“Thinking outside the box might be facilitated by having a somewhat less intact box.” -Dr. Fredrik Ullén

i think this one’s better and awesome.

of course, you don’t have to take my word for it.

i think the working title could be “monsters.”

we must lay love at the feet of monsters.
hellions of heart, titans of temperament,
warm their palms and clothe their soles,
monstrosities of mind, fiends of fingertip.

hellions of heart, titans of temperament-
silently love them, love silence for them.
monstrosities of mind, fiends of fingertip-
chilled mouth behind, iced tongue before them.

silently love them, love silence for them.
delicate condolence, as if west zephyr,
chilled mouth behind, iced tongue before them
sweep ‘cross inflamed chest, smoulder.

delicate condolence, as if west zephyr,
who ever heard a mellow or mild coal
sweep ‘cross inflamed chest, smoulder?
value monsters’ heads, intimate, whole.

who ever heard a mellow or mild coal?
ask the raw-footed truth walkers;
"value monsters’ heads , intimate, whole."
they vouchsafe only grace with restrained fervor.

ask the raw-footed truth walkers,
warm their palms and clothe their soles.
they vouchsafe only grace with restrained fervor,
and how we must lay love at the feet of monsters.

this one’s pretty good

i think i’ll call it, “burst sleep.”

defying resolute, albeit weary, eye lids,
exhausted caffeine caisson.
twitching awake, apparently
chemicals fool the body fragile.

exhausted caffeine caisson,
tick tock time bomb swim.
chemicals fool the body fragile,
river breaching dam skeleton.

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a short introduction to pantoums,

because i wrote some and they’re awesome, and i want to make sure you understand.

The “pantun” is a Malaysian poetic form that was introduced to the West by French novelist, essayist, and poet, Victor Hugo (1802-1885), hence the French spelling, “pantoum.” Westerners have taken creative liberties with the Malaysian form, which tends to follow a standard rhyme form of ABAB, where multiple, rather than single subjects, are introduced.  While pantoums can have unlimited stanzas, you might want to begin with a 3-stanza poem until you get the hang of it:

Stanza 1:

Line 1
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4

Stanza 2:

Line 5 (repeat of line 2 in stanza 1)
Line 6 (new line)
Line 7   (repeat of line 4 in stanza 1)
Line 8 (new line) 

Stanza 3/Last Stanza (This is the format for the last stanza regardless of how many preceding stanzas exist):

Line 9   (line 2 of the previous stanza)
Line 10 (line 3 of the first stanza)
Line 11 (line 4 of the previous stanza)
Line 12 (line 1 of the first stanza)

my first post-grad screen.
awww.  View high resolution

my first post-grad screen.


(Source: wontloversrevoltnow)

here is why i’m grateful i got an art degree even though it’s one of those degrees that won’t exactly make you any money.

it’s that feeling i got today.

the beautiful place where what you’re doing, thinking, and feeling are all in accord.  there’s no disconnect or internal conflict, you just Are.  rachel called it the “Zen of Art.”
she also mentioned how she finds it most common in process oriented or detail oriented work. 

when you find it, it’s the best meditation, the best therapy there is.
i just spent 3 years learning how to find where my voice sings, where my peace grows, where my stillness sits.

just, the fact i stumbled back into the moments where thoughts fade into the background, you’re trusting yourself entirely, you’re fully present in this moment, appreciating reality, when i’ve been trying to meditate into it and just falling short.  i found something i’ve been looking for.  it makes me so grateful for my art education.  it wasn’t a waste of 10’s of thousands of dollars, it was a path into myself, and that’s not to be taken lightly.

a path i needed to find again, especially now.  it was, of course, inevitable, but i’m glad it’s happened now.

(Source: wontloversrevoltnow)

this is a stuffed textile somethin’ i made today at the children’s museum after my internship interview.
i was in the zone, as we say.  it was perfect.

and here is, apparently, an essay on the process that went into the piece:

here, i am experimenting with a series of personal symbols, because i’ve been trying to paint them, but i’m coming up a little short.
i expect to be working and re-working, playing with, and manipulating these symbols for a long time.  i see myself expanding the set of symbols (so far the main ones are the set of triangles, the arch/dot pairing at the bottom, then the 5 lines and 13 lines on the back) developing them, creating more successful, more complex, and more communicative relationships among them.

in the MAKESHOP at the museum, they have a sewing table, stocked with endless varied fabric scraps, scissors, some ribbon, needles, thread, yarn, string, hemp string, etc., and this plastic-y stuff (ex.: over the top triangle).
after the interview, my interviewer, the Lovely director of the MAKESHOP (who fidgeted beautifully through the interview; at one point he was slipping his ring back and forth beneath his pen cap, which made me feel more comfortable about my own fidgeting) welcomed me to stay as long as i wanted. 

so over the course of three hours, which i think surprised him and the two interns there, i took the opportunity to plan then assembled this.
i like that i’m learning to balance planning with my love of just sitting down and letting the art Happen on its own.  i planned the composition and how to assemble it here, but relied on impulse/intuition for the fabric selection, stitching (to my dismay, i couldn’t remember many of the fancy stitches i used in my capstone, but i did manage to come up with the blanket stich, a basting stitch, a variation on the basting stitch, and one effed up french knot, haha), the idea to screenprint, and some of the negative/positive interactions.

(note: it’s amazing that for all my hatred of screenprinting, it keeps coming back over and over as an ideal way to manifest many of my ideas…)

i think it was good to work with these shapes (symbols) physically, as separate items, and remind myself of how fabric works and feels, what it can do, how it can look.  with fabric pieces i could play with the composition and scale more.
i was going to leave the back blank, but felt really compelled to include the 13 and the 5 lines.  then, i remembered i could go to the Studio in the other room and screen print.  (they do it in a neat DIY way, where you just cut out newspaper of what you want, then lay it on top of the paper and print over it.  i think that low-tech process lends itself to my aesthetic goals, the chance/serendipity i want to maintain in my work, AND my lack of things like emulsion, a power sprayer, and a darkroom.)

it would be nice if i did get the internship and got to make a lot more things like this.
it also gave me ideas like:
fix the wax paintings somehow so that i can create 3D object from them without them flaking off.
embroider within the layers of wax.
think of fabric assembly, each individual part of the composition, when planning out the painting (oh, and: Plan Out the Painting, like i have formal training in studio art and art theory or something).


(Source: wontloversrevoltnow)

with no way of knowing whether it is This tumblr she stalks or my other,

i present to you a poem i was hoping That Bitch won’t read.
but they say, don’t put anything in writing you don’t want read, SO, in whatever case, here we go.


today was the first time i became an ocean
seeing the depth and breadth
where the light enters
then subtly graduates into dark

she is not a fish or a turtle today
instead, a current
the deepest sadness washing
over, past, through
bringing the sting of jellyfish now

those giant japanese jellyfish
big as anger, hot as loving
superseding my heartbeat

please be a river
fill yourself with rain
find your way back to me 

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i try not to think about what you’re doing or who you’re with.
i try not to remember potent summer sickness or black furnace origins.
sometimes i slip into airport journals where lovers write their reunions,
but i mean to sit in the middle of how you feel,
a meditation in being awake long past you.
my eyes christmas wide at each kitchen shadow on your cheek,
our breathing is my 2 AM prayer to what we will live into creation.
your body is a holy relic of believing that things can stand forever,
unmoving as gratefulness settles like dust, unstirred.
night is never too warm to press myself against the sacred,
palms are never too sticky to interlock hopes inside your silence.
you are a moon flower i love to watch bloom.
it is in the blossom i will wait for one sunrise where we wake up clean.

i made this last night, and it felt really good.  turns out i took something from book arts after all!

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