I've spent my entire life reading.
Enid Blyton books were my first introduction to the world of literature and I was absolutely taken by it.
The power of the pen.
It took me so many places I'd never been before.
Years later, I write.
Mostly for myself but I do know what it is I'd like people to feel.
As I grew, my tastes broadened.
My love for reading sometimes waned but never vanished.
It mingled with a love for movies, the drama section of literature and then poetry.
I want people who read my work to see two things.
First, me.
At least the piece of me I decide to place between the lines.
These things I've written all have links to who I am.
And maybe they can't see that
But I get to express it.
I get to see those little self-Easter eggs
And I adore putting to words things within me,
Hidden behind a name that is and isn't mine
Onto a screen that keeps me apart
Yet weirdly connected for a beat
To the reader.
I hope my readers find some peace where I want them to and some discomfort where I prefer that.
I hope that - like me - they look at my work and see a small piece of them, sometimes.
I use writing as a way to understand myself and the deeper recesses of my mind that I usually prefer to ignore.
I often feel like a broken record but
If something I put out into the world
Makes a few people smile or feel a bit of the pain I felt or think?
Then I caused a ripple effect.
I did something that will bother someone, even if only for a second or minute.
For a moment, I was a part of a life that wasn't my own,
One I will never have to know the ins and outs of,
And my scribbles caused a genuine momentary shift.
That's the power art has had on me many, many times.
It's the greatest honour of all to have the same magic flowing through my fingertips.
This alone is enough.
The heART of DREAMS
When I look at art pieces
or any other form of art,
I don't just look,
I stare at them.
Several minutes fly by,
however little or not at all
do I notice that.
With tilted head and widened
eyes, I consider, "How cool!
How did they manage to
create this masterpiece?!"
I find myself smiling
bright white and giggling,
"I'm moved by your work!
I had lost my hope of achieving
this dream but nice going...
thanks to you, artist I do not
know, your work has re-lit a
fire under me!
So I'll get up
though I had fallen to depths
hope couldn't reach and try
again to aspire, an artist I'll be. When others lay eyes
on my work, it's desired
they'd feel inspiration
rising up inside of them
like today you've done for me.
The Spark
What I want people to feel when they see my art?
The spark, the tireless motivation that seems to burst from me when I take on some 'meaningless' task and turn it into some sort of masterpiece and I'm staring at it like I just painted the grandest acrylic painting in less than an hour before shrugging, feeling like 'eh, I could do better' and churning out another six and repeating on the one that strikes out to me. Usually the doodles. And then I might relax a bit, ask people what they think and then laugh and talk about where the journey put me at the end and how I actually meant to end it.
It's like a permanent memory of what I was doing, exactly when and where. What I was feeling, like the way people snap photos of themselves. Selfies, I guess, and so I'm showing it to people like 'look at my selfie, don't I look ridiculous?' and they might pop off into some jovial conversation with me and we might talk loudly at each other for a minute.
I want my stuff to be the opening to a grander conversation, on the emotional highs, the things that aren't about me but about the work and then we might stuff our faces with tea and meals from Wendy's or that local creperie. I don't care where. I just want to talk about the thing that was made, the emotions that evoked to see if I hit my mark and that they caught on. That it reminded them of memory they had of themselves so they might draw them up, tell me a little story like my art was the toll, the proverbial coin, to learn a new piece of information I otherwise wasn't privy to.
scared
intrigued
all the inner thoughts
everyone has told you to push away
i want you read when you see my name
on your page
happy
hopeful
if i don't say it who will?
sad
understood
"how could after all this time
i don't see the sun
but sushi_trash
wrote something
i needed to hear
or something that made me think
or something that down right entertained me"
what do i want people to see in my poetry?
me.
Lucid like LSD
I've heard that when you take acid, you can see the trees breathing; the veins in your hands turn into rainbows, circling your muscles and bones as if touched by magic. I've heard that bad acid trips will leave you alone in the dark, fighting for your life on your way to the bathroom, your demons clawing their way out of your consciousness.
When people see my art, it's not going to be a revelation, not anything that's going to reconnect neurons. It's just going to exist, but hopefully with something 'extra' that makes it my own, something that will spark inspiration in someone else.
I want a rainbow to appear on the horizon as they read my writing, though it may only exist for a moment, a second of illumination that makes them look twice.
I want readers to feel disjointed after reading my writing; I want them to think about what I've written later that day, in the car on their way to the grocery store, sitting in their claustrophobic cubicle while dreading the forty hour week ahead. I want them to connect with what I say, but in a way where they don't realize its impact until they need it, when they're struggling and think - she went through this, too.
When readers read my writing, I want them to feel less alone. When I write, I'm coming from a vulnerable place, and hopefully I can give someone else the courage to write from their vulnerable places, too.
my art?
Scrolling through the site
and seeing what i write,
sitting in the crowd
and watching actors be loud and proud,
walking through the park
and noticing my art,
the biggest thing I'd love
more than anything above
is to feel understanding
and hate disbanding.
the heart-strings tugged
as my art pulls you in and you're drugged
acceptance and love
is what i want you to think of
and feel deep inside
with a strong sense of pride.
and, like me,
have a deep moment of reminder that
life is
truly
worth living
My Art?
My finest form of art happens to be painting not writing, so here goes.
When a stranger sees my art I was them to feel it.
I want them to feel the paint strokes. I want them to wish they could reach out and touch it with their fingertips.
I want them to well up with tears.
I want it to remind them of their childhood.
That time that their favorite aunt took them to the art museum, how she gawked at the paintings. A habit they hadn't understood at the time.
I want them to understand it now. I want them to be flooded with love and compassion.
I want to inspire them to pick up that paint brush again.
I want to inspire them to be kinder.
I want them to leave me an email telling me all this because I crave recognition as all artists do.
I’m No Artist
I’m no artist.
When I was in the fifth grade, I made a drawing of a barn owl that seemed, by my standards, okay. My art teacher had had us make these drawings and paintings so that she could create a world map out of them, based on the origin place of the each species we drew. When I turned in my piece, my artwork was placed over in the Pacific Ocean, right over Australia.
Why?
Because she thought I had drawn a kangaroo.
There’s going to be many answers to this question, but this will be the only of its kind. In a world where artists want their voices heard and understood, I only want mine to feel like I’m drawing a barn owl.
