Archive for the ‘Art’ Tag

The Art of Creativity

Tuesday, June 21st, 2016

Soon there will be a comic that I will be posting on here that is drawn by other artists, but written by me. In the meantime, I leave you with this quote and some samples:

Drawing gives me the opportunity to truly see. As an artist, I do not casually observe my surroundings nor take them for granted, but rather view the world as a creator and architect of my own artistic vision. I have never been interested in simplification-on the contrary it’s the complexities and how we see them that drives me to spend countless hours on a drawing. This act of drawing enables me to gain insight and understanding of intricate structure, whether it is a human figure, face, an isolated eye or a tempest of trees. Drawing pushes me to examine every aspect of what I see – every pore and hair follicle, every leaf and branch. I become immersed in my observational skills and depict my vision in a way that a casual observer could not.

Once a drawing is complete, it is no longer related merely to the artist, but becomes a starting point for the viewer’s feelings and imagination. This alignment hopefully transcends the ordinary and the overlooked to something approaching the metaphysical and sublime. Photo-realism itself does not interest me in the least; realism does, details and textures do, ultimately seeing what others fail to see, until they see it in my work. When this is achieved, the collaborative relationship between the artist and viewer reaches its climax. Ultimately, and interestingly, the climax is a humble interpretation of the greatness of nature.

“A good “rendering” represents what a person sees, but “a work of art” illuminates what others do not.”

Armin Mersmann


Broken Brush

Sunday, February 16th, 2014

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Typewriter Muse

Sunday, January 5th, 2014

You can feel..
You can do…
You can write…
You can say…
Whatever you want to…
Whenever you want to…
Only when you’re free!

Freedom is a gift.
Sometimes it doesn’t last long.
It could be taken away,
In less than a day!
So be careful and use it the right way!

So if you misuse it,
You’ll lose it!

Just One Way
When there’s just one way to live,
It might get boring…

When there’s just one way that people look or act,
It might get boring…

When there’s just one way to eat,
It might get boring…

When there’s just one way to play,
It might get boring…

When everything is done just one way,
When people act or look just one way,
Then we might as well be all the same person.

Be Proud!
Be proud of what you have
Be proud of what you are
Be proud of your culture and history
Be proud of the color of your skin
Be proud of where you were born
Be proud of where you were raised
Be proud of your family
Be proud of your gender
Be proud of your name
Be proud of your personality
Be proud, Be proud!

Yes, I’m a Bird Lover
When you wake up in the morning
What do you see?
On the electric wire outside the window
What do you see?
I see a bunch of birds or, more specficially, pigeons
I stare at them, they stare back at me,
Then they make their sounds-hoow, hoow
I smile then answer back “hoow, hoow to you too,”
for I am a bird lover, yes that’s right, I’m a bird lover,
I love all kinds of birds, from little chics to big bald eagles
For I am a bird lover, can’t you see?

Rice! Dice!
Rice and dice
Dice and rice
Rice on dice
Dice on rice
Mice with rice on dice
Mice with dice on rice
Mice on rice with dice
Mice on dice with rice
Lice with mice on rice with dice
Lice with mice on dice with rice
Lice on mice with rice on dice
Lice on mice with dice on rice
Lice Mice Rice and Dice all on ice with spice!
Lice Mice Rice and Dice all on dry ice with asian spice!
Ouch! That’s not nice!!

Flickering Silence
Why do I feel so empty?
When will it end
Will I ever be whole?
why..?! WHY…?!

Fate Creates Opposites
Fate is hate
Faith born too late
Double-sided coin love and hate
Too scared to love
Too painful to hate

Doodles in Art Class
I found my soul and heart
and lost my body
Yet – my soul is darker shades of grey and
only half of my heart is left.

Lock of Infinity
An S is half of infinity right side up.
To the mortal infinity means nothing.
To unlock my second identity put infinity in the lock S.
“His first dilemma and the beginning of a father’s happiness.”

The Nameless One
The darkest black night
huddled figures dark eyes
Stare deeply in yours

Colorful Shapes
I burned my nail today on a candle’s fire
brother on Sunday told me to
wear jewelry so father would
say that I look nice
Masochistic Tendencies
they look like stars
little beacons of light
flags waving in the air
fireflies meeting
blades of grass swayed by the breeze
…My First Million…mint should only be eaten
is it the fire pushing them away so violently
or is it the new undercurrent of melted wax?
now they truly look like flags waving barely
above the surface of their own personal lakes.

Selfish Tears
Been viewing the world through tearless eyes for years
years haven’t cried with selfish tears.

Made a vow on a Steven Spielberg drama in May
and broke it on a Shakespearean tragedy in July.
Making and breaking is split by a y-shaped wall.

Tears fall in sympathy and helplessness
frustration becomes a part of the cast
for let it be known that frustration and helplessness
are a couple from the past.

Graffiti on the wall speaks of selfless sacrifices
a different version of the same story painted on each side.
One thinks the other spineless
they both refuse to see the same story behind the divide
instead they hide
hiding in their own worlds.
One attempting to start over without the other
a plan made frantically in an attempt to regain pride unfolds
yet, the obvious flaw, the counterpart, appears suddenly like a long lost brother.

The double-sided story in graffiti changes
concept is no longer clear
the wall itself seems to be falling apart and out of fear,
both sides, in confusion, sign a treaty.

Confusion in tears once shed selflessly before now purpose unknown
simple injury or more?

Each minute spent brooding feels sixty times longer than reality.
My old friend is being fed hunger
another vow made on war in October.

Half full Half empty
If no one was there to hear a tree fall,
did it really make a sound?
If no one was there to hear a deaf man’s words,
did he really speak?
Perception is nothing and everything
everything and nothing
half full and half empty
life and death
truth and lies
society and truth
Society’s perception is like a deceptive veil
Like the veil of a young bride
hoping to deceive her groom to be
Like the thin veil between life and death
propaganda and truth
what are we to believe in an age full of lies?

Too Many
There are too many
who are forgotten
Too many
who aren’t loved.
Too many who don’t love.
Too many lost souls.

Clear Water
If you could see the wind
What would it look like?
If you want to know the color
Imagine clear water.

Cruel Innocence
In memory of the fallen who still believe in miracles
The smile that mocks your anguished cries
“What are you reaching for?”
It sneers?
There is no straight answer
For the parasite who has nothing to hate but themselves
Soon you will have your conclusion
Soon you will become the comedy of the tragedy.

The Meaning of Life
What is the meaning of life?
If we were born to die, then why were we born at all?
“Each day we live we are also a day closer to death”
That is the path of all living creatures
Then why must we always bother with small matters
such as looks and society’s perception of who we are?
Aren’t such things trifle, meaningless if it’s all in vain
Do we live only to die, our bodies turning to dust, forgotten
To have our decedents tread upon us, only dirt in their eyes
centuries upon centuries in the far future
forgotten…never existed…dead…

The Revolution
Welcome to my realm of darkness, a single beam of light shines on my well known Silent Fortress, illuminating majestic shades of purple and a small glimpse of heat. Where night seems to last forever and sunlight never touches the dark tower reaching endlessly for the sky above. A place where one wishes for the warmth of the closest distant star. A dead cold silent place. Then the small beam of light widens and soon covers even the darkest of places, filling the fortress with a new essence of life. The light beams magnificently out of the ageless rows of windows and the elegant doors of it’s entrance. The purple light returns to the small beam it was, leaving it’s shine still on everything it touched. The once cold and dead silence that hung over the fortress changed into the beautiful silence of life. One that gives satisfaction and peace in the heart, mind, body and soul. A firefly sprouts from the thin beam of light shining on the ground once more. The revolution has begun…..

A man that looked incredibly similar to Father Time was browsing in what seemed like a huge private library. Books of all sizes were stacked neatly on thousands of shelves, all the same brown color labeled “Life” on the side in fancy gold letters. At a closer view, it is noticed that each book is a volume labeled by roman numerals placed in numerical order on the shelves. The man removes one of the books from it’s place as if he were demonstrating a key posture in a musical. He says in an entrancingly melodic voice to his assistant the following:

“You meet so many people everyday, never considering the stories that lies behind each one, no matter how short or insignificant. So many stories, some short, some long enough to form books. All related, intertwined at some point, all told in sequence, in volumes upon volumes, in the everlasting series called Life.”

Creature of the Dark
It was unnaturally dark and the silence hung uncomfortably in the still air. A sudden movement behind abruptly broke the silence. Sweat began to accumulate on my forehead, running down my face in rivulets passing through my eyebrows and stinging my eyes. My heart skept a beat as I heard heavy breathing next to me. Instinctively, I turned my head towards the source. Even though I couldn’t see who, or what, it was, I already knew. Having gathered up all the courage I could muster, I swung at it. My fist made a “swish” noise before reaching the point of contact. The breathing went and came simultaneously, sounding more exhausted each time. Then, satisfied, I kicked at the fading ragged breaths. This time, my blow made no contact. Surprise overwhelmed me as I felt my leg whizz through nothingness. Something hurtled towards me from behind. I tumbled helplessly forward, landing face-first in the dirt. Another blow hurtled my way as I recovered my senses. Having easily dodged it, I kicked the source furiously in the chest. The breathing slowed, I smiled as it became almost inaudible. A voice reminds me that “almost” doesn’t count.

Love: Various Voices With The Same Pen

Saturday, December 14th, 2013

I can only be myself, but I want to envelope your world. To become the comfortable silence that fills the void within you. Perhaps it is vanity on my part or just boredom. A challenge. Most people see that as a demeaning insult, but it is the purest relationship one could hope for. The challenge doesn’t end once the prize is won, it persists in the struggle to keep it.

The body is a temple to those that believe in the sacred. Nerves, muscle, bone, blood, and skin. It narrates the story of the life we led more accurately than any autobiography, but even then it is impersonal. Our inner world is what isolates us when in every other way we would be generic copies, random genetic hiccups not withstanding. Loneliness, self-imposed, but a jail we can’t escape, eventually becomes our sanctuary. A place that is safe and familiar, all we can do is build shrines dedicated to those we love.

Through my doorway is ink peeking through a pristine white undershirt so at odds with the skin underneath. Like a virgin’s wedding gown. Like the flesh. It conceals and encases what makes it perfect in its subtle native uniqueness. Beauty marks. The haze of incense drifts upward and around encasing the object of my obsession in smoke. A mirage, a vision, a jin come to visit me. A jin to inflame my senses and an angel to satisfy their demands. Moving closer, I inhale the thick aromatic smoke and, with it, the scent of dawn after a long night of cleansing rain. I inhale sharply and something from deep within comes to the surface, making my knees weak and breath a shallow exhale. This moment could last forever if I surrender my secrets. Who I am. And I do so as I walk over the piece of wood separating us, through the fog, and lightly glide my tongue over the tip of a star.

Duty binds us and, underneath that, love born of ignorance keeps our egos satiated. Simply doing what you’re told eases the mind into a comfortable haze. So thick are the clouds that any attempt at parting them causes pain. Only when we must earn the right to survive, when we experience conflict, do we grow. Blinking past the pain, we ask the world, “what is love?” As if the world can open our hearts and see what lays deep within. As if strangers could fully comprehend what taste the world leaves in our mouths as we close our eyes to it.

I am afraid. I am scared of the future. I can’t stand being alone because listening to my own thoughts terrifies me. I’ve never been treated with respect. These are the reasons why I stay, lover, family, friends. I enjoy attracting sympathy from others because I don’t know any other way of relating to people. I need you to keep me interesting. I love you because you love me. A coward? You hardly know me.

There will always be a part of me you will never reach. My own private world of thoughts and day dreams. The mere idea of it floods my senses, overwhelm me, and I yield to it. Relief. Knowing that I will be me; having deliverance from death. Comfortable silences without the need to acknowledge the Other are my fondest memories. I love you because you don’t need to see my world to know it exists and don’t pry unless I’m in distress. I love you because you let me by myself.

It is me. Play for me your song.
King. Master. Craftsman of lies.
I am the one that washed them away.
Maggots writhing beneath your skin.
Anger like smoke rising from truth’s purging fire.
How it engulfs your being as you gaze at me.
I can feel it seething from my perch.
Purgatory within the House of Slaves.
A child’s innocence severing the chains that bind us.
Satisfaction dwelling within his smile.
Your misery surpasses even the sky in its beauty.
What you miss, I could not guess.
Wondering if it was not just another lie.
Wondering why I even doubted otherwise as I tune
the instrument that you despised so much.
And I play your song for you.
There dwells no music in a corpse.
A song for the walking dead.
Worshipers of greed and vanity.
Hailing your castrated god.
Forked torn tongues lolling in your mouths.
March. March. March. March. And burn.
Play me your song.

My breathing mirror, glass with a pulse, water that can smile. My soul from a foreign land speaking with a voice that I have only heard in dreams. You can’t be seen by the naked eye, but you are always there. Like a phantom, living on the borders of my view and disappearing when my eyes seek you out. But I see you clearer than the ones standing around me and encircling me in a reality that is more illusion than truth. Your kindness like a soft caress on my cheek. Tenderness that lives only in the music of our thoughts. Within the screams of breaking glass that hides the grime underneath, that is our paradise. That is our home. It is where we meet face to face. The puzzle piece that can’t be replaced.

Eagle’s eyes tracing my lips
Innocent malice, the solitude of silence
Her fear forces my hand to move inward
Reaching for a heart that does not belong
within this breast
Tears of blood run down our faces
We feel not the emotion of it
Living through the motions like tress
must do
The breeze of another’s smile are feathers
gliding across our feet
Toes becoming talons, we are
We are cold inside
but our breath is fire
Our touch sears the flesh of the ones
who love us
The Eagle cries for no-one but herself
and she is no-one
an angel without a face
A demon that can disappear without a trace
Who are we?
Children of the stars, patrons of hearts
Jokers without masks forsaking their make-up
To dance
Dance to truth’s patient beat
The rhythm of zaar.

Thunder and rain
Lightning illuminating our silhouette in the weight of the night
It pounds our back and drapes our shoulders softly
As we toil in reverence to the act of labor
Spade striking soil we plant our seeds of doubt
Watching the others grow crooked and gnarled
We grin as we bow our heads in prayer
Our hands blotted with coffee stains
Scars from constant war with ourselves
The vigilant jin perched on our shoulders
Fostering love within tears of hatred they shed in our stead
We lift our dry eyes to gaze at the coming dawn
The sun petrifying the world around us
Such a slow agonizing pace, it makes us shudder
Anticipation or fear, an onlooker would not know it
Nothing cracks the surface of our placid faces
Etched in stone, dying with the sunrise
This is happiness