Set tasks for the week • Write absurd stories and paint works inspired by them • Take pictures of strange body movement + abstract self portraits • Start reading school assigned books • Tidy bedroom before school load gets too intense • Do more yoga
So many nights these holidays I have spent giggling on my bed in a drunken red wine haze. The night time is brilliant and I am happy and I feel like I’ve learnt so much about myself over the past two months. I guess since it’s past midnight, I have my first day of year twelve tomorrow- I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t absolutely terrified, but excited also. Sweet dreams.
5.42am I’ve been up all night reading things I’ve written throughout the duration of my adolescent life and it’s bizarre to be able to draw conclusions now that you’re disconnected from the emotions which were present at the time. For instance, from the month of October until the beginning of this year; I was truly miserable. Unlike usual, I was relatively in denial because I felt like I had nothing to be miserable about. I may regret saying this, but I feel as if maybe, perhaps, hopefully something clicked after the last episode of terrible sadness. I realised the things that were making me upset were not worth the numerous days that I had spent in bed crying, they weren’t worth all the pages of writing… I feel somewhat proud(?) of myself for maturing to the point where I can make rational decisions when faced with conflicting emotions.
Anyhow I’ll probably delete this in the morning because I’m… I don’t know, embarrassed- maybe? I don’t know what of, maybe that I was unable to do this before? All I know is that being in control of my emotions is brilliant, and I haven’t been so happy in so long. This is such a lame post. (I lost like 20 followers on my last blog once I had beat depression, apparently I write better when I’m suffering from crippling sadness or something) I just wanted to write this out for my own benefit and maybe so that there can be some more written posts that are positive on my tumblr. Okay time to go, I can see the night getting bright and the birds are chirping, definitely time to stop rambling.
Marianne: Great view of the moon. Ferdinand: Doesn’t look too special to me. Marianne: To me it does. I see a man up there. Maybe Leonov or that American… White. Ferdinand: Yeah I see him too. But he’s not a Russki or a nephew of Uncle Sam. I’ll tell you who he is. Marianne: Who? Ferdinand: The moon’s only inhabitant. You know what he’s doing? Getting the hell out. Marianne: Why? Ferdinand: Look. He’s fed up. He was glad to see Leonov land. Someone to talk to after an eternity alone! But Leonov tried to stuff his head full of Lenin. So when the American landed, the guy fled to his camp. But the American right away crammed a Coke down his throat after making him say thank-you first, so now he’s really had it. He’s letting the Americans and Russians shoot it out. He’s taking off. Marianne: For where? Ferdinand: Here. Because he thinks you’re lovely. He admires you.
I was watching a French love film and then I had this thought
When I was younger and in love for the first time in my life, it was like the entire world was a flower, blossoming. A flower that had never seen the sunlight. The years before that my existence had been dormant and now I could feel.. I never cried before I fell in love. The world had a new beauty which I had never seen before. I became intrigued about the stars and the sky and by bodies and eyes and facial expressions. I began to read books which touched me, I watched films which sparked something within me and I began to look at and create art, they all made me feel where I once felt nothing. I began to take interest in learning and becoming a person.
I guess that is what’s bad about falling in love at the age of thirteen. It’s true what they say; you’re not old enough or mature enough at such a young age to understand the emotion and it’s complexity… hell I probably still am not old enough (is anyone?). It made me crazy to live, I lived louder and more outrageously than anyone I knew, I was overwhelmed by all this emotion. It ran through my veins, I became psychotic, it consumed me. Going from a child into a teenager in love, what a terrifying shift in mentality.
I’m not really that well acquainted with the film world, I grew up without a television so my likeness towards film started very late. That being said, my favourite film is probably Enter The Void, directed by Gasper Noe, who has done some weird things, but he’s still pretty cool. I really quite like Michel Gondry’s work, also Tarantino and Kubrick are brilliant, there’s no denying that. Some other films I really enjoyed are Howl, Being John Malkovich, A Clockwork Orange, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Inglorious Bastards, Donnie Darko, Amelie, The Science of Sleep, Kill Bill, Control, The Virgin Suicides… You get the idea.
How do I find pictures of humans having sex without venturing into the pornography territory? I want to study the human form in relation to one another so I can do some drawings. I wish David Attenborough would make a documentary on human mating…
"I was glad I wasn’t in love, that I wasn’t happy with the world. I like being at odds with everything. People in love often become edgy, dangerous. They lose their sense of perspective. They lose their sense of humour. They become nervous psychotic bores. They even become killers." - Charles Bukowski, Women
and i remember in the back of your car last night there were geometrical shadows splayed across your face hand in hand we spoke of never leaving the back seat i remember thinking about how beautiful you looked its was your twentieth birthday i had just turned seventeen hand in hand we sat
I write and draw things in stupid, hard to find places, but today I have found a pad of post-it-notes with horse tranquilizer induced sketches scrawled over majority of the pages, paintings I did whilst on mushrooms, letters I wrote to my mother but never sent, letters I wrote to my ex boyfriend but never sent and one of my favourite, heart-felt pieces of writing from last year.
I have been painting and drawing a lot today and something that has struck me is that whenever I look at an art piece which appeals to me, it’s evident that every part of the work is created by this same person with a set style. Whenever I draw (or paint), it’s like one quarter of the picture was drawn by someone completely different than another part of the work. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have a set style and I like to experiment. I’m not sure; maybe this too will pass with time.