Shift

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I haven’t posted since December. It feels like the last months have been thing after thing. I’m not sure how to summarize. My roommate had a baby in January and it’s made living there very hard (although I move at the end of June). For now, I’m hardly ever home and it’s exhausting. Work has steadily increased in nuttiness as we move into convention season. I’ve been working on art, friendships, and becoming a warmer person. And trying to hold my tired brain together.

Nice things have happened. The aforementioned art and friendships. Some things involving my writing blog. I read at the Massachusetts Poetry Festival. My boss, in a wonderful act of kindness and faith in my future here, has given me a room at work. Here are some photos of the space thus far. I’m going to try very hard to begin posting here again.

Stranger nights.

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Keeping it simplified: Drawing this was fun. I have a nice stack of half-finished flash sheets under my desk, and I have until February 1st to finish them. And I’m worried that I’m going to mess up every single one of them.

Of 100 poems in 2012: Two days ago I reached this arbitrary goal. As of today I am now at 102. I’m a little surprised. Many require a good editing session, and there are a few that I can’t stand at all. Now I decide what to do with them. Compile in a chapbook? Send some out to publications? Nothing at all? It will be interesting to see where the writing blog goes now that I’m not forcing a goal.

Strange days.

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I spent a few days in Florida, in a small town about an hour and a half outside of Tampa. I have been trying to describe my time there, and finding myself unable to do so with any real accuracy. For now, the majority of the experience and the (sometimes very strong) emotions associated with it will be kept for me. But I can say, that my family was kind, the weather was beautiful. Despite this, and despite arriving home a day late to cold and rainy skies, I have garnered a new found appreciation for many things that make up my life here.

I love you, New England.

Singing.

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I am sick and I somehow, always, forget how annoying it is to be so. While I’m wrapped up in blankets with too much ibuprofen and vitamin c in my body, here is a blog post. If you follow my instagram (@align), none of these images will be new to you.

Of 100 poems in 2012: 86. Seventeen in November alone, and a handful of drafts. Lately, I have been writing about fear, and the dreams I’ve been having (and I’ve been having a lot of them). I think, perhaps, I will share the blog next year. Stop keeping everything such a secret.

I haven’t been happy with much of the art that’s been coming from these hands. Sketches, fine. But I’m teaching myself how to paint better, flash specifically, and it’s unlike everything that I’ve done before. Again, it’s stripping down and relearning from the ground up. It takes patience, and it is not easy for me to have patience with myself. I am too demanding and critical. But I’m not stopping, so there’s that.

My studio is now in a nicer space. My desk is surrounded by windows, and this is important.

I’ve decided that all I want for Christmas is constellation maps and books. I’m starting by buying Warsan Shire’s for myself.

Florida soon. I have so much to say about this, but it still feels strange doing so here. I’d like to document it though. At least through art journals and photos. Sometimes things don’t feel as real unless you’re sharing them, and this entire year has been like a dive into bizarro land.

I suppose instead of writing all of this out, I could have said simply, I am testing myself.

Alive.

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So here’s a few recent sketches.


1. Please vote on Tuesday. It is very important (and I will keep my thoughts on this that simple).

2. Life continues to be very strange. Moving here has changed nearly everything.

3. 100 poems in 2012: I am at 72. It is November. We’ll see.

And the net shall appear.

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My new favorite thing lately is drawing script profanities when I’m frustrated or anxious. It’s surprisingly relieving! Although perhaps slightly immature.

In a few weeks I’ll have some pieces in an art show (or two, depending on my ability to get things done with limited time in October). This is painting idea #1:

This is not my favorite autumn thus far. It seems too cold already, and although I enjoy dressing myself up in layers and having leaves crunch beneath my feet, I’m generally overwhelmed. I’ve decided that I’m definitely going to Florida for a few days in December, to connect with family that I’ve finally begun to know this year, and to selfishly escape from my life here for a bit. Travel is good for the soul, I’ve always said (and so is seeing people you love, obviously).

Valley.

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When told to draw roses, they must be drawn over and over and over.

And that’s not even half of them from the last week (yes, I’m aware that the first two are chrysanthemums). I have a long way to go. It’s frustrating and disheartening sometimes. I had a lot of “What in the fresh hell am I doing?” moments this week, and it’s hard to not let that spill over into drawing. Then this fortune fell out of a bag or a pocket randomly. I always save the good fortunes — they usually end up in a sketchbook, but sometimes I lose them. This one could not have been accidentally found at a better time. The bottom frame is just because I liked what I was wearing at the time.

I’ve also had two poems published in a really lovely online journal (but I’m not quite ready to share all of that yet).

Go, go, going.

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I feel as though I’ve been sprinting nonstop for weeks. I’ve written this post three different times thus far, but I can’t seem to describe how strange and charmed my life is. So, to summarize, last weekend was the culmination of months of work, and then I had one of my best friends in town for three days. I haven’t slept in my bed, I’ve been living out of a backpack, I’m completely exhausted, and everything is wonderful.

Part one (note — I’m not including the photos of anyone or the extreme weirdness, but I assure you, much trouble was had. The good-sort of trouble. In fact, while discussing the dilemma of filtering the weekend for this post, Ryan said, “Well it was a pretty fantastic weekend of comraderie and sharing a beautiful art form. That’s a nice way of saying we got tattooed and drunk.”):


1. Hotel view.
2. Late night gift that was re-gifted to many people.
3. An absolutely disgusting drink.
4. My new tattoo, courtesy of Ron Henry Wells. In case you’re wondering, getting my ditch tattooed wasn’t as painful as expected, but I’m hating the healing process. And am wishing that I was ambidextrous.

Part two, with Erin:



Untitled

4. The strangest dinner — octopus & seaweed salad, sea urchin risotto, rosemary & truffle fries. I will never eat octopus again.
5. We rented an architect’s studio for the night.

I’ll post some art soon, and will also have some bizarre news to share with you hopefully in the next couple of weeks. *insert mischievous grin here*

Golden.

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It is theorized that houses in dreams symbolize oneself.

Last night I dreamed that I was on a large property, that was somehow public but also familiar and personal. It was gorgeous, with trees and grass and shrubbery. There was a house, white, large but also small, unlike any style I’d seen before, with ornamental filigree carved into parts. And although it was beautiful, it had been unused and not entered for some time, and the windows and doors were boarded up with white wood. It was mysterious and peaceful, and I was there because I planned to go in (the public wasn’t supposed to do this, but I knew I wouldn’t get in trouble). I kept looking down at my phone, because I was waiting for someone who was going to sneak in with me, but I kept getting messages from them saying they were running late. The sun was slowly going down, and I knew we had to go in before it was dark, but they kept saying they were late, and I knew time was running out.

I don’t know how it ended, because the dream shifted, and I was in a very small boat on a bay that I’ve dreamed about before but that doesn’t exist. I was looking for whales that were sometimes there, but this time I knew that I was too close to shore.