1000wordsbetweenbrothers

[1000wordsbetweenbrothers]

Nostalgic ultra.

The lofi blast into the past tense of sublime times.

In this piece the artist explores the frailty of the capitalist christmas while delivering on the promise of a deeper warmth in the traditional narrative. Through the use of alluringly deep blacks in his capturing of the recently restored antique santa, the artist invites the viewer to get lost in the whimsy of a memory. The warm blanketing red tones convey a sense of safety and pensive wonder. Inspiring forth the fullness of a happy memory. Thoughts of the holidays as a child. The magic they had in store. The piece inspiring hope that the magic can return once more.

Anyway, If we hang this up in a gallery and I wanted to sound snooty about it, I think that might be the write up. Silly slips of the tongue are my favorite things to write. I am an endless trove of Dave Matthews Band-esque lyrics. Hardly full of substance but fuck they sound fun to say. Skippidity doob doob bittipy bop. That’s about the quality of writing I bring to the table. Whatever, we are just here to have a good time. Plus, I think I might be a little hard on myself. I really do be doing some pretty cool shit. Plus, what is cool anyway? That stuff is like super subjective right? What’s cool to you might not be cool to me, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t cool. We also know that there is no longer a grand arbitrator of “cool” anymore anyway. The field is just over saturated with so called experts after Mr. T retired. So, on some real “I think therefore I am” shit, I say this is cool.

Now that derailment is out of the way.

I picked this picture to write a letter to you about because, Christmas. I’m actually really excited this year. I really am enjoying how my life is coming together. I know it’s a cheap move to try and pull deeper life meaning and substance out of a shallow holiday. But, whatever it’s my life and I will extrapolate upon things how I see fit.

This year I got up on the roof and hung 800 lights with my fiance's dad. We went out as a family and picked out a real tree. We got a douglas fir and strapped it to the roof of the subaru and brought it home. We went to Target as a family and picked out the ornaments. We are doing the american family christmas. Man, Let me tell you. It is some heartwarming stuff. As a long time cynic and grinch of holiday proceedings it is a warm feeling to be on the other side.

I love this photo. Because for me, it’s the perfect juxtaposition of “classic christmas” and the period we exist in today. The restored Santa display punctuated with the hashtag of its marketing campaign. I too often forget though, that the christmas season thirty years ago was just as much a marketing campaign then as it is today. The fog of childhood entwined with nostalgia often leads me to forget the realities of the past. Christmas was as Christmas is; whatever we decide to make of it.

This year, I am making the most of it. Relishing in the warmth of family. Leaning into the stoic feeling of tradition. Slipping into the wonder of the season. Creating the magic and breathing it in. There’s something restoring about stringing up lights with your dad. Shooting the shit and handling a project. Sometimes even just holding the light feels good.

This year is my first ever real tree too. I’ve always had fake ones. Growing up my dad had this huge fake tree. But, he always assured us it was top of the line. He would assemble that tree branch by branch every year. Lighting it up piece by piece. He would be assembling all morning and then my mother would bring up boxes from the crawlspace of ornaments all neatly wrapped in newspaper. Getting the real tree was so much fun. Throwing it on the roof and heading off while blasting “All I want for Christmas” by Mariah. The smell of the tree wafting into the car as we drove through downtown on our way home. If I had known how good having a real tree smelled, I would have never done anything different. We got the tree all set up and then the next day we all woke up early and went to Target to pick out the star and the ornaments together. IT was a really nice time. Just being together and laughing in the store.

I think that’s just the common theme. Being together.

It’s so crazy. And I hate how so far all of these letters have devolved into me rambling about my own life and how it relates to my past. But whatever, I just think it’s so insane how wonderful and fulfilling family can be. I never approached the holidays like this. Never from a perspective of just “this will be nice.” Growing up with the situation as it was made holidays stressful. Growing to resent the idea of them. Now, after EMDR and dealing with the trauma and PTSD and shit. It’s this whole new lease on life. New idea on substance and peace. An enlightened life warmed with family. Being able to take part in the holidays and not be a grumpy grinch about everything. It’s been all the difference to be able to see outside myself. Experience the warmth of others. The joy in seeing others wishes granted. It’s akin to someone telling a depressed person to just be happy though I guess. You couldn’t of ever explained this to me without it seeming like a cruel joke. You just have to be able to experience it. In the immortal word of Pusha T. “If you know, You know.”

-HMA

[1000wordsbetweenbrothers]

It’s getting tough these days man. Being on the other side of your mental illness but watching your partner still suffer theirs is a interesting predicament indeed. On one hand, the stark contrast in our ability to leap through the negative and find joy in a moment is an impressive and awe inspiring way to be reminded of how far I’ve come in my battle against my own brain. On the other hand, it’s watching the person you love most in the entire world live through a hell that isn’t true. It’s a hell that you lived through yourself. It’s painful to watch a partner suffer to depression. Sometimes you just want to grab them by their ears, pull them in close, lock eyes with them, and scream. Scream with the entire weight of your stomach, your throat afire with a breath heated from the depths of your truest self, your shoulders releasing a tsunami of energy forwards. Scream, that it isn’t fucking real. Life doesn’t suck. There is joy here. Scream that you’re sorry everything hurts. Scream that we are real, our words are real, our love is real. But I know, that I could scream until I wept. Scream until everything left me. Until my own very soul escaped my lungs, falling outside its cage. I could scream every thought and idea. I could give all my energy to her, and get her walls of despair would stand. The worst part of it all is I understand. That’s the fucker they don’t tell you about empathy. When you truly work to see outside yourself, you can dance in the pain of others. I look at the woman I love and I remember that in her brain, her fears are her truths. I look at the pain in her eyes and am reminded the struggle it used to be to get out of bed. I remember how when I was still suffering my mental illness how every though brought pain. All the mornings vomiting from stress. All the times my asshole bled from having diarrhea for the tenth time that day. How much my shoulders stabbed at me all throughout my waking hours. The migraines. The joint pain. The walking aching misery that my depression would manifest. I look at her and remember the struggle to even think ONE positive thought and try and believe it. I look and am reminded of how I didn’t believe I was worthy of love. I look at my partner suffering her mental illness and am reminded of my own. I feel a tremendous sorrow. My heart aches and moans. I have lost many close friends to suicide in this life, I have lost family, my childhood pet has died. I have mourned them all respectively. None of those losses compare to the loss I feel for my partners happiness. It’s not just that she isn’t experiencing happiness. That’s okay. We aren’t always happy. It’s that I look at my partner and realize that happiness is so elusive and so far removed from her reality that the very idea of happiness isn’t true to her. It’s like if you woke up and could never again see the color red. And in your memories when you try to think of what it used to be and what it used to feel suddenly it’s cold and gray. So for you red doesn’t just stop showing up. It’s doesn’t exist and never did. That’s what looking into her eyes feels like lately. Just like joy never existed and never could.

It’s the little shit too though. It’s the harsh tones, apathy towards all, and lack of recognition that add up into this big snowball of obnoxious. Cause it’s not like she’s incredibly hurtful. She’s suffering this illness, still being a mom, still handling chores and duties, still going to work, still being a student. She’s still doing it all alongside me. It’s just to know that your partner isn’t happy with a single thing about it that sucks. Knowing that for her, all she gets to see is the water on the bathroom floor. She can’t see the smiles, or hear the laughter, she can’t dance in a moment anymore. She can just focus on the water that got splashed on the floor. She can’t see that I vacuumed and made dinner and got all the stuff done. She can just see I missed the laundry basket when I changed. When I take my shirt off in front of her, she can’t be giggly and excited about it. She just watches with bated breath for me to put it in the wrong place. It’s tough trying to be joyous around people who don’t believe in joy. It’s tough marching forward. It’s tough loving them through it. It’s even tougher knowing it’s not their fault. It’s tough knowing that the person hurting you doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s tough remembering that in their reality, everyone is mean and everything does hurt. Each empty kiss still hurts. But least it doesn’t hurt me anymore. I guess I got to looking at your picture and got to thinking about what a glass between us might feel like. I imagine I’d just bare my soul and tell you the shit that’s really going on. Because that’s what a brotherly bond is I guess. You just tell them the truth. The truth you don’t get to tell anybody else. I imagine you’d sit there and stare back at me. I imagine you’d think and you’d ponder. Might move your glass around. Readjust your phone. All the while thinking. Thinking about truths. Then you’d speak. You’d speak truth. You would share your perspective, your past, your truths. I’m sure that you’d make me feel infinitely less alone in my pain. You’d make me feel heard and valued. You would inspire a chuckle. You’d offer a hug. Maybe you’d grab me by the ears. And maybe you would start screaming.

-HMA

[1000wordsbetweenbrothers]

I love you brother. I am slow to getting to this properly now. I feel that I owed you our second page must sooner. I feel that in my prioritization i disrespected what you make. You make art. I owe your craft more than I am currently giving you. However that said, deal with it bubs. True art has to be a little cavalier eh? A little cowboyish. Gotta flick the paint at the canvas. Gotta feel the adrenaline in a brush stroke. You have to ride the vibe. Fuck I don't know man. Sometimes I talk out my ass. Back to the project at hand. A thousand words. A thousand free flowing thoughts of love and truth. A little honesty in this world. Summer sunsets. I love how glassy this water is. I can feel how cold the lake used to be as a kid. The wood of the dock under my feet. Calloused toes digging against the splinter ridden red wood. Launching myself into the infinite. That was the moment as a child. Frozen in that space and time. Where for just a second you hung forever. Your Skin instantly heating under the sun, like a comforter your mom would toss over you fresh from the dryer. Back in the womb. Basking in the sun. Then SPLASH. Back to reality, That water is cold my son. It's a cold that you just gotta get used to. Eventually it'll feel alright. I owe you another apology though man, I've had your gifts in the back of my car for like three months now. Pretty much the entire summer. I need to ship them out. When I get paid Tuesday I will do it. See, now that I have set a date and sent it to you. Ii am gonna feel so responsible that I might actually get off my ass and do something for once. It feels like pretty much a miracle whenever I can motivate myself to do something lately. It's been fucking rough dude. I do not know what is going on anymore. I am not depressed. I am not overly anxious. I am healthier than I have ever been. I am eating better I am genuinely happier with everything. I just cant ever seem to get out of what I am used to. its like I get in these patterns and I do not ever want to leave them, I really need to address this. And what's sad is. Going out and delivering a package is gonna be a first step. it should not be. I should not have gotten to this point. I need to be better about being uncomfortable for a moment. I need to get back to being okay with the jump. I need to accept that sometimes the water is cold. I need to remember this picture. Thats what I think this one might be about for me. Remembering why we jump. But that's only four hundred and ninety words. So that's gotta only be half the story. I feel like the sun is setting on summer. Like if I were running a camp company and needed a photo to post at the end of camp season and like thank everyone for a great summer and all that jazz. This is the photo that everyone would use every year. It would be like. The new fucking girl on white rope tree swing in front of like grassy meadow shot. You know what I mean. and if you do not. Then I recommend googling it. Im sure this photo has been done to death. But maybe not. Maybe I am full of shit. because I certainly have not googled it myself yet. Anyway, it's like the fucking Roll Credits moment. I think its great. It makes me think about how my summer is kind of over now. I got to see yosemite. Make new friends. Fuck I get engaged this summer. I actually managed to pass this accounting class over the summer with a B. But like that accounting class also took my entire summer. And the rest we just gave up to the airforce. You know it's funny. You get out. and they still find a way to fuck you. I shouldn't be bitching. I am proud that my partner continued her service through the guard. Sometimes I feel like a pussy because I didn't. Sometimes I feel like a fucking fraud. Like i'm not supposed to be this fucked up and not have done some shit. Who gets PTSD from a missile field? You might not get it. But i really know I am not alone in this. I feel like alot of my fellow vets are ashamed they didnt suffer enough for their country. And i uh think that its bullshit we feel this way. And i know its wrong and doesnt make sense, But hey i know i still feel it. None the less though. They still took my fiance and partner and buddy and best friend away from me for the next couple weeks. Being the military spouse is way less fun than the military member it turns out. It's alot of weird sacrifice you wouldnt think about. I dont really talk about this stuff with people. I feel weird writing about it to you. Because I dont expect you to understand. But thats not fair of me. I am being a bad friend by doubting your ability to empathisize. that's not what normal people should do. I apologize. that was a dickish thing to do. Sorry rick. Fuck am I over apologizing or being a man about my shit? I dont know. But I know it's not enough apologizing for tumblr anyway. Eh shit. We probably shouldnt shit on our mediums. I know this summer is setting. I know that I will feel that I squandered this summer away with just school. there will be another season, more jumps in the lake, there will be another page. -HMA

[1000wordsbetweenbrothers]

This photo invited me in out of the snow, took off my coat and scarf for me, turned and hung them up with care. This photo ignored my snow-covered boots dripping on its knitted rug and instead smiled at me then handed me a cup of cocoa. As soon as the sweet scent of the chocolate powder reached my nose, this photo put its hand on the small of my back and gently guided me towards the worn flannel chair sitting adjacent the slow dancing flames. Grandmas House. My eyes find themselves searching across the image, looking for a way inside. The photo begs you to feel it. It's a fucking journey, man. I went to my grandma city. See that was her name; City. Her sister couldn't say "sister" so she said city. And it stuck. This photo took me to her. It took back to her smile. It brought me her joy. I think it brought her back to life for me. I'm dancing with her now. Blanketed in the warmth of her love. I think she would love me. Man, I gotta tell you, This photo, it has some power to it, man. It's a teleporter to the softest part the cerebral celestial space. Transporting me to the most maternal memories I have. I miss my grandma. I should mention she was my great grandma. She got dementia. I was always annoyed by it. I was really selfish about it. I shouldn't have been. I look at the photo again. I really love the shadows. Fuck man. Those are some good shadows you've got there. I love how soft they all feel. Fresh towels out of the dryer. The very moment the heat touches your skin. That electric boogie jam that goes on in your heart. That shit. That's the jam that's playing in the background of my mind when I'm looking at these warm milky vibes. That Jewelry is fresh as fuck too. Damn. I'd wear that shit. Between you and me man. I fantasize about cross-dressing. I wanna feel pretty. I feel like in this light, I could. Nothing too crazy but Teya has this hella comfy sweater thing. I'm gonna steal that shit for sure. It’s the safe blanket of peace this photo is tossing on me. This photo feels like the visual representation of the physical sensation of the deepest moment of a hug between loved ones. You know what I mean man. When you get into a hug, and it hits that level of deep bonding. Where for just a fucking instance. For just One firing of the neuron cannons, the cannon balls that shoot forth are pure peace and safety. That’s the vibes this photo makes me feel. That elephant is so perfectly present in the photo. My eyes keep going back to the oranges and blues in the image and seem to leap back to the elephant with each pass. There’s something strange about stream of consciousness writing isn’t there? You don’t really control it. I feel like it’s the truest physical representation of my mind. My brain dude. It’s a fascinating fucking place these days. I feel. Prophetic. I feel emboldened. I feel alive. I feel balanced. It’s absolutely crazy. There’s a line. In the show it’s always sunny in Philadelphia where one character is saying to another “remember feelings dude!?” And like his friend responses “yeah dude I have them everyday” I think EMDR turned my feelings on for the first time. The abuse I suffered in my life started so early and was so great that I don’t really ever remember a time where my brain felt like this. I’m suddenly proud of myself all the time. I love myself. I value myself. I care tremendously about myself. And I believe in my future. It’s wild man. Everyday I feel more and more. I’m more aware of the fucking amazingness of life. I can physically fucking feel my brain learning better patterns. And my body is better. I was at a point I was vomiting every morning. I was constantly in pain. My anxiety had manifested itself in physical symptoms. My jaw would scream with pain cause I had slept all night my jaw clenched. And when I finally tippy tapped my pain away. It all left. I’m 27 and I feel healthier than I have before in my life. I think that’s what this art piece might become man. I think this is gonna be the story of me feeling. My second birth. My new life. I think I can write a thousand words from a stream of my truest self. I think I love you enough to share that part of me with you. You’re my brother and my best friend. I’m gonna propose man! I’m gonna ask her mom for her blessing this weekend. I’ve already got her dads. It’s gonna be good man. It is all gonna be alright man. Life is cooler and this side of crazy. Jesus dude we all live in some weird mental prisons. How manic does this all sound? Whatever. I can sound how I sound. This is who I am. This is what I’m becoming. If I walk around sounding like a half baked prophet then whatever. That’s my lot. Whatever I am. Whatever I sound like. I don’t care. I’m happy. I’m loved. I’m alive. And for the first time in my life I’m living in a universe free of my past. I’m living in my moments. And these moments are pretty dope. I think I’ve shared more with you in this first letter than I’ve shared with... I don’t know anyone. Maybe Teya. I think this amount of vulnerability will be important. Keep it real and all that. Guess that’s what will make this shit art eh? I wanna wear that jewelry. I wanna live in that light. I wanna share this journey with you. And I want this to be page fucking one.

-HMA

#photography #photojournal #freeform #journal #stream of consciousness

[1000wordsbetweenbrothers]

Time ticks by and things change-- sometimes for the better, other times for worse. Time is what united us, and it has brought us to our respective art forms.  Rick is on the flicks in the East, and HMA is on the clicks in the West.  Our goal is to bring the old adage of “a picture is worth 1000 words” to life.  We hope you join us.