double entendres and playing with words. Linguistics are fun.

So here's my thing!

Two halves of a face, inverse in chromatic symmetry.

But look again!

The different faces share a mind. This is called a person.
Doing what comes naturally has led to this bowl. I like not having guidelines, it's like I already know what to do.
This may be why certain projects in our class that I've done don't feel like art to me. I may feel good or bad about something somebody wanted me to do, but it's not art to me. I could never be paid to create something, I'd just do it or I wouldn't.
Hm. I wish I could explain better without saying "I don't feel like it," because that's a commonly used and easily misunderstood declaration.

I could just be looking at things the wrong way.

About the Empty Bowls Community Service Project, and about any community service like it:
Helping one other than oneself for no personal gain is... necessary. Those who don't understand this are, in my eyes, children. Or not adult humans, at least. Other animals give selflessly, but not always to the less fortunate. I'm actually not sure there is such a thing a "fortune" in the non~human universe.
Anyway. Hunger in America.
Very common. I see it a lot, but not to its extremes. It may be because of my ignorance, but I would think that the United States has more of a difficulty helping the obese than it does the hungry.
I... don't have much more to say. I'm far too uneducated on the matter. Know that I have a compulsion to change that.

Lantern.. or IS it?!

Well, here it is~~ my paper lantern as of January 22nd.
(Pardon my lack of a hyphen key)

Not the most tedious project I've done, but it's definitely the most painful. Physically painful, that is. I must have been holding the blade wrong, but I've developed a few blisters. Meanwhile, I see other people punching holes in the paper as if he or she was a graceful machine.

"Tedious" art for me usually isn't work. I receive hours of enjoyment, running smooth, heavy black ink across notebook paper, or across a surface where ink is not known to belong (e.g. a small patch of wall in my bedroom). Working on the same paper for hours becomes difficult when the surface area is dwindling at a linear rate, which, I assume, is why I'm not used to.

Planning also makes me not want to do things. On a somewhat related note, when I want to do something, it is not usually planned. When I feel like drawing, it usually requires solitude, and I spend as much time as I feel appropriate to empty the pen's ink supply onto the paper from my notebook or hand or what have you. Having a project already in mind makes my brain think that the end result will be different than expected, gradually dissuading me from continuing work. I eventually pull through, but it takes much longer.
If I think "I have to," I don't want to. For some reason, if I know "no one else has done this" or "..." I just... naturally... do things?

I admire writers and their many talents of writing and creativity, always finding the right words for the things from their brain.

What I plan to add to the lantern: two humans sitting together , sharing a blanket over their shoulders; gifts boxes and little toys roaming around; yeah.

Here's what it may look like in the future, at a certain angle:

Post time.

Expect to see more posts this time.
Or don't expect it, and you'll be delightfully surprised. Yeah. Do that.

I'm back in creative arts partly because I'm curious to see what changes were made to the class since last year, other partly because I'm unsatisfied wit how little effort I put into... all of last year. Consider this a re-do.

Lost Focus

This is the business of nonsense.

(Mrs. Kiick: go to your email. the following two blog posts are presented in Google Documents, because Blogger does not post anything at my computer)

My blogs. They are not appearing from my home computer. Why is this? How can this be fixed?

Collage. HMMMmmmm.... symbolism.

Portrait. Yep.

Oh, Sir Maurits Cornelis Escher.

When I was little, my dad was cleaning the house and found his old books. Of the dustiest of these books, there was a simple paperback book with an odd image on the cover.Just from a glance, the cover interested me, but when I peered closer into the three-dimensional star in the center, I saw that it was hallow, sprouting a rainbow of arms, legs, and heads. If I looked even longer, I saw that these colorful extremeties formed several different lizard-like creatures that all seem to be looking for another of their kind, or... looking for nothing at all. Just... staring. Statuesque were these assorted reptiles that were trapped in the star. Or maybe the star was sheltering them.The point is kids don't usually think or observe this much, and since I did, it triggered a complete change in the images my mind projected into the outside world, via drawing or writing or speech. All of the doodles on the sides of my tests consisted of regular polygons and spirals and geometrical patterns and everything in between, as opposed to "this is mommy, and this is daddy" stick people. I surprised myself and had no idea what inspired such radical drawings.
M. C. Escher... I guess his work is what inspired me, as did many other things from my childhood. The more drawn to a film, photo, person, event, place, noun, etc., the more of an effect it had on my all around personality. Escher just happened to be one of those things, I guess.
The book my father had pulled out of his collection and had given to me was The Graphic Work of M. C. Escher. The paperback version. It was dusty, but in good condition (ignoring the paint splatter on the inside cover). It's... somewhere, buried in that Labyrinth of an attic of mine.
I'm still wondering... did Maurits Escher use a ruler and a compass? I couldn't draw a straight line or a semi-perfect cirlce to save the few people I care about; He can paint a seemingly perfect infinite spiral made of lizards... or dog... goat... things.

I love designs that feature impossible constructions and infinity like "Belvedere" or "Snakes."

I thought and thought about it over several years, and I don't know why I like the dream-worldish landscapes and characters I like. Maybe I wish this weren't the real life. Imagination is infinite and nothing is absolute within it. Maybe I want to live there instead of here."Snakes"^The Dutch graphic artist, M. C. Escher lived from 1898 until 1972, dying at the age of 73. As a child, he was very inactive, due to illness. In his early school life, his grades were atrocious, but he focused his talent into the arts: drawing, piano-playing, etc.
He wanted to go to school for architecture, but his disease intruded and he had to study decorative arts.
Escher was inspired by italian architecture: cities and castles and such.

Pretend these blog posts are in my other blog, so it look prettier.

Hmm...

This is me doodling.

http://a5.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/392226_2632675541864_1404662457_33025781_1480600965_n.jpg

http://hphotos-sjc1.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc7/315729_2632682742044_1404662457_33025787_364101299_n.jpg

and here is a cellphone.

http://a1.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/392226_2632675621866_1404662457_33025783_729767569_n.jpg

oh, and I also found this.

http://a4.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/392226_2632675661867_1404662457_33025784_534837672_n.jpg

It makes me warm and such, surprises like this.
Whenever I try to slip a little note into the lunch I packed her, or into her drawer in the Creative Arts class, I always find something later that she made for me that completely tops what I made earlier.
Heh. Of course I read her blog. I keep forgetting to tell her that, though.

My head hurts. My eyes are dry. I only smell dog and cigarette smoke.
But... I only thought about those things long enough to type them.
Now I'm thinking about...
Lex is at her friend's house. She has my cellphone, else I would be texting her instead of writing this. I guess getting a good grade is good.

Facing away from my computer monitor, I can see a brick wall and a fireplace. The high-pitched voices of children's sitcoms invade my ears.
...So annoying.

Either I dislike too many thinks (due to over-thinking), or more things need to change and/ or not exist. Of course it's the latter, there's nothing wrong with over-thinking.

I'm ranting, shut up. This is a rare thing for me.

This is what you people sound like:

"Woah, that's so good. 

I love that color. 

You're really good at" shut up, stop talking. These are thoughts, you silly classmates. These are not helpful comments or constructive criticism that would help you or I in any way. You're polluting the air of smart people with your ridiculous, trivial, absolutely trite statements of your brain's side notes, you silly nothings.

...Though that is pretty cool, I guess.

Take no offense, that was the insensitive part of my brain.

This is an example of how I think.

Zach Meyers' Blog posts that were due ten minutes before he started writing this:
(That^ was going to be the original title of this blog post, but...  thought otherwise.)

(It's the end of the third of November, and I've yet to forge my last three blog posts.
The previous sentence should be ignored, as should this one.)
Since the summer ended, I feel like I've been getting older exponentially. Not older, just... less kid-ish. Many bad things have happened since then that I've managed to keep my cool over by "sciencing" my way through the situation.
Many more good than bad things have happened, and they've proven to be excellent destractions from my school work. I have no regrets for anything  I've done this year, I just wish people... thought.

This first marking period in my Creative Arts class, I've learned that when you combine miniscule fractions of a year of drawing, painting, book-making, crafting, and other fun stuff, it is called "Creative Arts." ...I miss the multiple art electives...
I've also learned that being told to draw fruit is much less enjoyable than drawing something else.

Something with actual emotion or mentality, or... some other big word.
Apples are only good in my digestive system. Other than that, I've been scarred from them.

I'm writing this at 12:01 pm. Good people can be so hard to find, but once I find one, I immediately build my relationship with said good person. My definition of a good person is most likely different than your, because mine involves having an experienced life; learning from the consequences and rewards of the actions of others and oneself. Instead of calling these people "good," I usually refer to them as "broken," in that they've broken away from the norm of social standards. I feel silly saying that, because when other people say it, they're... dumb. I'm not.
Broken kids are good. When they aren't, it's because their brain isn't good.

Saying my thoughts out loud can be difficult. It makes me feel like a jerk sometimes, because I talk about how many bad people there are, and how much I'd like things to change (without doing anything to change anything). I hear some people talk too much without thinking. I think too much without talking.
I set up so many hypothetical conversations in my head, that I just think, "nah, I probz already know they're opinion," and disregard the person I may or may not have talked to.
WITH the exception of my "broken" people. They always have something interesting to say or think, and I'm good at getting people to say what they think. I don't like it when people don't. I don't sometimes, when I'm trying to be decisive with my words, or I'm around people who's opinions I don't care about.

I wish written/spoken language was never invented. It takes so much effort to convey one's thoughts from brain-nonsense to english words.
Telepathy would make everything so much easier...
But then, it's also comforting writing within the laws of written/spoken English. I don't like how sentences, phrases, and words have been warped and completely modified to express the silly thoughts of silly teenagers and adults with handheld devices and other kinds of electronic keyboards.

I do give the occasional "lawl" out loud every once in a while. It's how the acronym, "lol" sounds in my head.

Wow, I am amazing at the English language. I apologize for writing my thoughts in the monotonous method of 1st person, I don't do this often. I like doing this. I should do this often.