This is a story box. In it, I made 10 drawings (some of which I left out for the privacy of the subject) about the life of my dear friend. Each drawing lies on a deeper tier of the box and one must dig deeper to learn more about her. It is also true of her nature, and I wanted this to reflect not only getting to know a bit of her life story, but the process of actually getting to know her. 

"Society is a sea"

Society is a sea. It is a large mass of small parts, suspended collectively under one title; the sea, humanity. With each age, each era, each epoch, there are certain influences that, like the moon with the tide, pull society in one direction and then the other. People are confronted with an influx of propaganda, of powerful media influence, and the watered-down influence of their peers. It nudges the mass in one direction, and in the direction it must flow, whether all constituents flow willingly or not. Some go against the grain and form whirlpools, dragging others down with them. Some rise up in a wave, rise above the situation, above influence, above their peers and the mindlessness of floating on one’s back, letting the flow of the sea, of the world, carry them where it may. Of those who muster up the courage, the tenacity, to attempt to rise, many fail, a blip in time and space. Some make waves of decent size and power, impacting largely at first, with subsequent ripples decreasing in size as time passes and distance grows. The greatest magnitude of all is the tidal wave, the tsunami, which rises ferociously from the depths of the sea, cast into existence by shift in the earth’s crust, the depths of humanity. The faults slip and heave a monster from the depths, surfacing in a indomitable wall of change, of influence, of control. Such waves change not only their immediate surroundings with ripples that may be remembered like the tune of a chime or a sentence well-phrased; such waves change the world. There are people whose words, whose charisma and influence are spurned from the depths of society, the underbelly of the world, and rise up to change the world without acquiescence or apprehension, they march with a wall of followers. Few can lead and the majority follows, flowing with the masses. In war there are political leaders at the cusp of the wave, generals and admirals, soldiers and mere citizens below- all affected, but the difference lies in the height, for some make decisions, and some live as a result of the decisions of others. The leaders, the risers, can be seen in the form of authors, of go-getters, of politicians and teachers, of bosses and lawyers, managers and generals, and artists to name a few. Those who decide rather than being decided for, those who live actively rather than passively, those who think and act rather than wait and wonder-- those are the riders, the peaks of the waves, whose white frothy crowns are visible amidst a sea of blue and green.

Trenchcoat Man

As I believe I mentioned in a previous post, and will undoubtedly mention again (as it seems to be a newly recurring theme in my work), I love the idea of unexpected happy things come out of strange and somewhat dubious places. 

This is the first Stop-Motion Animation that I have created, and it is a tad rough, but I worked quite hard on it and am pleased with the result. I would certainly like to do more.

I received inspiration for this whilst listening to music, contemplating a myriad of banal ideas of things to animate. "Surely anything well-drawn or at least interestingly-rendered could make a nice stop-motion..." I mused... and then a song came on that changed it all. This idea was extracted from a portion of it, and I like the subtle reference, though for anyone who knows me and knows the artist will get it. I shall stop evading the subject and just spill it: It's a Regina Spektor Song, "Aching to Pupate"and here, ladies and gents, are some of the lyrics:

I should peddle butterflies 

There's a shortage in the city 
I'll stand on a street corner 
All mysterious and giddy 
When the passers-by pass by 
I will open up my trenchcoat 
They will see the butterflies

I would also like to give credit to the incredible composer of the music that so enhances my drawings in this short film; her name is Stephanie Chisholm. 

Arts

I decided to upload some images of some of my artwork from the last semester and a bit of what I've done this summer--mostly from last semester. I have been in an unfortunately flighty artistic mood and have few completed projects to show thus far.

This piece is my first piece of embroidery, completed in drawing class (yes- drawing class) last semester. It was one of the most enjoyable classes. We all sat in the middle of the room, some on the floor, some on chairs, essentially sewing together. Our professor sent us out to get some supplies, and we returned with bags of buttons (which I am currently using to decorate a shelf) and handkerchiefs. 

I very much enjoy the idea of happy things coming out of strange or rather unexpected places.  

A few times, I have travelled to a spectacularly beautiful place called Essipit, a Native-Canadian populated area on the St. Lawrence Seaway, just where it is beginning to widen quite significantly. We rented a condo on the rocks and each day we would spend hours walking out along the relatively treacherous cliffs to reach our special spot. It was entirely worth the journey, though admittedly the journey was half the joy of it.

We would sit near the edge of this rather large cliff that looked like a giant, jagged step to the deep water of the seaway. There, whales would surface frequently, heaving breaths that could be heard for great distances, blowing water out of their spouts and fluking their tales. 

At night, from the back porch of our condo, we could look out onto the water and in the beam of moonlight stretched out over the water, a dark mound would rise gracefully out of the water and spray water with a loud aquatic sigh, the droplets sparkling and subsequently disappearing into the night.

I hold that memory quite dear, and smile at the thought of one of those whales surfacing, heaving one of those massive breaths, and sprouting flowers from its blowhole-- a girl can dream. In fact, dreaming is the best part. I can live in reality and love the beauty of what is actually, literally, before my eyes, and then I can allow my mind to develop its own little world, in which I can also take delight.

Introduction-uction-uction

So here we go- or rather so here I go. I decided to begin blogging grâce à my dear friend (as well as room mate and partner in crime) Bekka. My last Blogging experience was when I was about thirteen, and the whole Idea was reminiscent of my AIM-ing days of young adolescence, changing my screen name with my frequent change in mood and pleading silently for attention- to no avail, for characteristic of the age, all of my peers were doing the same. None of us had time to pay attention to the other because we were so involved in our own lives that life tangled itself into a web of young-teen hormones and angst. Oh good times. 

Hopefully needless to say, I came to the conclusion that I was a tad off-base in my perception of the blogging world (blogosphere? bluniverse? blorld?) for I have found that it does, in fact, have the potential to be quite interesting. I have been silently observing a few various blogs and am utterly inspired by what people have done with them. I can only hope that my personality finds its way through the template and typed verbiage, and that it may become another forum of expression.