Teraźniejszość.

Teraźniejszość jest chyba najtrudniejszym okresem do zdefiniowania. Jest to przecież miejsce w czasie niemalże bez punktów odniesienia. Nigdy nie wiemy do jakiej kategorii nasze życie przydzieli wydarzenia z tu i teraz. Może płacz dzisiejszego poranka był najgorszym co spotka Cie w życiu, może moment twojego największego załamania już miał miejsce, podczas gdy ty czekasz na coś większego, a może dopiero nadejdzie i wszystkie wspomnienia zebrane dotychczas tak naprawdę okażą się być niemiarodajne. Jak możemy mówić o tym co teraz gdy tak naprawdę nie wiemy jaki to będzie miało wpływ na naszą biografię. Jak możemy oceniać panujące realia jeśli nie mamy wyobrażenia o ich impakcie na pełen obrazek. I kiedy nastąpi właściwy moment oceny? Czy dzień ostateczny nie zdaje się być terminem zbyt odległym? Mimo, że teraźniejszość niezaprzeczalnie trwa i istnieje oraz  jest najbardziej szczerym historycznie okresem to określenie właśnie jej charakteru jest dla nas najtrudniejsze. Prawdomówność teraźniejszości sprowadza się do jej namacalnej i dowodowej natury. Nie da się jej zmienić gdyż trwa. Nie można jej przekłamać gdyż stale obnaża swoje prawdziwe oblicze. Paradoksalnie, mimo to nie sposób jest ocenić jaki ma ona charakter i wpływ na bieg historii małej czy dużej.

milk and honey

It's been a long road but we're finally here. The book has finally found its way to my hands. And I am swallowing it. It took me 5 minutes to get through the first set of poems - the hurting. The book is magical. And I feel an even stronger connection with the author. Milk and honey is amazingly straight forward yet private, simple yet complex. Balanced.


   ~ a quick post with a sentimental meaning

My first kiss with art,

I've always wanted to create under the influence of strong emotions but obviously I had to wait for them to snowball onto my consciousness. Well today was the day the avalanche has come. After several panic attacs this week I've had enough. You always see these tumblr posts about how painting can keep you away from negative thoughts, forms of self-harm, anything self-destructive really. Basically articles indicating art's healing purposes. Today was the day I gave the idea a shot. So I pulled out all of my art supplies and poured my feelings onto a canvas. A canvas dedicated to a completly different cause. A cause well planned. An idea. A concept of profanating arts in order to find novelty. I gave up my "try-hard innovator" attitude and really reflected myself. I am what's on the canvas. My paper thin visage in a visible, materialistic form. My feelings, thoughts, fears and auto reviews on full display. A very public, nude reflection of my soul.

The experience itself was very similar to "catharsis". As the paint was escaping the tube, my deepest, best-hidden emotions were escaping as well. The creation process of the piece was what has brought its title to mind. "My first kiss with art". My hands truly shaking, my eyes chaotically sweeping the surface & my breath gradually quickening. The experience was so deep and raw it was unlike any other creation process I have ever went through.

I decided to show what I was unable to say. And it is for the first time that I truly feel connected to the piece I have painted. It shows a supernova explosion, agitated ocean, the dance of defeat in "Wedding" and grains of sahara sands. It's brush strokes, swatches made with a spatula and nails scraping the canvas. It's an unworded complection of  a self relieved from a cage-like bodily structure.

How I feel about art museums.

Whenever I go to an art museum I always feel inspired, my soul is filled with a sense of belonging and happines but there are parts of my brain left empty and unsatisfied. Why is it that art exhibitions are so incomplete and so uninformative? I know that art is supposed to make you feel something. But that's only the perceiving aspect of it. There are so many SO MANY aspects of art. The process of creating it, the progress, the stages, the emotional torture of the artist, the techniques. I want to see a display of artwork along with the creators' comentatory. Why is the piece the way it is, how was such effect achieved, which techiques were used and how, what was the inspiration and is the piece the original thought or is it a crop of a blooming thought? Was the piece just a series of fortunate mistakes? As an ”artist” I am aware that there is a lot of emotional investement and thought put into every painting, poem, melody. Art isn't the destionation, it's also the process of its becoming. I can't stress this enough. Some of my favourites exhibitions where ones filled with quotations, sketches, interviews, video clips of the artists. It makes the experience ten times more enjoyable and art more accesible for a wider audience. You can get – as an recipient – a better understanding of what you're looking at. Yes coming up with interpretations is fun and important but it's such a shame when you don't understand the title and have no acces to its source, its point, the proper understanding of the work. I wish art was more informative. I wish museums provided more. I wish art didn't stop at the frame and the recepients' eyes. I wish it lived in writing. I wish it had stories and memories written about it. I wish it brought up more conversation. I wish for there to be a museum which helps artists better themselves not just comfort or inspire them. I wish that after seeing a great display of modern art I knew in what way was the wax shaped and how was the string attached to the canvas. I wish I knew so that I could figure new ways of my own. I wish I could grow from what's already there. But I guess art is constantly being shaped to be a lone path filled with questions and emotional ache based on the disparity between the idea and the material form of it.

But on the other hand I love how museums don't lie. There is no retouch. Just a canvas in a frame hang on a typically white wall. It's not digital nor improved in any way. You can get up close and personal with each piece. Discover it in every angle, from every perspective. See its imperfections, parts uncovered in paint, overapplied glue and uneven lines. You can see everything and find comfort in the fact that even the greatest paintings have some shortcomings. Museums teach you that it's okay to get lost. It's okay to try and fail. It's okay to profane a canvas for the sake of redefining art.

Art is not solely the destination nor the canvas, it is the creation process too.

If you really love him,

So I came across this tumblr post: http://kcastayclassy.tumblr.com/post/163099529214/if-you-really-love-her-you-will-always-try-if and really wanted to make a reply. Give it a read first, so you can fully understand what point I'm trying to get across here.

If you really love him, you will let him set his emotions free and make sure he knows it's okay for boys to cry too. You will give his feelings as much recognition as he offers yours and you will never make fun of him for it them in any way.

If you really love him, you will message him back as soon as you can because boys deserve fast replies too. They deserve to feel wanted and needed. Like oxygen.

If you really love him, you will put up with his anger management issues. It will be your life goal to understand what calms him and know all of his triggers. You will take care of his mental health.

If you really love him, you will be curious about being a good girlfirend to him and you will worry about covering all his needs. You will try your harderst to give him the world and life he deserves.

If you really love him, you will be interested enough to ask him about what he wants to do and surprise him with dates built up around activities he enjoys.

If you really love him, you will remind him. Boys deserve cute long paragraphs too.

If you really love him, you will trust him and give him space as needed. You will try to maintain your jealousy and sarcastic replies. You will try your hardest to calm down your wild thoughts while he's hanging out with another girl because they've been friends since kindergarten. You will try to remember that he's yours and chose you and it's okay for him to have a wide circle of friends or like someones' pictures or do whatever you guys tend to fight about the most.

If you really love him, you will apologize first because you shouldn't want him to go to sleep sad.

If you really love him, you won't let him apologize and feel bad when you know it's you who messed up. You will own up to your mistakes. And you will never make him feel like he needs to say sorry for who he is.

If you really love him, you will give his feelings recognition and respect. No matter what is it about – who you meet up with, what you wear. As long as it's coming from a place of love and not controllment and superiority. Boys deserve to be heard too.

Van Gogh.

The rumor has it – happy things are addictive. Van Gogh is said to have eaten yellow paint to get happiness inside of him. The theory following the surprising fact is that we all have our poisonous sources of happiness – love, an unhelthy relationship with food, drugs, alcochol, friends who make us feel like nothing but something at the same time... The list goes on and on. And it is commonly believed that despite the hurt these feelings of happiness and fulfillment are irreplacable. I do agree with that statement. Things that makes us the happiest tend to hurt us the most due to strong attachement and emotional investment. But the Van Gogh rumor is far from truth. The artist didn't want to get happiness inside of him. He simply wanted to kill himself - commit suicide with the closes tool available - which happened to later on develop a symbolic meaning. There's nothing poetic or inspinational in his actions and vulnerability shall stop being glamorized. He was just like every other depressed person at their lowest point. He was looking for a way out and he found it in a small tube of paint. So in reality, the yellow paint doesn't represent a desperate journey towards the feeling of happines... or does it? Maybe true happiness can hide underneath the ground level (or perhaps above it)?  Maybe death wasn't so much happiness but relief. The best way in which pain could be stopped rather than the final find of freedom. And for some maybe that's enough? I mean at the end of the day I truly stand by the statement that – happiness isn't constant, it can only come and go, appear and dissapear. It's an impulse of euphoria or joy surrounded with all the other emotions. Happines is not a constant. Sadness is not a constant. Depression may be. And to those, just like Van Gogh, suffering and choking on a fresh, morning air – the impulse of happiness may be found in the actions of selfviolence and selfdestruction.

Disability.

Once upon a time it occurred to me that disability isn't always a metter of the eye. I can easily see a broken arm, a wheelchair, a cast, a bruise, dripping blood – all of the skin deep injuries and what comes with them. But what about the aching of a soul or a broken heart? Those can paralyse even more efficiently than an attack. Those may not be visible but are just as valid. Yet people with broken minds don't get provided with car parking spots. I am not saying that any disability is more worthy of attention than the other but... It bothers me. The social injustice. It's a natural instinct to help a person on a wheelchair to get into a shop but at the same time we never think to help a person struggling with anxiety to order food? Why is kindness offered only to those who visibly need it? I believe we all are disabled in one way or another. It may be due to an unfortunate event, our upbringing, our character or DNA, an accident or trauma... anything and everything really. We all have our scars, visible or not. Let's bare this thought in our minds - all people are fragile, all people are broken. Or have been. Or will be. All people are people. And we all deserve a parking spot.

Missgony.

The agony of missing another individual. The extreme suffering. The mental, physical, unbearable pain. There are three stages of missagony. One more ruthless than the other.

The first one. Mental. When your mind runs back to the last time you saw them. When your fingers scroll back to relieve the conversations of the past. When the memory of them is kept on replay on the whiteboard of your mind. When your thoughts are tangled and everything's a blur except from one picture. Of their smile.
The second one. Physical. When your hand aches and your chest starts to get heavy. When you finally loose all control over your body and it starts shaking. When the pain spreads to your forehead, your lips, your arms and legs and you can feel it consume you.
The worst one. The unbearable. You no longer miss their touch, it's not about their presence anymore. It's about so much more. It's their voice. Suddenly you can't remeber, can't recall the high pitched tone of them singing their favourite line of that song you hate but love at the same time... just because it reminds you of them. Only way I could describe it is that it's like trying to hum that one song you liked on the radio  but didn't catch a phrase long enough to find it. It's like the blind leading the blind. Like smoke taming fire. It's a choking sensation in your throat. Your words start to burn because they're nothing alike theirs.

Shouldn't

After the first kiss, the first intimate moment, the first hug after long days of pure hankering, it is quite common for the lead character to say or think „Now it is us against the world”....

... but when you truly, truly love someone shouldn't it be the opposite way? Shouldn't the world turn from an opponent to a friend? Shouldn't you be seeing the stars in her eyes as they sparkle? Shouldn't you be seeing the overwhelming beauty of the world in her? In her looks, in her touch, in her lips and in her habits? Shouldn't you be drunk in love and thankful towards the world that yours and hers paths have crossed? Shouldn't you be on your knees thanking for the goddess the world has molded for you? Shouldn't you be seeing her support in your failures, her laugh in your tears, her love in your reflection? Shouldn't your world be so filled with her that it becomes just as beautiful as she is?

It's been a while

Everything I've ever hoped to see abroad I ended up finding home. It's just that I needed to experience something distant to appreciate what's nearby. There's nothing better than the sense of belonging, acceptance and understanding everything around you. It's comfort and safety. Just what my heart and soul need to focus. Differences are fascinating and travel does make you rich but I think the true milk and honey are hidden in plain sight. Chaos is good for art but coming in terms with your reality might help you to truly experience freedom of spirit. Not much of this post makes sense but I guess what I'm trying to get across is that we should stop looking and start seeing. I used to think that the world outside of me is the end goal, the desire but recently I came to the realisation that this way of thinking completely misses the point. My first big goal should be to contemplate my everyday surroundings and truly understand them. Balance is good, there must be a mixture of crazy and tamed in one's life for it to not be wasted and I think I've found my perfect recipe.

A girl exploring her city.