I have decided that sincerity is hard to come by and that most people in life are just used car salesmen trying to manipulate you to do what they want.

Bittersweetness and grief sneak up on you and smack you in the face just when you think you’ve gotten over it. Actually, no. The grief doesn’t sneak up from behind you. You straight up turn around and start walking backwards—towards it. And then you walk straight into grief and that’s what hits your face. You walking backwards into grief and bitterness. Because you just can’t quite let it go. Because there’s still that little piece of your heart that will always love it. And you know that piece will aways be there. And you resent the fact that it has moved on and expects you to also. Because you have so many good memories with it, and you don’t understand why it had to change and turn into something so unrecognizable and completely dismissive of you.

So bitterness is the bar that smacks your face as you walk straight into it. And your face freaking hurts.

And while you’re in pain, you react. You give up on humanity. You tell yourself that everyone is a manipulative jerk that just wants your money. And you resent the world.

All because it broke your heart. And there’s one little piece inside your broken heart that won’t let it go.

UGH. I am so tired of feeling like this.

reset
leave
confident
wait
empathy
intentional
beauty
cute
heart
New Mexico
art
uncertainty
return
rootless

 

^^^

SaveSave

Graduation ceremony en español. The organization is an acronym that spells ALAS. In spanish, alas are wings…

Don’t love how the text turned out… but oh well. 🙂

This took a while. Because I started out making a flyer instead of just a logo. Because I misunderstood. 🙂

And I also simplified the logo quite a bit. I’m not sure why. I think I was getting tired. And I needed the graduation cap to really communicate.

Learned my lesson here. Gotta clarify what the heck you’re supposed to be making before you start making it. Hehe. 🙂

Yesterday my fortune cookie told me to not be so hard on myself and that I’m doing the best I can. What a wise cookie that was. I wish I could have asked him more questions. But the thing is, cookies don’t talk back to you. They’re like Yoda: they say one wise, ambiguous thing and then they mysteriously disappear before you can ask them anything else. It’s really annoying. I’m almost insulted.

This is why it’s best to have human mentors—as opposed to mentors that are aliens or food. Human mentors stick around and talk to you. They are best to have. Humans are best.

The only exception I can think of is the Muppets from Space movie. Because in that movie, aliens actually use food to communicate to Gonzo while they are in outer space. They write brief messages in Gonzo’s alphabet cereal to communicate that they are his long-lost relatives. And even though the messages are brief and ambiguous, I feel like it’s ok in this case because cereal communication is really difficult and only allows for the use of a few characters. So at least the aliens were trying to stay in contact with him.

What am I saying right now? This might be the dumbest post I’ve ever written.

HOLY CRAP I JUST DELETED MY FACEBOOK ACCOUNT

PERMANENTLY

WHAT WAS I THINKING??!!!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?1/!?!

I didn’t want Zuckerberg to win!!!!!!!!!! I was trying to fight the system!!!!!!!!!!

BUT THAT WAS SO DUMB OH MY GOSH WHY DID I DO THAT?!?!?!?!?!?!@!#!?@##!@??!?!?!!?!??@#@#!?!?

It just occurred to me that if I follow my dreams, I will experience an isolation like freaking way worse than this. Someday I will sit with my head in my knees in the corner of my empty New Mexico apartment and weep. My heart will ache with the sort of loneliness you can physically feel in your chest.

I will feel unseen by the entire universe. And nonexistent, and unloved. Even though I will know these things aren’t true, that awful heartache will sit in my chest for a long while. And it will really really hurt.

I am terrified for this moment right now.

Silly, ignorant, naive me, dreaming these dumb, idealistic dreams. Moving is hard. It is going to be so hard. And painful. Ugh.

So if I go through with it? What will I do?

I will whisper: You are the God who sees me. You are the God who sees me. You are the God who sees me. You are the God who sees me. You are the God who sees me.

Over and over and over again until I fall asleep.

I’m still excited. But there are so many sad moments ahead. Geez.

SaveSave

Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die. Wash me, savior, or I die.

Rock of Ages

ok still in prog. but these little monster guys are just so dang cute.

Llamas are a lil trendy these days, kinda like cacti. The thing is, in art and media, llamas are depicted as these really cute, friendly things. Don’t get me wrong, I like llamas. And I think they can be cute. But they look nothing like that in reality. They’re a lot bigger. And they make weird nosies. And they’ve got a weird, gross saliva situation going on in their face.

I like llamas. I think they’re hilarious. But cute and cuddily? I dunno, man. I just dunno.

FREAKING GUESS. WHAT. I stayed up until 5am on Tuesday making the funnest thing I have ever made. That’s an exaggeration. And the correct term would be most fun. But it was one of the funner things I have made. Oops excuse me I mean more fun.

Boom. Bam. Yes. I know. I know.

Yes that is a seed packet. Yes it does say DROP A SEED BOMB. Yes there are instructions for making a seed bomb on the back. You are correct.

This year’s personal statement is a little sappy. But I think it’s pretty accurate. I really do use art as something to hide behind. But it sure is hard to communicate that on paper to a table of strangers. 

I was thinking about that the other day, actually. I need to get some more hobbies. I know I have other interests apart from art, but I have spent like no time developing them lately. I don’t even remember what they are, honestly. Maybe I’ll take up horticulture or something. 

Anyway, here’s my personal statement.

As a child I developed a strong liking for the color orange, and I was very vocal about it. All of my classmates knew about it, and thus it became part of my identity. I was the “orange girl,” the girl who liked orange; this is how people recognized me. I hid behind this label, because it gave people a reason to approach me. ”So, you like orange,” was an excellent conversation starter in fifth grade. Over time my love for orange became less about the color itself and more about how it had impacted my social life. I was a chameleon turned orange to meet the people around me. This is what art and design have always been to me: colors to turn into, the means to becoming a chameleon.

Being labeled as an artist provides a unique access to the world. The camera, the paintbrush, the pen—these are the keys to being accepted into any environment. They make me invisible. They turn me into a chameleon, and I love this. But through these mediums, my first and fundamental job is to observe. I am set neutral and in favor of the ones I am working for—it sounds like a contradiction. I am apart but accepted, thanks to my title Artist. And through this, I get to meet new people. I get to connect with others whom I would never otherwise meet and spend time in their shoes and work with them to establish a visual identity that conveys who they really are. It’s such a privilege, and it’s such an incredible way to get to know people on a deeper level. Design is a color changer. Design is also a bridge.

The most noble purpose of art and design is to serve and connect with others. To use design as an admittance, a bridge: this is what I want to do with my life, and this is why I am studying to be a graphic designer and art educator. I want to connect with people and organizations across the world and reflect the essence of their identities in all of their visual media. I believe that art helps us figure out who we really are, and it is my dream to work behind the scenes as a designer or art teacher, to help others discover themselves.

I’m still the same girl from fifth grade. As the day comes to an end and the colors of camouflage fade, my own colors are revealed, and orange is still there. But now there are more colors; I’m developing my own style. And via art and design, I hope to empower others to do the same.

 

My .3 lead mechanical pencil isn’t working ~again~ and it’s affecting me on a psychological level. This is my all-time fav pencil—the only one I will use. But it’s actually really high maintenance. It goes through lead fast, and it stops working on the reg.

It’s like an unhealthy relationship. I’m so dependent on this pencil, and he obviously doesn’t care about me.

Lenny. I’m naming him Lenny btw.

I am nothing without Lenny. Seriously. I am refusing to write right now because I don’t want to use my .5 lead pencil.

I am such an idiot, privileged, first-world wuss. What the heck am I doing right now, writing a blog post complaining about a pencil!??!?!! I have got to PULL myself TOGETHER. Some people don’t even have pencils. What is wrong with me?

I talk so much about how art empowers people, but what does that even mean? What about the people who don’t have pencils? How will art empower them? Would a pencil make their life better? Do they even want pencils? Do they even have time to care about art?

Art does not empower people. The Holy Spirit empowers people, whatever that means.  If I dedicate myself to art, I will spend the rest of my life complaining about pencils.

I have to dedicate myself to something else.

it’s been a good wknd. Jesus died and came back to life in the middle of it. which was cray.

it all started with a turkey sammich, some nasty carbonated tea, and a nose ring.

^I mean how can u beat THAT

1:48 AM

heavy heart right now. this is new for me. art has made me such an emotional person.

like I swear. in high school I wasn’t like this. I was totes emotionless. dead inside. seriously.

and then I woke up and started healing. well, actually, i’m not sure i’m healed. but something sparked. and now I like cry and stuff.

I have a test tomorrow. it’s not looking good. but I can’t focus. there are so many other thoughts to be occupied with. and facebook. there’s also facebook.

anyway, having emotions is great. it really is. it makes life so much more colorful, for sure. but it’s also so dang painful.

emotions are such weird things. they make you feel all these weird things that you can’t explain. and then you feel helpless, because you can’t explain it.

it’s like a bittersweetness, and it’s beautiful. but you’re aware that you’re not capable of fully understanding just how beautiful it is. you feel so helpless.

I think most of all, they make you realize that time is going to change everything and that you are a part of something so much bigger than yourself.

painful but colorful. bittersweet. beautiful. I hate that the ones I love have to feel the pain too. that part sucks.

it makes my heart heavy.

but time heals all. hang in there, Sunshine.

Sometimes art just straight up dies in ur face. seriously. all of this toil under the sun and whatnot, it’s all worthless.

UGH.

why are we here? and why do we do what we do? day in and day out. huh? HUH?

art does not last forever, even in the digital world. images may live on, but the older they get, the more distanced from the truth they become.

^this.

images may live on, but the older they get, the more distanced from the truth they become

…

…that’s profound. BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

the point is that art dies and it’s sad. and hurtful. and just…UGH. !+!&^%$#!+!&^%$#!+!&^%$#!+!&^%$#!+!&^%$#!+!&^%$#!+!&^%$#

I know i’m mortal. I mean, like, i’m not an idiot. but as a kid sometimes you don’t reaaaaaaallllllllly realize that you’re mortal. and then one day something u make just straight up dies in ur face and it hits u that you won’t live forever and neither will any of your contributions to society. I’m having a day like that. or, u know, like a month really.

so…like…what is the point of art and really doing anything? if it’s just going to hurt so much once it ends. huh?

I read Ecclesiastes once. but I stopped midway because it was long and depressing or something. I really don’t know how it ends…

art update. Making this poster has been groovy.

(I had written “fun” but then I decided “groovy” sounded cuter. idk can I pull it off?????)

Still gotta arrange stuff but it’s coming together. I need to fix up number 1 and the box in the bottom right. And in the space in the bottom i’m gonna put some paragraph-style text containing a quote about art or something. These are my goals for the rest of the semester.

I always have a rlly messy canvas. Look at all those floating shapes.

Originally all of my little boxes had contained a lot more complex and unique images. Like each box had it’s own pictorial design like this:

But my prof recommended that I simplify things and create some sort of “visual hierarchy—” so that the more important goals stood out more. I was sad at first, but it looks so much cleaner, and keeping things simple has saved me mucho tiempo.

Anywayyy….. it’s a hella lot better than what I started out with on Monday:

 

Monday I was just outta it. Oh man. I was so tired. It was the morning after spring break, and for some reason I had told myself that my bus arrived at 6:40. That wasn’t true. The bus doesn’t even come until 7:20. So I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to. I don’t know what I was thinking.

But it’s all good now so we good :)))

Is church a scam? I kinda feel like it is.

Sometimes art school makes me cocky. Sometimes it makes me envious. I am being constantly praised and criticized for my work, my abilities, my style, my judgement. It’s quite personal. And I make it very personal. I take full ownership of my successes and my failures, and doing so inflates my ego and crushes my soul in a really exhausting and stupid cycle.

And then there’s coat-of-many-colors Joseph, who was pretty much one of the most successful guys in history. Totally rags to riches. But he never took credit for any of his success. Verse after verse, the Lord “enabled” Joesph to do everything he did, and Joe knew it. He professed it loudly.

And also that guy Bezalel from Exodus. God literally filled him with the knowledge to work with materials and create art for the tabernacle. Are you hearing this? God GAVE. BEZALEL. THE. ABILITY. to make the art that HE (GOD) ENVISIONED.

JS Bach ended his musical scores with the initials SDG. Soli Deo Gloria. He understood a truth that modernity has tried to suppress: “I play the notes as they are written but it is God who makes the music.”

Madeline L’Engle believes that all good art is Christian art, regardless of the artist. I can’t remember how she defines “good” art—I’m sure it would offend you—but I like thinking of art in this way, as being a gift from God and not ourselves. We are vessels and art is like scripture: God-breathed. Therefore obviously, we cannot worship the human artist because the artist is merely a scribe—like that chick in class who copies down what the professor is saying but doesn’t actually comprehend it.

I watched Spiderman on Thursday. Tony Stark tries to take away Spidey’s supersuit, and Spidey freaks out and screams, “I am nothing without that suit!” And Tony says that if he is nothing without the suit, then he doesn’t deserve it. But the truth is all of us are nothing without our superpowers; we don’t deserve them, but we still have them. We could lose them in a moment, but we act like we own them. And when the Lord does take them, we lose our sense of identity and meaning and significance in the world, and we are forced to reluctantly accept how little our efforts matter and how great God is and how polite it was for him to help us out in the first place. That’s called grace, although I’ve never favored that word. I heard it so much and it always seemed to only apply to criminals and female Christian authors. But that’s what it is: God’s politeness for making you anything more than a tiny little speck of dust.

I am glad that I am not a speck of dust, and I am glad that the Lord has enabled me to make art. I don’t give him much credit, especially within these halls, but these little crosses are a reminder, a kick in the butt or a slap in the face or whatever to not worship myself when a prof gives me a compliment or hate on myself when my grades get low. My superpowers truly are supernatural, and they’re not even mine. And you have them too, but you can’t take credit for them either. It’s a really weird way of thinking, and I’m not really good at it like Joe was. But I hope someday it becomes natural for me to point away from myself, and to really mean it.

SDG.

One am. Again. What is my deal?

Turns out I WAS walking into walls. HA. Seriously. It’s because I was in a hurry, so I was tryina make up my own paths. But apparently they weren’t the ANCIENT paths. Wow this is really coming full circle for me. Ok. So Ima stop walking into walls for a while. I’m just gonna stand. Still. Like, not move. Just wait. Just wait right here and not make any plans until the Good Lord reveals them to me. This is a lesson in PATIENCE, one that I apparently cannot avoid.

BTW I’m up right now because I just spent like four hours tryina update my blog. I tried like twelve different WordPress themes. I even created a whole new blog on Wix (https://megbpru.wixsite.com/mysite …it’s a WIP). And after all that crap, I went BACK to my original theme. I changed it up a lil bit, but seriously. I went BACK TO MY ORIGINAL THEME. BECAUSE IT WAS BETTER THE WAY IT WAS. IT DIDN’T NEED NO INNOVATION. ALL THAT WORK. I SHOULDA TRUSTED MY ORIGINAL JUDGEMENT. I WALKED INTO A WALL. AGAIN. I HAVE GOT TO STOP MOVING.

dear darth vader,

I am not a dork.

sincerely,

meg

You know, sometimes I put a lot of frikin effort into my outfit for class. and then only like 20 ppl see it. and then I have to take it off, and it sucks. so i’m gonna start recording my outfits here. so I can remember them and repeat them and whatnot.

 

because sometimes, I look cute dangit.

of course, other days I look like this:

those are literally swim shorts.

and then there was also this day:

yikes.

u can’t always win. some days, ya just gotta hope ur personality is enough, ya feel me?

My favorite museums are the ones where the informational text is stamped directly onto the walls, especially when the walls are white. It feels like the words are floating in the air in front of an empty space, and it makes the whole experience feel even more surreal.

Museums, to me, are indeed surreal: they’re these grand mansions that hold images and artifacts from all the world’s history. They’re like eternal, ever-growing time capsules, havens for art and beauty. Of course, it’s not all beautiful inside. Some works aren’t meant to bring joy; they’re sad and disturbing. But seeing the sadness and confusion and the chaos of human suffering in the context of this bigger room, mixed with images of beauty and love and all of history, allows us to step back and see Art as one big picture. And that picture is beautiful. In Walking on Water, Madeline L’Engle says that art is “cosmos in chaos,” that some artists see all the chaos in the world and only recreate chaos in their work. But the great artists see chaos and turn it into cosmos—something meaningful and True and as big as the world itself.

I believe that design is similar. It takes the chaos of unsolved problems and jumbled information and re-orders it into something feasible to all—something comprehensible across languages and ideologies. Beneath humanity’s diverse cultures and backgrounds, we all share certain archetypal beliefs and desires. Visual communication takes complexity and gives it a familiar order, allowing us to see past the barriers that separate us and to recognize those worldwide similarities. Great design is universal. It’s cosmos. It’s art.

Bday card for a buddy who loves succulents.

Are succulents considered greenery? Idk, when I think of greenery, I think of the shrubs and trees and those crazy vines that cover the sides of the highway to Tennessee. Or the fake bunches of leaves and branches and cranberries that people decorate their house with for Christmas. But succulents? Greenery? I dunno, man. I just dunno.

I guess it’s worth a google.

I just remembered something. Telling stories is important. And writing. I mean real writing—not the stream of consciousness, Catcher of the Rye-style writing I’ve been doing. Real, recalled, well-written stories. So ima start writing stories. Because they help me remember things. And memories are precious.

Here’s one:

Kindergarten.

I didn’t like trying to spell words by sounding them out because I was afraid of getting them wrong. Ms. Alvarez always encouraged us to make an effort by ourselves before coming to see her, but I never did. Every time we were writing something and I didn’t know how to spell a word, I would walk up to my teacher’s desk and get her to spell it out for me. I didn’t want to try it for myself because I knew I would make a mistake.

I’ve always been a little like that—I’m not ready to try something on my own until I feel like I’ve mastered the material, and I’m quick to hand over a job to someone I feel is more qualified than I am. I don’t always trust my instincts.

So one day, out of either optimism or laziness, I decided to not go up to Ms. Alvarez’s desk and ask her for help, even though I didn’t know how to spell “pumpkin.” We were doing an activity and had to write down a word that we associated with fall. My plan was to wait and see if the boy next to me had chosen “pumpkin” as well and to copy the spelling he came up with. So I waited and watched him until he got to the part of the activity I was on. And when started sounding out how to spell “scarecrow,” it hit me that my plan was falling through. I was on my own.

So, flustered and disappointed by my failed attempt at kindergarten-style cheating, I tried to sound out “pumpkin” and put together a few letters as well as I could, and I went up to my teacher’s desk to turn in my activity. She looked over it, checked it, wrote a comment, and gave it back to me to take home. I had spelled “pumpkin” wrong; Ms. Alvarez wrote the correct spelling next to mine. But on the same page, she wrote her comment: Proud of Megan for trying!

And that made me pretty proud, too.

I guess I do my best thinking at one am.

Here’s what I’m thinking: today, I feel like a failure. Or yesterday, I guess. But it’s still carrying over.

I feel hideous. Ashamed. Unlovable. Disgusting.

I despise myself at the moment.

But that’s the key word: moment. Moment. Mooommmeeennntttttt.

We’re supposed to live in the moment. That’s how the saying goes. But when I live in the moment, I get stuck in the moment. I focus on the moment, and when I think I’ve messed up in the moment, I think of nothing else, but that moment. No other time in my life comes to mind. It’s just pure, utter self hatred. And wishing I could just be invisible. All the joy I’ve had. All those other moments when I’ve loved myself—just gone like they never even happened.

And I’ve had a lot of moments of self love. I mean for real, I’m freaking obsessed with myself. I am proud of my accomplishments, often. I like my personality, much of the time.

But in this moment, I feel like a failure. And that’s all I can think about.

So maybe I shouldn’t live in the moment. Maybe I should step out and look at the bigger picture. And think about tomorrow, and not how I plan on punishing myself tomorrow. But tomorrow: as an opportunity to love God and love others. Because that’s the biggest thing. That’s what really matters, every waking moment.

Every

waking

moment.

To live a life of love.

To love your neighbor as yourself.

Which means I have to love myself

…every waking moment. Not just the happy moments.

No more self hatred. How do I make it stop?

This reminds me of graffiti.

I want to paint another mural someday. A legit one.

That’s my dream job, actually: mural painter.

…In Santa Fe.

This is me. Walking who knows where. It kinda looks like I’m walking into a wall… that was unintentional.

I’ve dreamt of living in Santa Fe, NM for years now. It’s so ridiculous; I’ve never even been there. I think I saw it in documentary once, and then I decided I wanted to live there. I wanted to grow up and build my studio there. And walk down the street to get my coffee every morning and say hi to the flower shop owner and street painter on the way.

It just seems like such a perfect place. It’s an escape. When I get stressed out, I think of Santa Fe. It’s so dumb.

The truth is I have no idea where I’m going. I never have, but especially now. And it’s not just because I’m a wandering college student. It’s a family thing.

I feel uprooted. Actually, I feel like i’ve never had roots. Where do you go when you don’t have roots?

Maybe I’ll just keep walking towards this wall and see what happens.

ps. i’m wearing a mitten bc I messed up drawing my hand. I just feel like I needed to address the elephant in the room.

I’m making an A in class lol.

“Because the worst thing that can happen to you is to be forgotten.”

That’s what the ancient Romans believed. That’s why aristocrats took great privilege in making big fancy tombs for their spot in the necropolis. Is it true? I think so, maybe.

So how do you not get forgotten?

You create a legacy. And you hope that the world never loses its history buffs.

It’s one am.

I’m paralyzed for no reason. I should be sleeping. But it’s so late at this point that I’m dreading the 6:30 am wake up, and I’m wondering if maybe just not sleeping at all would be better.

On these mornings I’m always late to class. Or nearly late. Or having to drive and pay to park because I miss the bus. I know it’s my fault. I know I’m irresponsible. But gosh, of course I am. God expects nothing less. Perfection is an illusion, that’s what our guest speaker in class said today.

I have so much to do. The list keeps growing, and I feel like a turtle. I’m going so slow, and the opportunities are passing me. But I can’t keep up. Before I have time to consider them, they’re already moving on.

I wish time would stop so I could just stare at everything. And think about it all, and sew it into my memory. I want to be able to appreciate everything. And meditate on it. There’s so much to consider. I could spend a lifetime staring at my pencil, wondering what it really means to me and how it was made and why 0.3 lead comforts me so much. Seriously, why?

This is why it takes me an infinity to finish a book. I underline and rewrite entire sentences and reread entire chapters. There’s just so much in a set of words. Thank God for the Bible. And thank God for his command. To meditate on his word day and night. The Lord has given me permission, nay: implored me, to be as slow and reflective and analytical as I like. Thank God.

There are so many decisions I’m supposed to be making right now. And so many deadlines for them. Here I stand. At the crossroads. And I’m looking. And I’m wondering where the heck the ancient paths are. Where is the ancient anything, in this day and age? I’ve heard a thousand stories here. Guest speaker after guest speaker. Acquaintance after acquaintance. Stories of successes and failures and passion and fun and art—all these words in quotations. My phone is in my face 24/7, telling me a million more. And ancient feels so far away…and dead.

I don’t want to run in the rat race for the rest of my life. So where oh WHERE are the ancient paths, Lord? Please make my decisions for me.

01/31/18

I went to a session about how to make your own portfolio website the other day, and the teacher talked about how having a blog is good for employers to see because it demonstrates that you’re a “thought leader.”

Pft! Heck yes I’m a thought leader! Look at me—a thought leader—pioneering my thoughts to all my followers out there—both of em. Yep thaz right.

So what do you think, Mom, am I influencing your thoughts?

I’ve always loved cacti. Once they became trendy and everybody started to love them, I really struggled with deciding if I should continue to love them or not. I like to be different and cool. It’s an ego thing, I guess. So when suddenly girls everywhere started buying cactus-patterned shirts, I felt very irritated. And I was tempted to not like them anymore just because everyone else did. But here’s the thing: cacti are honestly, legitly cool. And I really do like them–it’s who I am. And so had to decide if I wanted my self-given identity as an outsider/rebel-type to overpower my God-given identity as a cactus-lover. Does that make sense? The moral is this: don’t let yer ego keep you from staying true to yourself. Fads come and go, but my love for cacti is eternal.

“Art saves souls.”

That’s what my friend declared matter-of-factly after I told her my insecurities about studying art instead of doctoring. Art isn’t important. It doesn’t save lives.

No. Art saves souls.

‘And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.’
Luke 1:46-49

My mentor said that sometimes in scripture when you find yourself among a powerful set of words, it’s good to pitch your tent and stay there a while.

Mary’s words are indeed powerful: “My soul magnifies the Lord.”

What does it mean to magnify the Lord? And what does it look like for a soul to do that? And what role can art play in magnifying the Lord via the soul? And what the heck even is a soul?

I think I’ll keep my tent pitched here a little longer.

Been thinking about it lately. Not missing it, exactly. Just thinking about how long it’s been. And trying to remember it.

My parents grew up in Tennessee for thirty years. That’s longer than I’ve been alive. There’s so much living there. But it feels like another world, another life. Time is so precious and meaningful, and we experience so much in a lifetime. But it’s only in hindsight that we realize it. That we can see just how blessed we were, and how crucial change was.

It took me forever to get over leaving Texas. I had wrapped my identity up with my living location. Missing my old life was my escape route when my current life was hard. It was so easy to just shrug off my new home and call myself a Texan. But that was stupid, and I see that now. And I don’t regret how I reacted to moving—because I learned a lot—but I hope that next time, wherever I end up, I embrace it. Because it’s only temporary. In this life, it’s always only temporary.

That is all I have to say.

This was a mistake.

I just ran across a fellow graphic design undergrad’s portfolio website today, and…it’s way better than my blog. Her site is so elegant and professional. Mine is just a motley combination of terrible work I did in intro classes. Even her “doodles” are miraculous. Plus, hers is technically not a blog; it’s just a portfolio site. She doesn’t write awful posts about random stuff no one cares about like I do. I’m really revealing my immaturity here. Gonna have to re-evalutate my website. And make better work. And clean up my presentation.

And become an amazing painter so I can start selling paintings on the side. Not that she does that or anything…

Images have so much power. They make humans so manipulative. I don’t know how I feel about it.

This is a quote from a reading about the Great Stupa at Sanchi, I believe. For my Asian art history class. Yea, storytelling is important and powerful and beautiful. But apparently it’s also exploitable.

These are the words I’m struggling with right now: truth, lies, propaganda, manipulation, storytelling, religion, power, design, control, illuminated manuscripts, visual storytelling, art, vanity, deception, exploitation, naivety, brainwashing, responsibility, beauty.

I don’t know how it all fits together.

 

Portfolio is up. That is all I have to say. I look really sad in that picture. It’s sorta off-putting.

Sometimes I wish that just making something pretty was enough to get an A. But it’s not. There’s got to be all this other stuff: meaning and depth and whatnot. Just because something’s nice to look at doesn’t make it art.  And I hate that. I hate having to make something “deep” or whatever. Sure, depth has it’s place. But why do I have to play god to create it?

Because a lot of times in the art world, making something “deep” just means portraying your opinion in an arrogant and manipulative way. Often times it’s political. Which kills me.

Having an opinion means you’re making a judgement about something. God is the ultimate judge. Therefore why the heck do any of my judgements matter? Why would I bother making them? They’re pretty much guaranteed to be wrong.

Of course depth is important. But I’m tired of mixing up depth with conceitedness. Depth exists everywhere. On its own. We just have to shut up long enough to see it. To observe. Silently. In the corner. To watch people. At work. And appreciate their process, which we don’t have to understand.

 

 

 

 

 

But then again, that’s just my opinion. LOL.

I hope I’m on the right track here.

I used 72 dpi for this image. That’s supposed to work right? For web? I’m freaking out.

Aspire is a mentorship program that connects underprivileged high schoolers interested in STEM fields with college students and faculty.

I’m not sure if they’ll like the logo, but I only sent them this one concept. So I’m hoping they absolutely love it. Cuz, yea. I don’t want to make another one.

Forrest Gump once said:

“People are like gourds; you never know how they’re gonna turn out.”

Something like that.

Happy Fall.

“I hate this camp!”

It was day three of the week-long sports and Bible day camp where I was working as a counselor, and those were the words Kaitlin shouted to me as her face turned red and she started crying. She crossed her arms, turned around, and sat down on the grass.

Kaitlin had been struggling all week. Although this was a sports-centered camp, Kaitlin discovered quickly on the first day that she did not like being outdoors for long periods of time. She hated the ants, the heat, and the way her head pounded when she ran. She rarely wanted to join in the games we played, and when she reluctantly did participate, she quickly became discouraged when she didn’t score a goal or hit the baseball. She had been frustrated and miserable all day, and losing in a game of “Down by the Banks” was apparently her breaking point. She continued crying in the grass as the rest of my campers moved to our next station. I stayed behind and bent down beside her to once again convince her to “hang in there.”

Being a leader can be discouraging and heartbreaking, especially when your followers are ten years old and don’t like you. People will not always be eager to cooperate. They may kick and scream when they are unhappy or cross their arms and sit in the grass. For me, the hardest part about being a leader that week was trusting my own judgement and continuing to push my campers to follow the decisions I made. I knew Kaitlin did not enjoy the sports we played, but I told her to participate anyway. When she complained, I worried that I was wrong to push her and wondered if I should let her do what she wanted. But despite my own insecurity, I had a role to fulfill as the leader. I was responsible for making this week an impactful and worthwhile experience, and I had to make the best decisions for the girls that I could and stick to them, even when there was resistance.

I do not remember exactly when it happened that week, but eventually Kaitlin hit her first baseball and finally got to run to first base. She was thrilled, and for the rest of the week, she could not wait to return to the baseball station. Her attitude began to change. She started to willingly participate in the other sports. She spoke to me more and walked by my side as our team traveled from station to station. When she scored a goal or made a cool craft, she turned to me and asked if I had seen it, and I cheered for her. On the last day of camp, she told me she would miss me and asked for my phone number. We took a selfie together. She said she couldn’t wait to come back next year.

Leadership is being responsible for the development of others. It requires confidence and perseverance, especially when things prove difficult and others are discouraged. It takes grace to overlook all the frustrated outbursts. It requires gentleness to handle bug bites, patience in taking multiple bathroom trips, and forgiveness for discouraged meltdowns. I always had Kaitlin’s best interest in mind when I forced her to play the sports with us. When she was upset, she did not know what was really good for her, what would really give her joy and fulfillment in the end. Through all the hardships, through the perseverance and the patience, Kaitlin and I formed a bond that impacted both of our lives.

UM… I really really really really really really really really really should be studying right now. Just give me one sec.

Paintings are done. Um, well, ish. For now. Done enough for the crit tomorrow. I…I…I… I kinda like em. I think it’s the colors. And the distance. Everything looks better from a distance. Painting painterly is freeing.

Ok…well…

Here I go… Off to study… Bye now…

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…

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PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME GO!!!!!!

Ok I’m over it. Chao.

Studying for art history exam. Or trying to. Ran into this jewel in my notes. It’s a quote from the Wonder Woman movie:

Lol I love that. It’s just sweet. Diana is this tough chick or whatever but really deep down she’s just this vulnerable little girl. It reminds me of that song by the Killers.

Ok I have to study now.

It’s weird being an artist. It’s weird how quickly that title consumes you. I feel completely immersed in this world of art and design right now. It’s obviously incredible; I’m so blessed. What a privilege it is.

But what is it for? I spend my days perfecting my skills and my craft and my talent and my abilities, and then I’m constantly performing and then being judged for it. And these are some freaking deeply personal performances–it’s not like an exam, where you’re judged based on how much you studied for some generic topic. I’m pouring everything I’ve got–ME and nothing else–into what I–MEEEEE–create. And then I’m desperately hoping to pass. And not just pass, honestly. I want to be praised for how talented I–MEEEE–YO–RIGHT HERE– am.

And then there’s the Bible. And Joseph’s story. God literally made Little Joe successful at whatever he did. It wasn’t Joseph’s doing. The Lord enabled him. The Lord deserved all the credit, and Joey knew it.

Last week we had a critique in my graphic design class. Everybody hung their pretty patterns on the walls and walked around and said nice things about everyone else’s work and joked about how bad their own was. And then we sat down and critiqued each person. I don’t want my worth to be defined by what they said about me, but right now it slightly is.

It’s hard to keep track of what matters in art school and what matters to God. There are a lot of voices right now and I haven’t figured out which ones to listen to and which ones to smile at and nod at and politely ignore like the southern belle I obviously am.

I mostly love the way the program turned out. I think I like the front even better than the poster….which btw was EVERYWHERE.

All over the place. So cool.

Working on patterns and getting emotional about it. They’re so bright. And now they’re on paper. PRINTED. My work. It’s just so cool to see.

Idk if they’re amazing. But the process of making them has been amazing. And I’m tired. So everything feels amazing right now. I’m just really emotional right now.

It’s just cool to see it on paper. Irl.

Two more feet photos…

K bye.

Mimicking the masters. Learning their painting style so we can replicate it in an image of our own later. Yay.

I’m mimicking a painting by Berthe Morisot. She’s a pretty cool lady.

Scrolling through my pictures. I’ve discovered I take a significant amount of feet photographs. This is a strange personality trait I didn’t realize I had. I’m sure there’s a deep psychological reason for it. Gonna do some serious self-analyzing later.

I’m writing this post in a flash because I haven’t written in a while and I just found out my friend actually checks up on my blog every now and then (shoutout to Abby. Thanks for being such a great fan of the blog. You and my mother are the only ones who have the link).

Making patterns on illustrator of the compass I drew a thousand times. Enjoy this collection of awesomeness.

Submitted the final poster and T shirt designs yesterday. Not posting the T shirts because I don’t love the way they turned out.

It’s weird making different sized versions of a poster because you’re sorta designing a new poster, but at the same time you’re just rearranging the old elements in a way that looks somewhat nice, even though it’s not the way you intended for it to look when you designed the original. Does that even make sense?

It turns out painting is hard and I suck at it. And I’m running out of blog material…

 

 

Lots and lots and lots and LOTS of drawings. Of the same object. Over and over and over and OVER. And…over. Yeeeesh.

 

 

There’s some gems in there. There really are.

This image is a throwback to an incredible display in the art school last semester. Truly increds. And definitely worth sharing. This would’ve paired well with the bra pad wall arrangement currently on exhibit. Masterful work. I was too stunned in awe today to think to take a pic. Shame you don’t get to see it. You’ll just have to use your imagination.

Painting candy. Oil is hard. Working on the underpainting. Really scared I’m gonna drop my bowl of candy and destroy my reference image. Probably gonna have a nightmare about it tonight.

 

Still in progress. But they liked my design which means the hard part’s over. Oh my gosh I’m so relieved. This has been stressing me out for weeks.

My initial ideas were way different. I guess not way different conceptually. But way different stylistically for sure.

Ugg why do I write so light?

I had a hard time giving up the little banner feature. But I didn’t like how my drawing was looking 3D, and it felt too smooth to me. And then there’s the color issue. I’m such a girl. I was playing around with all these pretty colors and cursive fonts and totally dismissing any meaning.

I mean sheesh what kind of college student wants to go to a Latin cultural show that looks more like freaking Disney on Ice? It needed grit. Bad. Badly (adverb).

Ahh much better. The biggest lesson for me is color. I’m so quick to resort to making stuff pretty instead of giving it meaning. These colors actually represent the colors of Latin American flags. It’s so much better.

I like this whole blog thing. So far so good.

What do people even say in blogs these days? I know nobody reads stuff anymore so blogs are all saturated with pictures. I guess I’ll have to start taking more photographs. That’ll be good for me I guess. Good practice. Ooh that reminds me. The other day my photo prof asked a very significant question: do you take a photo or do you make a photo? Hmmmm.

Nah this’ll be fun. I’ll figure it out.