Disregard this rant

Today I am immensely irritated.
Nothing new.
So that irritates me.  There's always something.

On the quest for there to be less something in my life, I'm bombarded by nearly useless and certainly hopeless appendages that make it exceedingly difficult to just simply feel better.  But I will.  Because they're not worth it.  I go through this little anger, narcissistic coil in my mind that says right here, "Fuck them because they're stupid."

And that's how I just feel about everything right now.  STUPID SO MUCH STUPID

"Little E"

What does the "E" stand for?  Well it could stand for a lot of things...

This is the place my brain needs to go between the million other things I do.

Lately I've been in the habit of gluing little shiny things onto paper and not giving a crap about what anyone else thinks.

I hope you enjoy my fanciful rebellion and assuredly, many more to come.

Paper Toys

There are always moments in life where everything that has been culminating, either by your own hands or by forces outside of your own, reaches its point of convergence. 

I've seen all of these relevant factors, or "forces" if you will, moving, all like separate ongoing and expanding lines, each with their own color and meaning.  Like waiting for the car crash you see coming long before anyone else does, if you've ever experienced such a thing, I've known these forces would collide inevitably at some point.  I just didn't know when, and I just didn't know it would hurt so much.

I suppose had I been forewarned of the strife that was necessary to become what I have and to continue down this path, I may have reconsidered everything.  Yet, I don't regret a thing.

Nonetheless, the immediate retaliation to finally coming to full terms and acceptance to what has happened in the past 2 years lead to some... unexpected results.

Being immensely frustrated (down right anxiety ridden) with the massive "to-do" list that had accumulated from that time, I instinctively knew I just had to make something for myself for no reason whatsoever other than the fact that I wanted to do it.

So I made paper dolls...

My paper doll's sexual prowess is too much for the internet to handle...

 Yeah, of course his too.

They more or less fully articulate and everything except Nathan's facial hair is interchangeable.  Why paper dolls?  Why do people live vicariously through their children?

Or even through fictional stories on television, or heaven forbid, a book?

Perhaps it's just that somewhere along the way people somehow never acquire or lose the ability to express it themselves.

And that is genuinely sad.

Live vicariously through me if you must but I think everyone should find their own paper doll.

These paper dolls are now muses for probably most of my personal costumes to come.  I've already started working on a costume for Halloween based on the first image.  They've re sparked just enough fire in my life to light everything else.  Oh, what a little fun for the sake of fun will do for you.

  

Human Flower

Such fragile, poor spirits.
Perfected standardized methods of protection,
for their foolish, misguided hearts.

All the passion in the world
For themselves
And not much else.

Blot out the sun,
They grow so tall
So nothing else may grow.
All because they are cowards.

It is difficult to maintain sympathy
When there is so much pity.

Oh, midsummer...

So, I've been 25 for a few weeks now and what a different vantage point I now posses... Is there something "magical" about the age that immediately transforms someone at that very minute they have officially danced 25 trips around the sun?  Not for everyone ;)

Stating what I've learned specifically or even how I've changed takes context so grand it's why I don't bother explaining too much in my life anymore.  I now contend with my person being so over-encompassing, choosing what I put out for the public is, out of necessity, far more of a refined artform.  For the past 2 years as I've honestly come to terms with my person (formulating my own work habits, how I'll handle a mass amount of long distance relationships, how I'll deal with loneliness and unfamiliarity, etc.) this has been a source of great anxiety for me.  It's driven me to isolationist behavior that I would have never imagined possible within the perimeters of my person.

I struggled with the strangest form of pride in that time.  It took me forever to even identify that I was embarrassed of my own retreat from the world because I never viewed myself as a weak person and initially saw my hermit-like tendencies as of course, weakness.  But then I woke up and realized it's okay to need time to yourself and if people cannot be understanding or sympathetic to that, they shouldn't be your friends... All things of course are relative.

I've stated this many times in many ways but stating I'm grateful for the experience, albeit, beyond difficult, sanity breaching, and still massively depressing at times.  I wish I could tell you what I know, but I've been saying that my whole life... now that I've officially concluded that I cannot (also not new), I won't mention that I know all kinds of crazy cosmic stuff that would change your view on everything... if it didn't drive you mad first... ever again.  Sort of like when I said I wasn't going to show my artwork anymore...

If you know where to follow me, you're lucky... or a pain in my ass.

At any rate, it's no reflection on how I feel about anyone.  My sentiments rarely diminish.

What I do know is: overall, I detest participating in the break-neck social monstrosity that is viral social networking... any kind... I'm not discriminate... just like not being a racist, I hate all social networking equally. I have confidence that the stress it causes will persuade many to abandon it like beanie babies all in a matter of time... if not, the human race's destiny was predicted by Pixar, and I will have no part in it anyway. (Wall-E people).  So for as many times as I've said it, in the number of ways that I have: no, I will not get on Tumblr.  No, I do not have a Twitter.  I have a facebook and a deviantart and I honestly don't even want those.

I'm an artist.  We live to live outside the social norm.  Deal with it.  I only intend on getting more irritating.

What I also know is that I love wholly and I will not let the superficiality of the internet destroy what my internetless upbringing taught me about what matters most in relationships.  I want to hear about your life with the words coming out of your mouth, with your expressions, your hand gestures.  I want to see your art in person and know that you are real.  I don't want shallow pats on the back and typed phrasings of affirmation.  I can't sit long enough for skype conversation most days and too many people want my phone number.  This is me and I'm sure in due time it will pay to remain consistent and true.  It has yet to fail me.

I bring this up so often, it honestly sickens me that it's on this blog when I consider my initial intentions with it...  but there's a good reason for it.  I care about people, a lot...

...But given any other time in history, I would only be happily received upon any form of contact after a long period of time, not drilled for why it has been so long or abandoned by people who would follow "quicker fancies."

In an age of instant gratification, saying it's difficult to compete with the current of life no matter how genuine or complex you are is a grotesque understatement.

Being that I care, a lot, I will continue to the best that I can to keep connected and participate in the best way I can tolerate.  But shit, I'm 25 and my life is picking up.  I'd rather live outside.

However, to avoid sounding completely ungrateful I had an amazing birthday due to so many.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txxDUTbY9Ec&list=FLv0CcdsqJHrA8qKFyd7-oPQ&index=1

This is a cute and hilarious video that cannot be forgotten.  Feeling so distant and detached from everyone for so long, this was one the best gifts I could have received.  Yes, I cried.

As for the general commentary of my birthday adventure (as it really has consumed most of the month) is that it was much needed.  Hearing that people think that I deserve it, was extremely empowering and encouraged me to enjoy it to the fullest.  I backpacked 16 miles, saw flying squirrels, heard wolves howl at dusk and dawn, touched stingrays and sharks, perused beautiful gardens, pet Koi fish, and swam in a natural spring.

Since, I've taken an exceptional effort to try and relax, which I'm not the best at, but with 3 days left, I can't push it any further.  I'm feeling much more positive these days.  I've got some good herbs in my system, a healthy, vitalizing diet that I've come by naturally, a body I'm finally happy with, constant amazing weather, a now impenetrable posse, Mr. Moose, work, a perfect partner, and we'll be moving hopefully soon to a place with a backyard.  Once I have backyard, all will be right with the world.  The golden generator will go into overdrive.  Gotta turn those engines on slowly...

Sexy Old Guy

So, for those of you who follow me on facebook, you may notice I change my profile picture often.  Sometimes back around to the same image that I had from a previous time.  There's no real rhyme or reason it seems from the surface; however, I will safely and without offense, assume that most people probably haven't noticed because, "why would you?" Right?
I will outrightly state this is not a narcissistic blog about my facebook profile pictures, so don't worry... I haven't lost it.  It's actually a blog about the primarily French Painting movement of the 19th Century, Neoclassism.  See!  Isn't that LOADS more interesting? I bet you can't wait!
To tie these two ideas together, on occasion I'll post this picture:

Why?  Why in the world would a young married woman post a picture of a 200 year old drawing, self portrait of this old (admittedly "sexy") guy?  Well trust me, it's not just because he's sexy... it's because of what he represents.

This is a portrait of the French Painter and Revolutionist, Jacques Louis David (August 30, 1748 - December 29, 1825).  

To me, he's the fucking shit of artists.  He manipulated art as a tool of higher propaganda, using it as a real means and a fuel source that helped to incite an entire revolution.  He founded one of the most famous art schools in history, ate sandwiches on his paintings, got in sword fights, terrified his "peers" (what the hell, he had no peers!), hung out with Napoleon, Poodle-Hair Voltaire, threw a massive death parade, drew the miserable Marie Antoinette (one of my favorite illustrations ever) just before she was beheaded, and then ironically became a door-to-door guillotine salesmen.

(I love this image because you can really feel his apathy and simultaneous disgust for this woman in the intentional, slack line-work.)

What I also appreciate about this man is that after Napoleon was exiled for the final time, he retreated out of the political scene (of which he was also heavily involved) to paint mythological antiquities, with his own personality.

In this depiction of Cupid and Psyche (my all-time favorite work of his) I just freakin' love the sense of humor he has in Cupid's overt attempt to be covert.  I've looked at a vast amount of his works and what I find curious about this is the consistency in which he portrays character. As an artist who claimed to be a study of human character before all else, felt that to capture the expression correctly is to capture the person to a much purer degree than to just simply copy their features in as non-objective of a manner as one can.  This character's expression is only consistent with one portrayal of the same person, himself...

Judging that he spent the last of his life in Brussels, it leaves me imaging this is a humorous self-reflection of his youth.

Speaking of which...

This guy does not crack! He's younger here, but he's still 41.  Unfortunately, David seems to be a soul stealer as the same can not be said for his most famous, and talented pupil Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres:

I mean, I kind of feel bad for the guy:

This portrait is by David of Ingres not long after he initially joined David's studio...

Look at him, youthful, aspiring.  He has so much life to his eyes... and then...

Oh my...  Poor guy.  Looks like "the war" got the best of you.  I will say though he maintained most of his dignity and was a very outstanding artist.  He was the initial artist that caught my attention to take a particular interest in Neoclassism purely for his technical ability alone:

This use to be my favorite painting in the whole wide world until I realized how honestly dull and non-dynamic I find his use of color to be and, he tends to repeat himself:

However, the main lesson that is to be learned here today... is that David was the Father of Neoclassism, without whom it's relatively safe to say, dramatically changed the course of Western art history forever, and undeniably just history itself... but what is art anyway?  Even more important than that, if you're going to be the "Daddy" of a movement in a time when it smells like Rococo (how rancid) all over again, you need to make sure you have swag.  Do you have swag?

-Space Ichijouji <3

Writing, on writing

    How funny it seems as of late the frequency in which the subject of "writing" has been on the minds of a significant few that have been of recent contact.  It's taken me several days to be able to concisely convey what I hope will connect with all of the individual concerns expressed.
    Putting words on a piece of paper, or at a greater level of disconnect -a computer moniter, etc.- is a simple act.  There's usually a basic, fulfilling purpose or need:  accounting, schooling, texting, grant/business proposals, grocery lists...  So few of us write for abstract purposes.  There's the occasional "love letter", if those even exist anymore, but that's hardly the sort of abstraction I'm implying (although many delusions of love are typically very abstract).
    For those bold enough to venture into the lands of journaling, poetry, prose, short stories, and novel we eventually discover that writing is a relationship.  Whether we consciously acknowledge or even realize this is unimportant but what is, is whether we decide to engage in that relationship or not.

    I have come to find that writing is no more than a physical manifestation of our relationship with ourselves. It's not to say that non-writers will never know themselves but I also won't say whom I find has the advantage.

    What you're writing isn't so much important as why.  No matter what it is (even if it's nothing at all), "why" will only provide you with insight.  Since one of the biggest issues any writer faces is not writing; truthfully, the only issue, I'll delve a bit deeper into my concise opinion on the subject.
    It's a good gauge for denial if you're an active writer who, "hasn't gotten around to it in a while" or "I just haven't had anything to say."  Can we take a moment to consider why we have nothing to say and what's getting around to something that always requires effort anyway?  When answering those sorts of questions it will only benefit you if you don't bullshit yourself.  As obvious as that may seem, b-s-ing yourself is a refined, subconscious artform and you're probably better at it than you're willing to give credit.
    Sometimes we just can't bring ourselves to write no matter how badly we want to because we just aren't inspired.  This is one of my biggest issues and I finally realized that that answer in itself is bullshit.

    What inspires me to write, is my writing.  Seeing my thoughts, ideas, fantasies, emotions, transformed into something tangible is why I desired to write in the first place.

    So if I enjoy it so much, then why would I deny myself the pleasure of performing it?  This is the point that if you haven't de-railed already, begin preparing for it.  Life happens and is always a perfect excuse.  I actually couldn't be more sincere about that last statement.
    Life happens to me constantly.  In fact, I really couldn't think of a whole number of people (actually I can't even think of that many) who have quite the daily ride that I do, so I am most sympathetic... but we have to fight to write.  When you get down to it, no amount of preparation, meditation, cleanliness of space, emotional stability, time, etc. is going to send you over that edge.  That is all you.
    The key to keep in mind is knowing you will get off track, you will lose sight and focus.  Count on it.  That way you don't send yourself leagues back on your own progress because you can't get over the fact that you fell off the train to begin with, for whatever reason.  Get over it and get back on it and never forget why you write.

   Even if we only take one step a day to get to where we're going, after 100 days, we will have progressed 100 steps.  If we grew tired and only made it to 74, at least we're 74 steps ahead of the guy who never took one.

    That being said, I have work to do.

Blogger wouldn't let me title this the way I wanted, so the title is below:

Fly. Twitch<Twitter

Dance because I wanna.
Dance because I gotta.

The specificity of my life is of no consequence to be heard or understood.

Fly swiftly.  Away from this place.  I already have.

Drivel and Nonsense

Be humbled when Eros dances.
Smile in the presence of something beautiful.
Feel overjoyed and comforted.

Do not conjure conspiracy because love scares you so.
Why does it?

Insecurity has no place here.

Yay for Cancer

It may just be my humble opinion, but I have come to find that one's ability to see the truth is intrinsically tied to the length in which they can see past themselves.

Shh! Ti's a Secret!

    Unmatched by the somber song sang by the clearing of moon-lit storm clouds  her eyes stretched their sights past the sleeping, shiftless horizon.  In that wake of the cooling calm that follows a true force of the Goddess, the planet was still.

    A moment between inhalation and exhalation... Yet she couldn't remember if breathing was something she could do.

    What was she going to do?

    Fae Albion unhinged the clasp to her silver-lined cloak and flung it onto the downtrodden, gnarled root of the great white oak that overlooked the forest.  Reaching into the outer side of her right boot she revealed a dainty yet deathly dagger.

   Without hesitation, she proceeded to seize the whole of her waist-length, silver hair and ripped the dagger straight through it.

    "You won't miss it as much as you may fear."  A shaggy, red-haired man ended the silence, approaching her from behind.

    No emotion could be traced in her voice but she responded soulfully, "My fears only center around what it represents."

    Neither of them spoke.

    "Albeit, I also fear that you will miss it more than I."  She skillfully changed the subject.

A Poem and Something Not Quite

(Both written originally on April 6th.)

Lords of illusion
Entangled in shadow.
Some are back from the dead
Disturbing the trampled leaves of tomorrow.

In their wake
They reveal your strings.
Upon their command, you quake,
Fearing what their wrath brings.

The gods of yesterday,
They are vengeful and cold.
No one can match
The power of centuries old.

                                              Better do what you're told.

***

If you want to break the curse

You must first pay what is due.
Lest the darkest of follies and fancies will pursue.

What is this thing in your head?
It twists.  It turns.  It stabs.
Whilst invoking purest dread.

Sad thing is,
(and you know it's true...)

Here I am,
Still telling you.

Aw, do we need the answer?
What an incomprehensible surprise.

Alas, it is why you are in defeat, I surmise.

What is that pain in your spine?

(I think you're aware.)

It's made of two parts and grows on the vine.
Its taste does not compare.

I don't want to title this.

Generally speaking, I'm a very angry and frustrated individual.  Part of me would like to write that off as simply being a necessary evil to the standard artist paradigm, but honestly, when has "standard" ever been synonymous with "Christine"?

Truth of the matter is, there's a reason some successful artists are in galleries, whilst others are Andy Warhol.  Not that I am suggesting I am or will be either of those things because I know I am something else entirely, and anyone who's gotten to know me a little bit cannot deny, that's true.  I love that part about being me, just to throw that out there.

Why am I prefacing the point with this seeming, "justification clause?"  Because I'm about to say some things that will make people who are not honest with themselves very insecure and thus, angry with me.  Don't you love how that works?

My entire life I have been searching for someone who could ease my anxiety of the difference between myself and others.  No matter who've I encountered, no matter how dear to me, one fact remains constant... I know better.

I'm not implying that I'm perfect, nor that I don't make mistakes but in the words of Anthony Keidis, "... universally speaking I win in the long run."

Point being, I perceive so much about other people.  So much I know they will never come to know or recognize in themselves because they're not even aware that such a factor is defined or exists.  I see the sum of their persons, why they have the physical ailments they do, why they're in a bad relationship, why they're depressed, why everything.  Every choice I watch people make, I can reassure you I can explain the motives better than they can.  If you don't believe me, I seriously don't care.

I'd reassure you to have a conversation with me and find out for yourself in the past.  "Anyone who knows me, holds no resentment for me making such commentary because of the basic truth of it."  Although that all may be true, I simply don't want to at this point.  I am officially jaded.

Most people drive me insane anymore.  The dullness of their existence, how they can't see 5 inches in front of their noses.  People smell rancid to me anymore.  Truthfully, I've always felt this way, but I suppose the child in me wanted to believe in the possibility of that not being the case with a select few... fortunately, my child was right... usually is.  The only difference now is that I'm posting it online for anyone to read and get offended by.  That is another matter entirely, really.

I won't give up fighting for humanity though, even though, I believe with all of my heart they don't deserve it anymore.  I won't stop fighting because I want us to be human again.

"Standard Facebook Bathroom Mirror Photo #364"

It's time to kick some ass...

So, Kaiser studios has officially taken flight.  Even though in theory, it has existed for a little while now, there is an actual physical space in which it inhabits now.

In light of this event, I feel it worthy of acknowledging it as the beginning of a new chapter.  So many happenings have unraveled in the past 9 or so months (really since I moved) that I would have never dreamed or anticipated.  I'll be honest, it's been hell but it seems just to have been the right amount of burn that we could tolerate just barely and that we could recover from, eventually.

I know I feel like I'm officially walking out of the flames.  My perspective on nearly everything has changed.  We have sacrificed and worked to the point that you think you just can't do it anymore, and then you have to give everything you've already given and then some only to see no end in sight.  That's the best way I can describe what life has been like for me.

I can't tell anyone what happened, really.  I'm afraid to even say that truthfully it concerns existential matters so large and heavy that they are truly out of the comprehension of anyone I could tell it to.  Funny thing is, I know for certain I could have anyone believe it... because it's true.  But I still can't.

Nonetheless, it's still the reason.  It's the reason I never know what to talk to people about anymore.  It's the reason I've exiled myself from mainstream culture, to some extent.  Overall, I'm better and happier for it but what I hate are the people I love on the outskirts, the ones I desire to tell.  I feel like I can't have an honest, deeper relationship with hardly anyone not in this knowing, and if I can't have an honest relationship (with the ones that count), I don't really want it.  I look into the eyes of the people I love, even in my mind, and it causes me so much grief that I can't have the relationship I would even consider beneficial to myself with them.  

*Sighs* Alas, it is what it is.

I'm surprised that I'm comfortable enough to say even this much but I figured at the very least I can bank on the crazy artist card.  Seriously, if you think I'm full of shit or have no idea what I'm referring to, just keep it that way.  I really don't mind.

I've had to accept many wrong opinions of me for doing what I know with my greater sense is for the best.  I can't stand it.  By nature, I despise conflict, constantly seek the affirmation of others, and wish to affirm others almost always in a positive sense.  I'm really not a stone that just lets false opinions roll off my backside, although sometimes I'd give anything to be that way.  It haunts me for years and I have to come to moment like this before I can honestly let it go.

A better reason has to intervene.  My better reason is my kick ass future.  My kick ass future with my kick ass group of artists and revolutionary thinkers.  Yes, I just said revolutionary thinkers.  I have witnessed no true reason why I shouldn't say this about my group of "fiends" who left everything behind to pursue a dream... with more on their way... and a 1000 good reasons why I should.

What you'll be seeing from us in the not-too-distant future is some more costumery mostly, among plushies, props, some art, and conventions.  What you won't be seeing from us is everything else we've really been working on.

I'm so deep and mysterious...

Day to Day

It's not often I can find a breath of fresh air where my mind isn't pursuing at least five paths of thought, my heart invested in at least four of them.
On days like these, my insides feel purged by the sting of a scorpion.  They burn, a slow intensifying heat, threatening to rip me in half, starting from the sternum.

I write.  I speak.  I paint.
People respond.  They connect.  They feel.

Yet what rests below is more than the sum of my parts.  I say nothing in truth, yet my soul yearns to say everything.

Today, it is physically debilitating.

Tomorrow, I'll wake up and hopefully it won't hurt so much.

Treasured pasts
Yet pursuits plundered.

Left in search of something more,
No surprise to find you at my door.

Idols revered
Whose presence is also feared.

So much to say
It is not okay.

I warned you the first of the year,
So for you I shed not one tear.

Days Like These

I'm perfectly aware of my youth, my naivete.

Having such vast access into the particulars of nearly everyone we've ever come into contact with is not healthy for us.  As I drift through the profile pictures of so many of my peers, some from college, others from high school, and even distant relatives and childhood comrades, it's hard to find a single one that genuinely seems happy.  The only ones that appear happy are the ones that aimed for a menial and predictable existence.

Being 24, fresh out of college, and truly living life for the first time on your own terms shouldn't be easy.  I paint no illusions, it's not.  However, being constantly exposed to the successes, blights, and daily happenings of so many people is a social game so vast and unprecedented in history, it baffles me how we've descended into this festering mess of shit so quickly.  It brews so many feelings of inadequacy and is too easy to miss out on your day whilst trying to keep up with everyone else's.

I'm sure this opinion would probably irritate plenty.  If it bothers me so badly, then why do I participate?  Because I care.  Because even my professors from college convinced me that if I don't keep myself "in the game" I'll never get anywhere.  It scares me.  I understand why it's so important.

I'm pretty confident that people think I do nothing.  I've tried to convince myself that it doesn't matter what people think and even more importantly, it's vanity to spend time projecting what I think other people think... well, most of the time.  It's a work in progress.  I haven't posted any real artwork for nearly two years but because everyone else seems to post every second of their lives for affirmation that their existence means something, it must mean I haven't done any.

Bull fucking shit.

My installation from my BFA show looks like child's play compared to what I'm doing now. But since I'm tired of people not giving any real thought, as the "like" button seems to be all we need these days, it keeps me resolved to withhold even more.  Due to my circumstances I didn't have the internet for nearly a year and after experiencing more of what matters to me, it has become very clear to me that mankind's "progress" is not always positive and I do not have to participate.

It has changed our social expectations so dramatically that the pressure from it has caused me to not only avoid the internet but the phone as well.   I genuinely have a phone phobia but probably due to a seeming indestructible and outgoing visceral image of myself, I can't quite seem to communicate this.  It makes me cry.  It makes me think constantly of the people I love so dearly, whom I have no idea how they even feel about me anymore because this vicious anxiety has me so twisted up inside that I don't even know what to do anymore.

And that's just sad.  Anyone who has ever known me, knows that I am a social and passionate creature.  I love with my whole heart and at nearly any cost, won't give up on relationships once they've truly made an imprint on my soul.

But I can't do this anymore...  I've went back and re-read my own blogs several times, trying to make sense out of this progression.  I've made sense out of my own unraveling but as to how others have missed it... I have no real answer.  This basic same sentiment has been expressed time and time again not only on this blog but elsewhere.  What am I suppose to do?

I've hesitated for so long but the conclusion is inevitable and approaches.  I do not want to be a part of this anymore.  I want to live my life free of the concerns and eyes of everyone else.  It kills me because I hate missing out, I hate not being able to relate to others, and I especially hate people feeling like I don't care when I swear to you my care will send me to the grave.

I have art to do.  I have books to write.  Most importantly, I have a mission.

I'll write my blogs and change my picture on facebook occasionally but that's it.  I hope someday others gain the courage to pull themselves away from their monitors and phones and realize that your life has nothing to do with anyone else in the end.

Ready

If the context of the title with the following photos does not make sense to you, I'm sorry you missed the boat...

"The Itch"

"Takes One to Know One"

My New Year's Resolve:

"To feign in vain is a terrible pain that infects the brain until you sustain that the problem had lain in the source you could no longer contain."

-Me, today