Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Of course, there was Prism. Cynthia discovered the rainbow postcard while waiting to be seated at a restaurant. She slipped it into her pocket while her parents weren’t paying attention, which was easy since they barely seemed to notice her. She hadn’t been yet, only looked at the number and thought of going. She didn’t know if she would be able to do it. How could she explain to her parents? She would need a ride, which was hard to get, and then she’d need some explanation as to why she was going there. She thought of saying it was a social justice club or something, but she knew that her mother wouldn’t understand. She would probably wonder why Cynthia would go to this group outside of school, but wouldn’t join any clubs that the school offered. So she kept putting it off, waiting for the right moment, and pondering if it was even worth it. She avoided thinking about it until one Thursday after school. She stepped out into the snowy weather. It was cold and bitter. The snow came down slowly, mere ice crystals dancing in the light.
She hadn’t gone more than three steps when a snarky voice called out from behind her, “Hey Cynthia, where’re you going dyke?”
Cynthia flinched at the hateful words. She didn’t turn around, but her step faltered. The owner of the voice obviously noticed because there was laughter and then, “Going to meet your girlfriend?”
Cynthia stopped and slowly turned around. It was a girl in her grade who took two classes with her. Two other girls stood nearby. Her boyfriend stood with his arm slung across her shoulder. Cynthia didn’t know the girl's name, or who the other girls were, but she knew the boyfriend. His name was Joel and he had lived on her block when they were little. She remembered they used to play together sometimes, but then he’d moved away and she hadn’t seen much of him after that. When she’d started high school she’d seen him walking down the hall and had gone to talk to him. It had been brief and he’d seemed in a hurry to get away. That was before anyone had started rumors about her. He simply didn’t have time. Now he leered nastily as the girls giggled and his girlfriend said, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer and then I wouldn’t have to endure you stripping me with your eyes.”
Cynthia blinked back tears. Her throat ached and she wanted so badly to scream at them to shut up and leave her alone. She knew she wouldn't though because she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She knew whatever she said would come out wrong and only give them ammunition. Instead she turned and walked away, their screeching giggles following after her.
“She just needs to get laid,” she heard Joel say before she was out of ear shot.
She hated it and wanted to make them shut up. Her stomach hurt from thinking about it. She didn’t know if she was a lesbian, or whatever, but she hated that everyone else had decided she was and that it was so completely wrong. But it couldn’t be wrong because it felt so normal to her. Unless she was abnormal, which she questioned every day.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
When I began my blog it was with the intention of focusing on my creativity and all the things that feed my soul. I hope that one day these things can also provide me with enough income that I needn't work for other people any longer. More importantly I hoped to use it to motivate me to make my very important dreams a reality, as cliched as that sounds.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
A little sketch I did on a whim after a sudden burst of inspiration that, like most of my sudden burst of inspiration lately, was fleeting. I was reading a blog entry by a fellow artist when I was struck with the idea. This is one of many blog entries written by artists who don't make quite enough with their art to sustain themselves day to day. Contrary to popular belief, artists do like to eat and as a result many of us who should be out taking photographs or playing an instrument on stage or tapping away on a keyboard, compiling a manuscript, are going into offices or shops and helping other people make money.
I'm really good at administration. I'm organised and efficient and I have a strong enough work ethic that even if I really, really don't care about what I'm doing, whilst I'm getting paid for it, I will do it to the best of my ability.
This aptitude I have for administration has landed me a relatively well-paid position in a charity. Everyone working there is lovely and the job itself is decent in that I'm making a contribution and not just pushing paper for some huge company. Whilst my hard work has lead to me making enough dosh that I can purchase canvases, get art imaged and stock up on other supplies, it leaves me with very little time to actually do the things I want do. And honestly, it's still not like I'm making some glorious sum which allows me the freedom to spend willy-nilly. I'm on a tight budget with time and money and it's all making me feel a bit robotic.
I get up early and on the walk down to the tube I usually find myself buzzing with ideas. Thoughts on looking up publishers, sending out manuscripts, seeking a gallery space, starting my next Tarot painting, starting an entirely new project, updating my blog and visiting museums whirl through my brain and add a spring to my step. The first few hours in the office I'm running on this feeling. I'm feeling zippy, full of ideas, full of creativity. I'm alone for the most part and I can tackle my to do list without interruption or distraction. I get emails and phone messages out of the way and delve into something creative. Something I've been storing up, like designing a pamphlet or certificate. My lovely co-workers trickle in, the rest of the country wakes up and the phone begins to ring. My inbox begins to fill.
Suddenly I'm pulled away from my creative task. It's shut and put aside whilst I stuff envelopes, write letters, prints documents and do data entry. My day becomes filled with these tasks, seemingly without end, until it's four o'clock and I'm free to go.
Its only a twenty minute tube ride home but when I get there the sun is already setting and my energy wanes with the disappearing light. This paints a bleak picture (pardon the pun) but I'm trying my best to remember that this is a spring board for other things. CS5 is on it's way and my line manager appreciates that I'm a creative soul.
I've got food, water, shelter, warmth. I feel safe and secure where I live. I'm loved both here and afar. For the most part, I feel pretty spiffy about myself. But I'm finding it extremely difficult at the moment (just at the moment, mind you) to get to the plateau where true self-fulfillment is found. Where I don't have to worry about making enough money to have all those lower levels met whilst also meeting that top level.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Music fuels a lot of my artwork. Actually, it fuels me in general. It is very rare when putting music on won't help me to focus, breathe and centre. There are some songs which are particularly good at giving me a lift and occasionally I'll find an artist who's able to do this with almost all their songs.