Tuesday, January 28, 2014

For Angel A.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014




[hat and mittens for my maintenance man's newborn baby, yarn, 01.28.14]

Unfinished Thoughts from 3 A.M.

Sometimes I catch myself doing the things my mother used to do that would make me wince at 10 and here I am. I'm 22 and wincing at myself after a minute. Sometimes it takes that long to realize. The yelling through the wall. The dirty look. I didn't even mind that much. Not the act - I minded. What caused the act - I didn't. I mimc her actions but the emotion isn't there. The true upset. I hope it never comes. But still I sneer. And I want to hide it under scarves and behind the collars of my shirts, so I button to the top and look at the floor. Sometimes I force a smile but why can't I be happy and show it my way.

-

I don't use question marks because they invite conversation. I can participate in small talk near the elevator on the first day of school. I made a girl laugh today. I can talk openly about my nasal passages but I won't ask you what your major is or why you pronounced "robot" so weird - where are you from. I'll ride the elevator silently and make a nervous smile when you get off on the fifth floor. I'll follow you home in a sense but really you were on my way. I saw you look. We shared a class and then a train car and you recognized me but I hid my face in my scarf. I didn't want to sneer, like the women sitting next to me in fur. She sneered at the woman speaking loudly on her cell phone. I didn't want to sneer. It didn't bother me. But the women in fur bothered me. Her attitude bothered me. Her impatience. She wouldn't sit still long enough to appreciate the lack of silence. Because sometimes the silence in public cuts through me. The spaces full of strangers who will stay that way indefinitely. Sometimes the noise is necessary. Whether it's understandable or not.

-

He steadied himself with his hand and I almost touched it, just to see. People jerk so quickly at accidental touches. It's not as if I wanted to talk, to have any sort of deep connection. I just had the urge. I think about the taboo and wish there was another word for it. I don't like that word and I don't like the idea behind it so much. Why do we have to keep things hidden. Why do I find myself not doing the things I want to do or saying the things I want to say. Of course everything has it's limits but I don't find I push them in the wrong direction. Acting completely on impulse can drive people away but I've only found they drive away the ones I never wanted there in the first place. I say what I want to say and it keeps the good ones close. Pushes them closer.

-

I sat next to you in the dark and thought about how I'd feel if you never talked to me again. Not in the way I would have as a teenager though. I sat and thought about standing up and wading through the crowd and leaving through the emergency exit - the one without the alarm. I wondered what you'd think and then I almost didn't care. It settled me down to think about. I watched the door instead of watching the people filing in. The feeling of being in control, completely in control of the situation, was freeing. I rarely felt that. It started when I moved and it's been growing. It started with the tiniest things.

-

I remember my sense of security coming from zipping my coat up with yours. The teeth of our coats interlocked perfectly - that thick plastic. We laughed and ate crackers and I remember the smell of your hair. Your dreadlocks. You were so different and your honest kindness hurt me in a good way. It was the first time I felt that. I felt my first real pain that year and the way the sun shone through the worn spots in our coats made me safe.

-

All my security comes from hiding. Be it behind my collars and scarves and hands or behind my words. You can hide behind words even if you spill your guts somehow.

-

I've always been better at empathy than what I'd like to be. Sometimes I feel another person's emotions for them. I feel it for days. I felt your pain for days, for years. I feel it now even though it's been eight. I still see you fuming on the staircase. You weren't like me, you asked questions. You asked questions that made people squirm a little. Something about you repelled everyone on Calhoun and I felt it. All the kids who repelled, I felt their pain. The quick movements in the hallway, the seat across the room, the silence after presentations, the tension at lunch. It overwhelms me more now than it did at 16. When I think of how I've adjusted since and I worry about you now. I wonder what you're like at 22. If you sit next to people in dark theaters and simultaneously want to touch their hand and wade through the crowd towards the exit. The one without the alarm.

-

I crocheted a scarf and sent a picture to my mom. She said I looked like her and I don't see it. God, I don't see it. I try. But her green eyes and blond hair don't fit in. My wide face. I don't see it. I joked about being adopted. I've seen the pictures and heard the stories but I don't see myself in my family. My brothers look the same but where did I come from. Sometimes I see my dad in my face when I'm angry. When I catch myself in a mirror while the neighbor does her jumping jacks. I see it in my face for a second and it scares me. Not because I'm ashamed but because I've felt outside of it for so many years. Apart. My brothers are so skinny and I thought I stuck out in family pictures. I remember all my friends looking so much like their moms, like their brothers. I remember the food stuck in your braces and how it matched your brother's. I remember the family pictures on your mantel - you all had fleshy faces. I've watched your sister grow up, looking just like you did at each stage. But when my little brother smiles all I see is my older brother.

-


I've been exercising giving others the benefit of the doubt. No matter how much a persons' behavior annoys me initially, I try to empathize. It's not hard once you start. It's hardest with those who seek attention in such a hungry way. I find that hardest to empathize with. I don't understand the want to be looked at or listened to. Sure, I put myself out there but if people don't bite, I don't worry. I don't dress to be complimented. I don't write to be praised. I don't wear the scarves I make to be asked how much I charge. I wonder about the hunger and for a moment I can put myself there but I don't like to stay long.

Some Things




[apartment photos, canon t3i, 01.20.14 - 01.25.14]

Monday, January 20, 2014

APARTMENT

Monday, January 20, 2014





[apartment photos, canon t3i, 01.19.13]

Monday, January 13, 2014

Stuff Made From Yarn

Monday, January 13, 2014





[pom poms & mittens & a hat, yarn, 01.01.13 - 01.13.13]

Friday, January 10, 2014

Twin Sentiments [Vol. #2]

Friday, January 10, 2014







[twin sentiments moleskine, ink & pencil, 12.13 - ongoing]

Wallace





[bearded dragon photos, canon t3i, 01.06.13]

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

All of a Sudden I Want to Kiss Everyone [Vol. #2]

Tuesday, January 7, 2014


[all of a sudden i want to kiss everyone moleskine, ink, 07.20.13 - ongoing]

Twin Sentiments [Vol. #1]






[twin sentiments moleskine, pen & marker, 12.13 - ongoing]

Monday, January 6, 2014

Cricket Carcass

Monday, January 6, 2014




[deceased crickets and bits, canon t3i, 01.06.14]

Gross Mess Aftermath [1-4]





[2d final project, ink & paint & paper on canvas, 12.01.13 - 12.14.13]

Kate's Mittens



[commissioned mittens for kate, yarn, 01.05.14]

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Almost Done

Thursday, January 2, 2014

[2d final project canvas edges, ink, 12.01.13 - 12.13.13]

The Way the Light Hits



[fort wayne photos, canon t3i w/ holga lens, 12.27.13]

Sit Still



[turtle photos, canon t3i, 12.27.13]