Flashing red light means go.

On days like today, a canvas becomes a pressure suit. A savior. It listens. It protects. It lets me be whoever I am at that exact moment or it can let me be whoever I would like to be instead. The canvas doesnt complain, judge, or fester. Its a door to another place, and whatever I make of it, is what is. My paintbrush becomes a key. And there I am, opening doors into worlds raw with emotion.

I have a theory. I believe disappoinment, angst, sadness, and anger always lead to some of the best works of an aspiring artist. That is sincerely difficult to place out there as I dont normally refer to myself by such a title...but, art is a large part of what drives me. And I aspire to own an artform, make it my own, and not be consumed by its intensity. My progress so far has led me to my previously stated theory.Those moments in a dim room, where the cold is only fought by the warmth of nicotine and caffeine unleash a torment that can often result in a masterpiece. New ideas seem stronger, sturdier and significantly more powerful than those which emerge in the haze of happiness.
I was in a dark place today. Doubts, questions and the exhaustion that resulted from a lack of answers were dominant in my solitude.  After hours of looking over details that were a maze to be easily lost in...I gave in to the only thing I knew was in my control at the moment. Through charcoal and led, little pieces of myself were regained. Every part was painful, making the process far from simple. Yet, by the time I reached for my paintbrush, I noticed my aching has subdued, a fondness for color had replaced it. The canvas was my pressure suit.

It stands in front of me now, waiting. Whether a need to run to it be a result of happiness or anger; it will always be waiting. I tend to forget that at times.

Then a day like today comes along.

Love,

Jen

VIII

in hopes of a better morning.

summer night with coffee brought me this.

She had seven keys on her right set of ribs. It was the first time he had laid eyes upon them. The questions started rushing through his head. He knew there werent conventional responses waiting to be delivered;the seven didnt stand as a representation of the seven deadly sins a dark society upheld so well, nor did it stand for seven names of loved ones who she deeply cherished...seven wasnt even a superficial lucky number. There was much more to it.

And he wasnt just giving her more credit due to the fact that she lay naked in front of him now.

He had come to find that there was an inspiring story behind every decision which she took. These six elaborately designed keys accompnied by the single black silhouette of one to make seven were the reason she woke up every morning. They came together to explain what was driving her.This was the why...this was why she held a paintbrush as a profession, this was why she adored walking, this was why she loved wearing that gold tree necklace. Do not be mistaken, these were never problems to solve, merely curiousities to fulfill. These keys had somehow given him an entirely new reason to love her desperately.
It was 2:22. He usually made a wish by this time; catching time with repeated numbers was a good luck charm, a wish could not be wasted. For months on end, he would wish for the same thing until he actually would feel closer to getting it; at times the wish would simply come true... It always had a funny way of working out. Everything that had occurred tonight was a wish of his...The moment she had the courage to remove her slip, the need she had to break down barriers on that bed, the way he could linger upon the curvature of her figure as the moonlight illuminated it. It worked. And then there were the seven keys on her ribs which had kept him awake even after she had surrendered to the dawn. Seven keys made him feel seven steps closer to the complicated nature which emcompassed her being and which he adored in the simplest, most basic of ways.

It was 5:55. He knew he needed to come up with a new wish, but he couldnt be bothered to do so now. Oddly enough, he felt a strong sense of relief in not wanting to wish for anything else; he had been liberated from his own strange tendencies. Even if there was no guarantee that it would be this way for good, he continued to bask in the happiness he felt. As if his thoughts had woken her, she turned over suddenly, stretched and smiled without opening her eyes. He kissed her forehead, breathed her in.
He was bound to her and her seven keys in the most peculiar way.

He didn't mind.




Love,
Jen


VIII

too much time has passed.

Turns out my writing time on Blogger was significantly cut down by the death of my previous laptop.

Regardless, ill have a chance to share new thoughts and observations of this adventurous summer which has been full of rewarding experiences. But, for now....ill just leave any readers with a lil obsession of mine.

For years, I have loved this song, but never quite came around to seaching for its title or artist...which seems slightly ridiculous for Thom Yorke's haunting voice would now be easily recognized. I first heard it in Baz Luhrman's Romeo and Juliet, where every beat of the song was accompanied by sweat, tears, and entrancing glances.

Talk Show Host by Radiohead. Listen to it.
.

You want me? Well fucking come and find me.
I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches.

looking for shoes again.

So my recent quest for sandals has been quite extensive. But no luck yet...as always, my taste refers me to all the splurges and I find myself critically judging the affordable ones.

However, while looking on Solestruck (Amazing site for those of you who like ur footwear to be a bit bolder <3) I came across an amazing pair of combat boots from See by Chloe. Not too long ago, I broke the zipper on my adored brown pair from forever 21...they were a bargain, so Im surprised they lasted as long as they did. These See boots have a good dose of spring in them...the green and brown combo reminds me of fierce Alexander McQueen heeled lace ups. So now on to save 375 big ones. haha.

 BTW <3Today was the official opening day for the McQueen "Savage Beauty" exhibition at The Met. I wished all day I could suddenly be in New York....it strangely didnt happen. Good thing I have til July.


Love,
Jen


VIII

imperfections led to perfection.

Caravaggio. One of the rebellious artists of Baroque art in Rome who created some of the most breathtaking masterpieces of the time is often hidden in the shadows of more famous geniuses like Michelangelo. An aggresive character, it's quite easy to see how Caravaggio chose to portray a more naturalistic perspective in his paintings. While the patrons of his commissions were not always pleased with his realistic depictions of holy figures, claiming them to be disrespectful, his mastery of technique could not be denied. This can be seen in those who chose to buy his rejected paintings despite the controversy.
The following pictures are the result of a commission for the Contrarelli chapel of St. Luigi del Francesi in Rome. A three-piece project, Caravaggio was to depict the life of St.Matthew; from his calling to martyrdom. While the entire altar was unbelievably beautiful, my favorite was the centerpiece which was unfortunately rejected by the church. There were two versions of the piece which was to show the illiterate St.Matthew receiving the aid of an angel to write the gospel.

 Original version rejected by the church in 1600. (above)

Revised Version by Caravaggio (1600)

The first version shows an elderly saint in tattered robes whose hand is being directly guided by the angel in order to write. His feet are noticeably dirty, rough and it can even be said that he takes the full appearance of a farmer. Yet, there can be an unmistakable feeling of tenderness and delicate patience found in the bond formed between the martyr and the angel. St Matthew appears to the viewer, as a saint trusted wit the task of the gospel, but first and foremost as an ordinary man who has been called upon by the Lord himself. Perhaps it is this realistic nature that makes the entire piece so beautiful in its entirety...suddenly the viewer believes that such a saint could exist and that his capabilities were trusted for a powerful reason, or several at that.
The revised version shows the saint in vividly clored robes, well pressed and royally draped. The angel approaches him from above as to illuminate his better judgement, but does not come close to the saint's hand; St.Matthew writes the gospel by himself. He looks stronger and placed in a more dignified stance, looking more "presentable", following the expected image of a saint according to the church.

While the revised version that hangs in the Contrarelli chapel is still a grand mark of Caravaggio's trayectory, the imperfect version which is now lost is one of the most amazing paintings I have ever studied.
It inspires faith within me. A rare thing.



Love,
Jen


VIII

como poder olvidarlas?

Today I paid a visit to the California Museum of Photography (CMP) in downtown Riverside, not too far away from campus. I was looking to take notes for my photography class assignment, yet I found much more in the main exhibit on the first floor.

The above are all photographs by Mexican artist Maya Goded, part of a larger project by the title of "Las Olvidadas"or The Forgotten. A theme exploring the invisibility of Mexican women in all areas of life; the kind of transparency that many experience in their homes and through the eyes of others. The exhibition is split in three categories: the women affected by the disappearences of the Juarez murders, the prostitues of Mexico City's La Merced, and those involved in the mystical healing powers that "witchcraft" has to offer.

Every face seemed to be haunted by a different ghost; every woman wanted to be taken by darkness in some way. There was so much pain in the exhibition as a whole; intense does not even begin to describe it. An immense sense of appreciation is gained by observing the suffering and harships these women have had to endure; all ages and sizes have had to go through some kind of emotional or physical beating. For such an aching to be caught on film was unbelievable....my prayers go to every one of those women.
Goded: though I am sure your intent was not to receive praise, I applaud you.


Love,
Jen


VIII