She Saw Him First

In university, I was fervently attached to impermanence and how it spoke to love and the meaning of life. My creative process would start with a blank surface, although it did not have to be literally blank, just stark. Definition: Complete; sheer. Purpose: To feel everything; to be whole. And with that, I would commence. Commence a process of removing completeness; commence a process of covering up visibility – to reveal something unique. I was utilizing a very special skill set to uncover my identity.

I am simple. I am me. I am beauty in everything. I am everywhere you need to be.

Pushing down non-artistic capabilities; denying intellectual understandings. It was easier to pretend that I didn’t have drive than to begin the self-exploration required to achieve bigger and better things. I hated that I lacked moral support. I loathed that I was just an artist. If only I had been shown empathy and was equipped with real world survival skills, everything could have been so different.

Everything should be. The space-time continuum moves forward and does not evaluate past failures, previous motivations or work.

My struggle with identity began as a young woman. I felt completely transparent and to make matters worse, my mom would try to help me by covering up any apparent weaknesses with her motherly prowess and intent. I just wasn’t at the receiving end. I did not know how to define it or how to get there on my own. Furthermore, my mom did not have the energy or input to output our individual success. She struggled with many things. Growing up was about resisting and playing, if safe. We both lived in fear.

Fear is weakness. Be passionate. Be real. Be able to tackle everyday things with intuition, knowledge and strength.

Who remembers the wallpaper in their baby bedroom? Who recalls the vibrant tones of shag rugs in every ‘box’ around the house – intense violet, indiscernible mustard, Oscar the Grouch green, rusty red and so on and so forth. Definition: He has a green body, no visible nose, and lived in a trash can. Purpose: To love my body, my style and the way I live. Who recalls bubblegum pink mohair, fresh brand T-shirts from The Body Shop or Le Chateau. Things have changed so much in fashion, things have changed so much in our world.

We are united. We are technological. We are happy and we are proud to be free. 

Really?

Yup, listen to me.

In university, I obsessed over process to the point where I think it became my source of envy. I didn’t understand how Bradley Harms could make these prints like it was nothing.

How the fuck did he do that?!

I do it now, so I’m not worried.

Are you sure?

Listen, at the time, my inner artist screamed. It didn’t matter that I was making things with my own hands or that I was taking things that were already whole, erasing them and reconstructing a sort of murder scene using x’s and o’s. It didn’t matter that I was mapping. What mattered is that I could have turned out.

I was meditating, frowning worries and heartaches away with medicated pens and BIC Wite-Out.

In my mind, I was substantiating Gilles Deleuze…

…and I quote:

“Writing has nothing to do with meaning. It has to do with land surveying and cartography, including the mapping of countries yet to come.”
― Gilles Deleuze

Definition: The technique, profession, and science of determining the terrestrial or three-dimensional positions of points and the distances and angles between them. Purpose: There is already a movie about language saving the world. It’s called Arrival. Can we really still cure cancer with words? (this was my original thesis, you see)

Mapping the continuum can spark regret, so better focus on real world debacles.

I am something out there.

My trek is long and arduous.

What matters however, is living continually knowing that I am loved and spectacular.

Yes, yes!

I actually used an entirely different quote, which I cannot find online, but I do have it written somewhere in a sketchbook. All of this work transmutes the power of being by Being and the power of regression through ignorance. The tale of Daisy emotes this vulgar clash, where love is thrown to sea, but the water is brown and murky. We do not see this however, we only see the elaborate underground scene beneath it made up of pink, green and other living things.

She is trying to objectify life. She is avoiding subjectivity. The beauty is in interpretation!

Thanks to you, bye!

fe.

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chonafecanlas

I am the desert I am the sea I am ambition I am a queen

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