Wrap Up

My internship here at Shake Rag Alley Center for the Arts is coming to a close. It is sad but also a good thing, as I need to step out of routines and exercise my creative side elsewhere. This has been an incredible experience and I highly recommend the the people and the place as a spot to do art of all kinds. Here are a few new photos which are added to my set on Flickr. I will continue to post them as I finish processing.

This is an abstract layered image of tissue paper from the Valentine's Day Sale. It was done using GIMP and layering one tissue photo over the other with different layer modes like "overlay", "grain extract", and "soft light."

This was just fun. Courtney Henson, my boss here at Shake Rag Alley Center for the Arts does not know I've posted this. I hope she likes it. I've got it in several other colors as well, in a kind of Warhol-esque assemblage of parts.

Another layered piece created in GIMP.

I leave you with a smile; from a young customer at the Valentine's Day Card and Gift Sale.

The Fact Is

The fact is, I can write. But do I write? No, not usually. I guess merely because I haven’t made it a habit yet. It’s one of those build-up things, where, the more you do it, the more words come to you, until you’re off writing whole novels every month or so.

Writing can be competitive, like a sport. You can compete with yourself, or others. You can say “I’m going to write three sentences today.” Or you can go for four. You can have ambitions: “A novel is what I’m going to write today.” But that might be a little much to expect. Somewhere in the middle, in between a sentence and a novel, is both a reasonable expectation, and a slightly higher one, enabling you to expand beyond your limits.

There’s another call inside the writer; A call to sleep. If you don’t have any deadlines or people to hold you accountable, you may give in to that call. The ultimate sleep is death, and since you’re still alive at this point, you may as well toss some words around, to see what they look like.

Along with sleep comes depression. That nasty feeling like nothing you ever try will be worthwhile. A dread of expectations and responsibility creeps in like a fog. There is a desire to hide away from the world, to hibernate. Perhaps hibernation served our ancestors in the past. Now it simply adds to society’s definition of shame, the opposite of what an honorable, productive person exhibits. The shame adds to the depression and they fuel each other for a bit.

Luckily, I’ve never sunk so low that it was impossible to shove my way out. Others are not so lucky. Others are not so blessed. That I am blessed I have no doubt. There are (at least) two times I most certainly should have been crushed to death, but wasn’t. One was on the Quarterdeck of the USS Wasp (LHD-1). I was standing watch and went to relieve my shipmate who had stepped down from the gangway. I thought I heard my name and paused, turning. Just as I resumed my stride, a massive rolling, flattening machine drove by, a foot from my face. The other time I have no recollection of. I think it involved a car; I’m not sure.

As I think about the feeling of wanting to hide away, watch Netflix, and sleep, I am reminded of Dory, the little blue fish from Finding Nemo. When Marlin says he doesn’t want anything to happen to his son, she says “Anything? Well that would be kind of boring for the little guy, wouldn’t it?” or, something like that. And she makes a good point. We who carry all this fear inside of us think we don’t want anything to happen to us, well anything bad anyway. But is that really true? If you ever do get a chance to experience life with little to no challenges, no interruptions, no disruptions, tell me how long you can stand it.