Unraveling,
faster than a spool of thread facing the edge
of a domestic hillside.
Consumed by thoughts of the impending change of fate.
Following this pattern,
A waterfall effect of negativity.
Narcissistic thoughts set to auto-pilot and
I've got no breaks.
Entering a dream world where I become third person narrating the disaster.
Walking, maybe running, through the fog
and I'm taking lovers with me.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Unexpectedly expected
September's arrived baring all it's distinct markings of ochre and brick tipped leaves. Glowing grey morning, peppered with sun, wiping the days slate clean with brisk evenings and cool nights. The inner chill beginning to settle in, no refuge from it's impending progression of winter, only to be lifted again come a new season of warmth.
I can smell tonight. Battling chronic allergies stripping this ability, but tonight I can smell. Nostrils filling up with nostalgic poison. Flashbacks of memories almost crippling in their rapid pace. Close to paralyzed from sensory overload, jaw tightening while those small lumps form at the back of the throat where the tongue meets, forming like a terminal cancer. Enveloped in the moment, taken by smell, this is a form of time travel I'm much familiar with.
A smell I will forever link to the pacific north west fall and winter. Sweet, piney, dewey, musky and invigorating. In this smell I am brought back to that small two-bedroom apartment where we started life anew. Wandering the nights to that corner pub, piggy-backs home, falling into that neighbors yard, kissing for the first time. We had been inseparable. New job, new classes, new video work, I was your muse and you my rock. You were different then, we were. This impending season, sending me though time, surprising me with the open door as the air fills with memory. Not a safe place for progression from the past.
I can smell tonight. Battling chronic allergies stripping this ability, but tonight I can smell. Nostrils filling up with nostalgic poison. Flashbacks of memories almost crippling in their rapid pace. Close to paralyzed from sensory overload, jaw tightening while those small lumps form at the back of the throat where the tongue meets, forming like a terminal cancer. Enveloped in the moment, taken by smell, this is a form of time travel I'm much familiar with.
A smell I will forever link to the pacific north west fall and winter. Sweet, piney, dewey, musky and invigorating. In this smell I am brought back to that small two-bedroom apartment where we started life anew. Wandering the nights to that corner pub, piggy-backs home, falling into that neighbors yard, kissing for the first time. We had been inseparable. New job, new classes, new video work, I was your muse and you my rock. You were different then, we were. This impending season, sending me though time, surprising me with the open door as the air fills with memory. Not a safe place for progression from the past.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
For the better, for the worse
Dreams and reality almost interchangeable. Day obsessions into night, visions so vivid they become applied memories, important in conscious thinking as well as the un-.
Alcohol induced haze makes both states equally as tangible, pertinent.
Days spent sober to un-sober and back again. Conversation heavy, playful, leaving my head whirling. Balanced intensity of truth, assumption and unmeasured amounts of passion. A dangerous and dynamic duo.
Moments, multiplying, adding to a pattern of relationship. Almost impossible to recollect all at once as they continue on, unable to trace its entire lineage.
Photo adventures, city exploring to the outskirts of the state, to the coast, into the mountains. Even off the side of a backroad where the dirt bank was a perfect parking spot. Wandering in, getting too high on that joint, lost, eventually escaping by scaling the steep incline to the top of the road. How close we were to the actual point of entry. Laughing our heads off after the woods trauma, I decided I liked getting lost with you.
Day drinking at Kelley Point, the Sandy, that street, that neighborhood, wherever; I felt freed, amazing. Laughing with you, always laughing, it's always been my favorite part. The grins shared are beginning to show their layered levels. Passionately secretive and secretly passionate. Feeling empowered, over powered, I can't get enough of the mix. Nostalgic memory and excitement of fleeting intimacy twist in my brain, distract my thoughts. Drug-like, consuming and yet somehow, refreshing.
Alcohol induced haze makes both states equally as tangible, pertinent.
Days spent sober to un-sober and back again. Conversation heavy, playful, leaving my head whirling. Balanced intensity of truth, assumption and unmeasured amounts of passion. A dangerous and dynamic duo.
Moments, multiplying, adding to a pattern of relationship. Almost impossible to recollect all at once as they continue on, unable to trace its entire lineage.
Photo adventures, city exploring to the outskirts of the state, to the coast, into the mountains. Even off the side of a backroad where the dirt bank was a perfect parking spot. Wandering in, getting too high on that joint, lost, eventually escaping by scaling the steep incline to the top of the road. How close we were to the actual point of entry. Laughing our heads off after the woods trauma, I decided I liked getting lost with you.
Day drinking at Kelley Point, the Sandy, that street, that neighborhood, wherever; I felt freed, amazing. Laughing with you, always laughing, it's always been my favorite part. The grins shared are beginning to show their layered levels. Passionately secretive and secretly passionate. Feeling empowered, over powered, I can't get enough of the mix. Nostalgic memory and excitement of fleeting intimacy twist in my brain, distract my thoughts. Drug-like, consuming and yet somehow, refreshing.
Friday, August 1, 2014
It's been awhile
ITS BEEN AWHILE.
This past week I went on an adventure to explore out past Portland heading north-west up
route 8, onto route 6, through 47 and home on route 30.
In that small expanse, there was incredible scenery and great off-road paths to explore.
Looking forward to many more explorations this summer.
Gales Creek - First and longest stop, got lost in the woods and scaled
the drop off to reach the road.
North West River highway - Found abandoned farm houses with a
tabby and hungry horses.
Route 47 - Towards Veronia, discovered old train tracks, an abandoned trailer,
old boat and gutted volkswagons.
Some favorites of the day:
In need of some inspiration and motivation, weekly plans have been set to explore the NW to shoot with my good friend Reid. Finally remembering how important it is to watch the progression and steps taken, rather than solely investigating the outcome.
Time to be serious about the process: not only the end result.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Senior Thesis Show: Overall
The shadow boxes, large screen print and fiber print photographs below, are the final pieces that were presented for my senior thesis show. Part of a group, self titled as "________ in eight movement," put us 8 ladies in a show to present our work as a whole. It was difficult to divide up the space appropriately and make a comfortable flow. By the end result, through long hours and time spent measuring, nailing and hanging, we finally pulled a solid show floor out. As the doors opened and the flood of people came in, any minor changes left to be debated on, disappeared. The weight lifted, there was nothing left to adjust, touch-up or change now, we were ready.
As I reviewed my work later with my closest friend, he began to point out some of the visual clues that really brought the message home for these pieces.The stark contrast between the black and white forced your attention to the subject matter at hand.
Looking into the photographic screen prints, a family of three is depicted while evidence of the photographer remains absent. These small moments captured in the shadow boxes express the faces showing levels of happiness, sadness and distress. The red thread used, is seen stabbing through the subjects inside these shadow boxes, through the faces, connecting and disrupting their presence and togetherness.
In contrast to the turmoil felt in the triptych connecting the youths and the mother, the two youngins are printed again in large format. The red thread, does not disrupt this image inside of the figures, only surrounding them, this pair; the team.
Across the room facing the duo hang three traditional fiber prints. Devoid of any human disruption, the images focus on stark lighting, illuminating the familiar in an unfamiliar fashion. By using high contrast, manipulation of the scene brings the image to your mind as if it were a recall, a memory of your own. Holding onto a nostalgic feel in which can connect to the outside viewer, as well as the artist and the art in itself as it hangs together.
The boxes, screen print and fiber prints, speak to each other in their moments of bleak and still silence as well as shouting out in resonate imagery.
As I reviewed my work later with my closest friend, he began to point out some of the visual clues that really brought the message home for these pieces.The stark contrast between the black and white forced your attention to the subject matter at hand.
Looking into the photographic screen prints, a family of three is depicted while evidence of the photographer remains absent. These small moments captured in the shadow boxes express the faces showing levels of happiness, sadness and distress. The red thread used, is seen stabbing through the subjects inside these shadow boxes, through the faces, connecting and disrupting their presence and togetherness.
In contrast to the turmoil felt in the triptych connecting the youths and the mother, the two youngins are printed again in large format. The red thread, does not disrupt this image inside of the figures, only surrounding them, this pair; the team.
Across the room facing the duo hang three traditional fiber prints. Devoid of any human disruption, the images focus on stark lighting, illuminating the familiar in an unfamiliar fashion. By using high contrast, manipulation of the scene brings the image to your mind as if it were a recall, a memory of your own. Holding onto a nostalgic feel in which can connect to the outside viewer, as well as the artist and the art in itself as it hangs together.
The boxes, screen print and fiber prints, speak to each other in their moments of bleak and still silence as well as shouting out in resonate imagery.
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