I have begun yet another blog. Now that the fall term is behind me…at least for the most part, I am hoping to use this blog as an extension from the underlying concept of my senior thesis: the marriage between the literary and the visual. My time at SCAD has been a love-hate relationship, one of revelation, infuriation, inspiration, and….probably another ‘ation’ word…
All in all, I have learned that writing is the way for me to go (not art history). But art in the visual form has always been a part of my life, and I know that people have integrated the two mediums seamlessly and made it equally active in their lives. Ginsberg did this! My drawing and painting skills are novice (to put it generously), but I certainly would like to believe it falls under some sub-category of process art and I am fascinated by the feeling I get when creating as though being plucked from the known world and being dangled in the ethers somewhere far from the hum-dum reality that people naturally fall into at one time or another. Particularly writing has quite the hold on me…but to get into that later…
My initial idea for this blog-project was to take paintings, photographs, any visual medium that I have a certain affinity for and ‘respond’ to it through writing, but not the form of essay writing that I have mixed feelings about. Rather, I will compose poetry, short fiction, perhaps even my own visual work as an effect from the former work of art, the cause. Works from history to friends’ works (depending on whether they would allow me to post their works online).
But, as with most artists, inspiration does not come from a single source. The poem from the previous entry came to me while walking home from my night class across a desolate parking lot. So I will incorporate writings that I am working from other experiences, both through the written word as well as through pigment of sorts. I am excited because I recently came into a holga camera, and after getting to see first hand through my good friend, and possibly one of my favorite artists Kasandra Torres, the beautiful grit that comes with aesthetic I am super excited to experiment with and get to know photography from the artist’s vantage point, as opposed to the stance of the art historian which has been the case for far too long. Hopefully I have something worth posting this oncoming winter.
Enough rambling for one sitting. I will leave you with a poem I wrote in September of 2009 that addresses the fabric of our world as both canvas and the very air we come into each morning. Enjoy!
Sky meeting earth
and the wishing between them,
I went walking under the trees
when I began to see
the colors pushing up against each other.
The greens longing to be blue again,
the browns with their heavy, muffled requests,
the only white, seen instead as yellow,
blinding and burning the eye.
The sky, blue on most days,
stretching itself thin over us,
so thin I wondered
if clouds weren’t the blank
canvas behind it all,
wondered if they weren’t the shredded edges
of such instincts, such whims,
as taking flight.
And they all tried
to bleed into each other,
the branches and leaves
wedging themselves through
the porous surface
of world and welkin,
white-knuckled fingers clinging
to their horizon.
And there are birds swimming in the air
that must be liquid somewhere.