#now that its also really helped me get somewhere ALMOST tangible as an artist

[jello-fello]

i so desperately miss being REALLY into making fan content for stuff. like i miss the days where i was uploading fics rapid fire because i kept getting ideas but at the same time i'm like. really relieved about not doing it anymore? I rarely even open ao3 anymore and idek how i feel about it.

i think i miss the fun of it, but all the relief in stopping comes from no longer having to deal with other people that i'd be catering to and trying to please everyone. the moment i realized writing fics wasn't actually like. my job. i think i stopped feeling so burdened and just kind of ended up moving on altogether

and as much as i really really love focusing on original things now, there's definitely a kind of void i feel knowing the audience i did and still have and that the vast majority isnt interested in me as a creator once i'm no longer in a specific fandom yknow? like "wow over half a million have read this one fanfic but only the smallest fraction of that have read my comic"

that being said the biggest thing i've been learning over the last year is to just make content for myself and to try not to worry about Numbers

#i do adore everyone who reads my comic though <3 #and i'll forever be grateful for the bnha fandom especially for the following i have #now that its also really helped me get somewhere ALMOST tangible as an artist #i sincerely think if i never wrote fanfics i wouldnt be doing comic cons or having an etsy or ANY of this stuff im doing #but i dont want to keep making fan content just because i think it'd help me careerwise because that just doesnt feel genuine to me #i like to think id still be into making fics esp for bnha if it werent for what happened with my fic server #the way some people spoke to me towards the end of it really made me step back like 'wow these are the people i write for?' #it was only the smallest handful of people but yknow people focus on negatives more than positives #and after that i just. lost motivation #i finished regen honestly kind of just wanting it to be over instead of looking foward to what came next #thought back to conversations with that one handful of people literally crying almost nightly for Months #and was kinda like 'is this what its like to actually be a creator because i dont want this feeling' #BUT NOW I HAVE A GREAT SERVER AND I LOVE ALL OF THEM DEARLY <3 #my comic readers are all absolute sweethearts and i'd die for all of em #100% taught me the thing about small close communities always being better than big ones #thats why i'm so okay with the stats of my comic now compared to my fics #im happy with the numbers now #my brain is very full tonight yall can tell #its the adderall #todo kipp toe flam quicksilvers and everyone else in the server iluuuuu

[ivesambrose]

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5.

As promised, a late Christmas but early new year gift from my side. 💚

Choose the screen you feel strikes a memory from your childhood or your dreams or something that's been on your mind lately xo

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at [email protected]

1.

Life hasn't been as harmonious due to the obvious circumstances have made you feel that this is your new reality now. Finding a new normal in where you've always been. But that's far from the truth.

Maybe you have strayed from something you had faith in, but in 2021 its time to get back in touch with that again. But I'm not seeing blind faith here, there's a sense of clarity. One you didn't have before and caused you foggines. I literally see a thick fog. You're going to have a chance to live what you've missed out on the year before.

There will be a boost in self esteem as well as desire to focus on focus on the sweetness moments in life has to offer. It's almost as though you're bored of the news, bored of the bitterness and being concerned. So to put it in simpler terms, your attitude has become rather Yolo.

I see some of you building immunity, focusing on what you eat, maybe even taking supplements for health. I literally see someone weight lifting this could be as literal as building strength / muscle. Good for you!

The start of the year it seems an idea will take a tangible form. I see some of you committed to learning something new or working on something that you would like to put out the public. I see someone devoted to some form of expression honestly.

It's also advised to protect your energy not everyone is going to be happy with your goals and plans.

You'll also be able to see beyond current circumstances. So long term plans will be the focus as well as a general attitude of, "I don't care anymore, I'm gonna do what it takes eitherway."

I also see you learning more about finances, savings, investments etc

There will be opportunities to travel or what was once halted will pick up.

Aquarius and virgo season are significant.

Some keys themes are,

- knowing when to leave a situation discreetly.

- again, know when to leave.

- recognizing opportunities and seizing them instead of awaiting validation or looking back at the ones that didn't bring you fulfillment.

2.

I feel you've been restless and anxious throughout the year so now that sudden patience and understanding hits you, you're unfamiliar with this feeling. The, "I don't have to worry anymore you mean? I don't have to wake up feeling not messed up? That's suspicious!"

I see some of you finding some comfort in walking while listening to music, picturing different scenarios etc. You could be walking indoors or outdoors, doesn't matter. All I know is that it'll ground you. I see you feeling a little more stable as though you can rely on yourself.

I see you attracting a lot of wealth honestly. Money is just energy, eitherway you'll attract it. I think you'll tap into that power honestly. You might even find yourself having purchased something you consider a luxury item sometime this year. Increase in wealth will also give you a boost in other areas of your life. You may also take a liking towards warmer colors. You may like gold over black combination a lot too.

I'm seeing you heal an old would. Wanting more adrenaline in your life too. Some of you may dance, take up dancing etc something that gets the blood pumping.

There's also a theme of getting in touch with the emotions you have often kicked under the rug or have shamed yourself for and left unexpressed.

Why do I sense a more feral energy in some of you? Like you've been quiet for so long and settled for things but deep inside you are a wild, wild thing.

A cycle of turmoil is complete, the person you were in jan 2020 and the one you are in Jan 2021 are extremely different people.

There's also a connection you have been dreaming of or getting signs of but you're fearing the worst it seems too? Don't worry about it too much,

Significant months are Aries and Leo season.

Key themes for this year,

- relocation

- long distance travel

- flexibility

- multiple jobs

- silently knowing you're the baddest bitch ever

3.

Calming of your nerves. No thought head empty. But in the best way possible since you've flushed out a lot of toxicity from your life. There's probably something you've incorporated maybe an affirmation, hobby, routine etc that you're going to be or are advised to be persistent about. Some of you may also be suffering from sleeplessness, nightmares, restlessness etc maybe even headaches, eye strain. You're truly advised to make your health well being your priority. Calming music, meditation, painting etc will help with this.

Your gift of visualization will be very useful for some reason.

You may have felt unrequited love in the past but this year brings about more synchronicity and balance. Its simply because you've chosen to bring the priority to you. So you won't be settling for less.

The biggest theme for you is breaking an ancestral pattern and shedding old skin. Don't be surprised if the whole year feels like a Pokémon evolution for you. It's high time to follow what you want instead of what others want for you.

I see some of you leaving a hostile/exhausting situation/residence to somewhere much calmer.

There's a key theme of rebirth and heeding the call of something you couldn't do earlier. Being more active in pursuit of your goals. I see you determined to do something for yourself.

I also see clarity of thought more assertiveness in your part and knowing when to command things into fruition.

Significant months are capricorn and taurus season. Even Gemini season.

Key themes for the year:

- don't blind yourself to the love you literally just manifested.

- it's okay to be selfish of your earned resources.

- as your shed your old skin, don't expect yourself to not have an upgrade.

- you indeed won and their gaslighting did not.

4.

You feel you have lost your shine it seems...

As though you don't have the gifts or the right amount of talent or perhaps you feel disconnected with the things that once made you happy.

2021 is all about finding that sparkle and dropping the heaviness one day at a time. It'll be a transformative period from feeling lack lustre to discovering a whole new array of things you feel connected to. A lot of awakened creativity without the fear of having to prove to others that, "Hey look, I did this thing please validate." no. Do this cuz you want to. Do this even if you think its bad. You have to be persistent and allow yourself to improve.

I see a lot of you channeling certain emotions into creative expression or achieving something. Also a lot of connecting with nature by yourself since you feel the need to maybe isolate a bit or disconnect from people who drain you off your energy.

You'll be reaping a lot of rewards for your earlier efforts as well as the efforts you're going to put in. I get a picture of a tree filled with apples, the tree certainly belongs to you and you have your sweet rewards with you. Your patience has paid off.

You may also be drawn to cool tones or cool colors. You'll also learn that you don't need to be right or perfect all the time. It's a growing stage and if you don't learn from your mistakes then what's the point. I just see this year as being you keeping your peace and not dwindling in others business anymore simply because you seek peace from extra drama. I also truly see you dropping the need to be right and being stubborn cuz that's been hindering you for the longest time. There are people although few seeking to guide and help but you may have been subconsciously rejecting it.

I also wouldn't be surprised if some of you break up with current partners or a friend group to go different ways. You've been straying form things and not really growing. This year might be full of a lot of self awareness for you.

There's an opportunity that brings you emotional fulfillment of sorts too but you'll be lowkey about it. I also see you wanting to seek refuge from your own thoughts at one point. If you're an artist of any kind, this year is gonna be a benchmark for you. I can tell that. Perhaps admist this soul searching you'll find someone that aligns with you too. (this could be romantic or platonic)

Significant seasons are taurus and likely Leo season.

Main themes I'm seeing are that of,

- Finding people you feel at home with

- learning what you want to commit to before you decide in who.

- taking the risk to take certain journeys by yourself. You may think you're alone, but you'll meet souls just like you along the way.

- leave your comfort zone. Please.

5.

You're truly about the collect the biggest glow up award and I would like to congratulate you in advanced. That's it. That's the overview.

Okay I'm kidding ofc I'm not gonna leave you at just that.

Something that is long inevitable will happen. You have been waiting for this. It could be a travel plan that did not come through because of the previous year. But whatever it is that you're waiting for is making its way to you and not just that, you're making your way towards something or some place to.

You maybe going the distance for something that has a lot to do with your career as well.

You have finally unlocked a hidden fire within you (for real I see a scarlet red and a flame) that is just so stunning like?? Some of you might just embody this sexy siren energy. Do not be surprised if you attract people left, right and center this year. But then again I see y'all being invested in your passions and one of these passions is being your best like, there's just so much 7 rings by Ariana energy here what even? Please own it!

Expect love offers. Expect love to come in. Although I do hesitancy here since a lot of you just had this sudden glow and are simply maybe not used to tenderness, honesty and affection.

I also see leadership, management and business skills is something you will learn this year. Also expect hearing certain messages in conversations and music I feel a lot of you simply connect deeply with music or it's connected with your life path.

Key themes for the year,

- A long term romance coming in. This person is such a charm, I feel as though when you were busy tending to your goals and looking at how far you've come, they come in for you. You saw them coming but it still feels unexpected.

Significant seasons are, cancer, virgo and scorpio.

- money saved secretly. Patience and constant efforts bringing in monetary rewards.

- connecting with like minded people

- travel, skincare, health, aesthetics. 

- learning to be more graceful and composed

- slow progress is still progress. The most beneficial kind.

#tarot community #divination community #pick a card #free readings

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title : Making sense

Author : @alyssaleandra (komakaikoma on twitter)

For : @fhantomhives

Rating/Warnings : G, mentions of Hinata’s surgical scars

Prompt : for the fic - first date; for the fanart - soft forehead touch

Author/Artist’s note : I hope the recipient enjoys!! I tried to make something very gentle and heartwarming! There is an image embedded within the story.

-

Things are hard when the former Class 77-B ship off to real life Jabberwock Island. Unlike its virtual counterpart, it’s been abandoned for who knows how long, and it shows. There’s insect infestations to counteract, living quarters to rebuild, water sources to purify… Hinata never imagined he’d see his friends farming, but here they are with Imposter (who everyone still affectionately refers to as Togami because it’s familiar) assigning tilling duties for the week. They can’t rely on Naegi and the others on mainland to supply too much, lest they out their location to those who’d prefer to see the Remnants of Despair at the bottom of the ocean.

Hinata knows that the others are looking to him for some measure of guidance, even if no one’s said anything outright. He’s Kamukura Izuru, after all. The Ultimate of Ultimates. The one who babysat everyone’s pods until each was safely out of cryosleep and in recovery plans that mainly he (and later Tsumiki) was responsible for formulating. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s had his fair share of being an Ultimate, and he’s happy to take the supporting role to more charismatic figures like Sonia and Togami. The irony of longing for a normal life is not lost on him, but he thinks undergoing a major brain surgery, surviving a killing game, and getting spit out into a completely changed real world is enough excitement for a lifetime. He’s earned a bit of normalcy.

…So of course he’d find himself fawning over Komaeda Nagito, of all people, once things have settled down around Jabberwock. Hinata’s bewildered by it when he realizes what’s happened; it’s like an errant seed found root in his heart while he was distracted with fixing cottage roofs, then budded while he was modifying meal plans, and then the second he had a chance to breathe and check in on himself, full blown feelings had blossomed right under his nose.

It’s hard, and a little frustrating, that it had to be Komaeda, because nothing’s ever been easy with Komaeda. Hinata had nursed something of a crush on the boy when they’d “met” in the virtual world and he thought that Komaeda was just a kindhearted oddball with a pretty face. That whole thing got dashed to pieces during their time in the program once he realized there was at least a few dozen more layers to Komaeda he had yet to scratch the surface of, let alone come close to ever comprehending. It was unthinkable, for a time, that he’d ever be able to feel anything other than confusion with a tinge of what he can only describe as unease towards Komaeda. Now, though, with everyone recovering and filling in the cracks left by their past lives, he feels a bit like he first did on that digital shoreline in the beginning.

Except, no, it’s more profound this time because he feels like really understanding Komaeda is something that’s within arm’s reach for him, rather than an amorphous, far-off concept.

He can’t pretend to fully follow all of the hope-obsessed boy’s fervid ramblings about life and fate, but… nowadays, it’s almost endearing. It’s just routine enough that it’s become comforting. Like Komaeda’s some piece of music that was too dense and intimidating for Hinata to really appreciate the first time he heard it, but now he’s developed the taste for it.

It helps that Komaeda’s achingly pretty, and Hinata’s always been slightly weak for the quirky pretty ones. Even during their conflicts in the program, Hinata had to reel himself out of those serene gray eyes sometimes—really yank himself out of a few unwanted idle daydreams about the Ultimate Luck who caused everyone so much grief, and yet—and yet—Hinata never could shake the desperate desire to figure him out. He’d always thought if he could solve the inscrutable puzzle that was Komaeda, just maybe they could be on equal footing again someday.

And so, it’s somewhat frustrating that it had to be Komaeda because Hinata knows by now how complicated Komaeda likes to make things for himself (and everyone around him), but it also makes perfect sense that the living science experiment known as Hinata Hajime would set his sights on the shining beacon of maladaptive coping mechanisms known as Komaeda Nagito. Since when has Hinata ever taken the path of least resistance for anything?

They aimlessly spend time together just like they did back in the program before things really went south. They do chores together, tag-team scavenging together, and spend cool off periods walking down the beach together. Komaeda still tends to fret over doing anything where his misfortune flares could pose a threat to Hinata, but they’ve managed to go unscathed thus far.

They’re sitting hip-to-hip on the sand and watching the sunset after a particularly lengthy conversation about their childhoods, when it occurs to Hinata that this is basically a date. He feels his heart kickstart at the notion and a heat creep across his face, and he’s suddenly scared to move or even so much as glance at the boy next to him, lest Komaeda be made aware of Hinata’s sudden onslaught of self-consciousness. He’s kept completely quiet about his festering feelings for Komaeda and never once dared to imply that anything between them means any more or less than what he has with everyone else on the island. He’s shy, sure, but he also just isn’t certain of Komaeda can handle that kind of information. He can practically see the spiral that would unfurl if Komaeda were to confront the reality of knowing that someone cared for him.

“Oh, sorry, did I say too much? Ahaha… I never know when to stop talking…”

Hinata’s ears tune in to the sad note in Komaeda’s voice, and he realizes he’s been spacing out. “No, no! I just got lost in thought, sorry about that.” His throat feels tight, and there’s a dozen things he wants to say but doesn’t know how to. “Um… Komaeda?”

“Yes?” Komaeda tilts his head, attentive.

“I was wondering if… well, if you wanted to—to come over to my cottage tonight?” It’s funny, really, the way everyday words rattle up his ribs and get stuck on his tongue like they’re something profound or difficult, given everything else he’s been through by comparison. It’s funny and embarrassing and so normal that it would make Hinata laugh if he weren’t preoccupied with not humiliating himself in front of Komaeda right now. “Just to… I dunno, hang out. Maybe we could… watch one of the movies that Asahina-san sent over for us.”

Komaeda’s eyes widen just a little as he processes this invitation before relaxing back to their usual calm state. “Hinata-kun, aren’t we hanging out already? Or am I mistaken?”

“W-well, yeah! But this is…” Hinata’s voice drops to a fragile murmur, “…different.”

“Different? Hmm… I see.” Hinata isn’t sure what it is that Komaeda sees, and that makes him nervous. The slightly taller boy stands up and dusts sand off his bottom. “I’d be happy to accompany you.”

And he smiles, framed by oncoming nighttime and high tide, and Hinata’s heart stutters. Okay, cool, he accepted it without being weird. Even if I didn’t really explicitly call it a date or anything. God, my collar feels tight right now. He tugs at the offending collar and tries for a casual smile. “Cool. Cool.”

They follow the road back to the inland.

Silence transpires, and in the bit of quiet, Hinata takes note of Komaeda’s hands swinging gently at his sides. Hinata’s never thought about the idea of holding them before, at least not in public, but once it crosses his mind, he can’t stop thinking about it. How would Komaeda react if he just… went for it? Would he be startled? Angry? Beyond that, how would it feel? Would it be clammy? Soft? Would it feel good? …Well, the hand closest to him is the metal one, so that’s irrelevant.

A past Hinata might have been content to let the idea remain as just an idea, but the Hinata now knows that if he wants something, he should probably chase after it without sweating the details so much. He reaches out and takes the mechanical left hand into his right. It takes Komaeda a moment to notice, due to a lack of nerve endings.

“Oh…” he says faintly, too caught off guard for much else.

“Sh-should I not…?”

They’ve both stopped walking so that Komaeda can stare down at their point of contact. He’s yet to put on any kind of discernible emotion about it. “No, it’s okay. It’s—nice. But it’s scary, too.”

“Scary??” Hinata’s grip loosens, prepared to drop the other boy’s hand and forget he ever tried.

“Because it’s so nice.” Slowly, carefully, internal mechanisms work together to tighten Komaeda’s hold on Hinata so that the connection isn’t lost. “It’s… hard to not wonder when my luck might strike again. And I know you have luck now, too, somewhere inside of you… But…” He shakes his head and dismisses the thought. “Never mind. Let’s get going.”

Hinata wants to protest and prod Komaeda into finishing what he was saying, but the gentle pull of Komaeda’s hand takes his attention by the reins. He hasn’t rejected Hinata, and he isn’t running away. That small realization fills Hinata with relief that he didn’t know he was hoping for. His step feels lighter as he catches up to his friend’s side.

-

Hinata sets up a tape on an old CRT that Souda put together, sits on the floor with Komaeda, and immediately finds himself regretting suggesting a movie. It’s impossible to focus with so many things weighing on his mind and the subject of his inner turmoil right next to him.

As if sensing Hinata’s thoughts, Komaeda leans against him, so warm and tangible on his shoulder. It seems he’s equally unengaged with the movie before them. “Hey, Hinata-kun. Would you mind telling me that you hate me?”

“…Huh?” The odd request catches Hinata off guard. “Why on earth would I ever say that??”

“It’d be the greatest comfort to me right now. The bad luck of being hated by you… maybe it’d make everything even. Maybe I could enjoy being at your side like this a little longer without fearing what might come next. But I’m too much of a coward to actually try to make you hate me anymore.” He outstretches his right hand, flexing and relaxing the muscles. Even as he talks of being hated, he nuzzles closer into Hinata’s shoulder, as if afraid Hinata really will say he hates him. “I used to try so hard to invite disaster in my life when things were going too well. It scared me so much to enjoy the quiet moments. It scares me even now, to be close to you and have your friendship. I always tell myself that I need to stop being selfish and push you away for your own good, but… then I see you every morning, still alive, still smiling, and my greedy heart can’t help but want to bask in you.”

He shifts and makes direct eye contact with Hinata. As frank as he can be at times, Komaeda always tends to direct his gaze elsewhere during conversations. His hand, or his feet, or just somewhere in the far distance. It always makes him feel unreachable. But this time, his stare is open and earnest. “After everything that happened, I wonder what my standing with luck even is anymore. I died in the program… but then I was alive. But then I had the apocalypse and my own horrible actions to clean up after.” He reflexively rubs where metal and flesh meet on his left arm. “So in the end, was that all good luck or…”

And Komaeda cuts himself off, like he’ll never find an answer unless he just takes action already, and he leans into Hinata and brushes trembling lips against a dumbstruck mouth. His eyes are rife with a dozen conflicting emotions, as Komaeda often is, but this time it feels as though one wrong move will make him burst and everything will come spilling out unfiltered. His eyes widen in something akin to surprise, as if he wasn’t in control of his own actions. Before Komaeda has the chance to overthink things or run away, Hinata catches him by a jacket lapel and pulls him close. He uses his other hand to wrap gently around the back of Komaeda’s head, reveling in soft white curls, and pulls their foreheads together.

“Do you feel them? The scars, I mean.” Hinata pulls his short bangs aside. “Sometimes I forget they’re there. But they remind me of everything we all went through… that we’ve seen hell and death and everything in between, and we’re still here. In the grand scheme of things,” he gestures between them, “this isn’t going to be what ends the world. …At least, that’s what I think.”

Komaeda’s quiet, for a bit. He inhales like he forgot to breathe. Then he breaks, and laughs, and laughs. His eyes water from the force of it. “Aha-hahaha! Hahaha! Ha…” He holds Hinata for support, and Hinata holds him back. Once the fit has passed, he sniffs and straightens up, face still slightly quirked with hysteria. “Perhaps—perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s arrogant to think luck cares that much about what makes me happy. Maybe it never cared. I’ve been wondering about that lately. It’s a scary thought.”

On the surface, it’s a pessimistic notion, but for Komaeda to yield to the idea that, to some extent, things just happen and that he should do something that makes him happy without psyching himself out of it for once, is the kind of paradigm shift Hinata expects only a virtual death and rebirth could have brought about. “Luck never cared about what any of us wanted. Not just me. And maybe it’s giving luck too much credit to say that it’s what brought me to you.” Then Komaeda does something unexpected—tilting his chin upwards at a pretty angle and kissing the raised skin of Hinata’s forehead scars. “But whatever did, I’m glad for it. I’m… unspeakably glad that you’re still here after everything, Hinata-kun.”

It’s always a toss-up with Komaeda on whether or not his penchant for saying really vulnerable things will embarrass him. This ends up being one of the times where it does, and he flushes a bright red and looks away, direct eye contact finally too much for him. He’s nearly confessed to Hinata once before, but that was ages ago in the program, under far different circumstances. Perhaps this is the first time Komaeda’s ever been really honest about how much Hinata means to him. No wrapping it up in vague non sequiturs about talent and hope. Just, “I’m glad you’re here.”

It’s more powerful than a typical confession in some regards.

“Me too. I’m glad you’re here, too.” Hinata feels his face burning as well, but he tries to will himself to remain cool. “…This feels pretty dumb to say now, but I was trying to ask you on a date earlier. So, uh, this is a date. …If you want it to be. I feel like, after… y’know, everything, we need things like this. Normal things.”

Komaeda smiles genuinely, and fondness bears down on Hinata full-force at the sight. “I figured that was what you were trying to get at. It’s really funny, Hinata-kun, when I look at you and think about how your sheer will power broke us out of the killing game and probably saved us all, and yet you can’t even ask someone out without being absurdly awkward about it. I think it’s something I like about you.”

Hinata burns more furiously but can’t find the words to retort, instead opting to fold his arms and stare at the ceiling. “W-well… yeah. Those are two totally different things!! Maybe if lives were on the line, I could find it in me to ask you out a little more tactfully…”

“Hmm, I see, so saving lives is easier than trying to date me, huh? I suppose that’s fair…”

“Hey, you…” Hinata snags Komaeda’s jacket lapels again and pulls him close. The banter ceases, and the two enjoy a normal date, like they deserve.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanart #fanfiction

[mx-metronome]

Say, remember when I posted Thorton and I said I also planned on including a short essay about my art and true satisfaction? Well I have a few hours to kill before bed, so here is that essay. (Read More doesn’t work on mobile, I am so sorry)

I’ll start with establishing that everyone has that art. That one medium that really makes them happy, that sincerely drives them to improve if for no other reason than to learn and delve deep into their craft. Music, painting, knitting, it doesn’t matter.

Some pursue an art for the sake of wanting to impress others, then get frustrated when it doesn’t come easy. For them, practice is painful, and no enjoyment comes of it. It feels like a chore to them. But once they find that art, they stop caring about recognition, and they stop attaching their self worth to how skilled they are in that art.

My art is cross stitch. It has been for nearly a decade. Through all my years of high school, I desperately wanted to be good at something so that other people would like me. I wanted to define myself as an individual for everyone to see. Then one fateful day in April 2010, I picked up cross stitch, but not for any of the reasons above: I started because I felt it was something that I would truly enjoy. I always fancied pixel art, and I wanted to do something with my hands instead of a computer screen, so it felt natural to pick it up.

Right away, my life improved. I forgot about most of my social insecurities, and my self esteem began to climb. I started off small, with little pixel arts like Pokémon and Mario characters. The projects got bigger over time, but not big enough that I felt overwhelmed. I had a small part time job my senior year, and it paid well; I took all that money I made and immediately blew it on more supplies. Slowly, my collection of fabric, floss, and needles grew. My patterns started to as well, as I was itching to extend my skill as far as I could imagine. For the first six years, everything was fantastic.

Somewhere down the line, things changed. As I graduated college and my mental state worsened, I took steps backward back into my high school years when I was so concerned about what others thought of me. My projects got so absurdly large that it took so much energy to finish them, but I worked so hard to impress people.

At first, it worked: Barista Klug (2017) is a perfect example of this. Going into this doozy of a project, my heart was in the right place for the first three months, but as winter turned to late spring, my depression symptoms became severe. There were a handful of days where I couldn’t even move from my bed, the first days of their kind. My passion was dying, and it was frustrating to me. Cross stitch slowly ceased to be fun.

I saw him to his completion, but I was coping with a lot of stress at the time, so he didn’t feel as satisfying to finish as I had imagined. After I posted him on tumblr, and he didn’t get the notes on here that I felt reflected my efforts, things only got worse. I continued to start new, overambitious projects in an attempt to get people to notice me; I felt like a little fame and recognition would help me feel not so alone. But of the four or five massive projects I have started since, none of them have even come close to getting done.

Over the next year, the stitching just...stopped. I started a few more projects, sincerely believing a few times that my stitch itch had come back, but it never lasted long enough. I wasn’t doing anything with my hands, nothing was keeping my mind at bay. One particular day in 2017 stands out to me as the worst depression day ever, but the entirety of 2018 was my worst depression year. I was artistically stagnant, and although I knew cross stitching could be my saving grace, I never had the motivation to do it.

I finished a single cross stitch for the whole of 2018: a small, quick one of Ralsei from Deltarune, in a desperate attempt for stitching to fix my broken soul. Even though he wasn’t nearly as overwhelming a project, I stitched him for the wrong reasons: he was easy notes. It was another difficult time in my life, and I needed the attention.

This year, 2019, I feel is when I started to improve. I took a semester off of school to mentally heal, and in this momentary ceasefire, I tried to pick up cross stitch again through another overambitious project, Agent 9 the monkey. Upon completion, he will stand as my cross stitch project with the second most number of stitches, so he’s no picnic! Like Barista Klug, things were smooth for the first 3 or 4 months, but he’s since gone under hiatus, just like the rest, and I haven’t picked him up since.

So where did I go wrong? I asked myself for years. Why doesn’t this make me happy anymore? Why was I so satisfied with my work in my youth, but now I hate the mere thought of it? Saying it all aloud now, I’m certain the answer is crystal clear to all of you. But I wanted to pinpoint an answer in hopes of pursuing my craft so relentlessly and with wild abandon like I did a decade ago. I wanted a signal in this darkness...

After almost four years of complete darkness and confusion, at the end of June 2019, I received my signal. Still coping with my depression, I heard a new Pokémon game was coming out for mobile, and one of my fav (and super obscure) characters of all time would be in the core game. The clouds started to lift as my heart attached itself to an old lost fandom, granting me an urge, one that can only be granted by pure, distilled hype.

Enter Factory Head Thorton.

I knew I HAD to cross stitch him, to encapsulate the spirit that I hadn’t felt in so long. But this time, I did things differently: Why make a giant pattern with all the intricate details when this guy has sprites from the DS era, sprites that are easily transposable into a cross stitch pattern? I knew his sprite was small enough that I could finish him before school was back in session, but I’d have to work fast.

While I was working on the spritework for the pattern one July night, I had to pause and cry about it. To this day I am uncertain what triggered it, but working on this pattern filled me with such a raw happiness, the likes of which I’d never felt before. I was feeling true contentment for the first time in over half a decade, and I couldn’t contain my relief. As I began the stitching itself, that contentment carried over into my handiwork. I wasn’t stitching him because it would be a quick grab for notes (he’s obscure enough of a character as it is); I was making this stitching for myself, just a little something tangible that I made with my two hands. (If I ever came off as though notes on him were important to me, it was less for fame and more for shooting a flare into a dormant corner of a fandom and hoping I could make some new connections.)

Yeah, I felt satisfaction completing most of my other projects, but Thorton hit differently: Yeah, finishing him felt good, but working on him from start to finish felt even better, something I didn’t feel with Barista Klug or Ralsei. It was a sensation that sent me all the way back to high school, when I felt genuine passion and excitement in every stitch I made. This project was a meditation, almost a time capsule, even though I had only made the pattern a month prior.

From 2016 and on, none of my projects sparked joy. Thorton sparked joy, from beginning to end. So where did I lose my way? Well, I narrowed it down to two basic characteristics.

I think it was the spritework, what I suppose could be considered my traditional style when I first started in 2010. I moved away from sprites in 2015 or so, and it was about then that my art career started downhill. But going back to that style felt so perfect and ethereal, like it’s what I was always meant to do. I was very passionate about Barista Klug, but he wasn’t done in my old-timey sprite style.

Another contributing factor is likely whether or not I’m passionate about the subject and, by extension, whether I’m making the piece for attention over personal enjoyment. Am I considering how much I love that which I am stitching, or am I thinking about how much more people will love me once I’m done? Ralsei was indeed a sprite, but I made him for quick notes, seeing as I started and finished him while Deltarune was still at its peak popularity.

For the first time in nearly a decade, I stitched something that met both criteria, and it felt so powerful. I’m definitely taking this analysis to heart, and I aspire to pursue more projects like Thorton in the foreseeable future.

.........I say as I have already gathered $100 of materials for another HUGE latch hook project... Shame I figured this out a month too late, I suppose.

#tempo tantrums #long post #very insightful as i write it all out

[brkfstfordinner]

words by Fred

[Au] 

In its most refined form, in function and currency, music is no less valuable gold. 

Growing up, I had pals but my best friends all either held mics and played instruments, or could be completely wiped from existence with a pencil eraser. I wasn’t their friend but they were certainly mine. Blink 182, Pepper Ann, Em, System of a Down, Missy Elliot, Doug, Nas, the Recess gang. And later along the way Kid Cudi, BoJack Horseman, Morty, Lincoln Park, Frank, Mac, Chano, Ye, Tyler, Gene and Louise Belcher. These guys all seemed to ‘get it’ more than most people I actually interacted with every day. They were with me in my room for hours starring at the ceiling after moms would hit the light switch, they were waiting for me every day when I got back home from school and they even occasionally provided a wide range of advice on how to approach not dying a virgin.    

The mic holders, in particular, I think speak to us all in two main ways. When a song is relatable, it means listening to Bryson Tiller’s ‘Don’t Get Too High’ after a breakup and ugly-crying because your estranged girlfriend of 5 years is now a Veuve Clicquot savant and stores every nuance of the French champagne in the part of her brain where she used to house the memories you made together. This is the kind of music you don’t just listen to, you hear it. The songwriting, composition and delivery feel like the artist twisted the lid off your head open, reached into your brain, and used your thoughts to decorate their lyrics.

A song can also be aspirational. This means when Jay-Z boasts, “I have cars I haven’t seen in months… Niggas thought Hova was over, such dummies/ Even if I fell I’d land on a bunch of money,” you can’t quite relate because that isn’t your reality… But, you’re empowered because it makes you feel like it could be. It’s a transfer of energy that makes the dream of wealth, of beauty, of notoriety and abundance, depending on what you’re listening to, feel tangible, even if that feeling is only momentary. It keeps the hope of better days alive.  

There is a third, less cerebral, more visceral level that music connects. You don’t just listen or hear it, you feel it; like a painting or photograph you see and are completely enamoured with but can’t explain why. When it hits, it feels something like Mr. T punching you repeatedly in the stomach, with all his finger-rings on and all of his might. It hurts sometimes but when it gets going, you don’t want it to stop. You can’t explain why you are compelled by it – it’s not always the subject matter, may not quite be the lyrics (if there are any at all), not specifically the melody – you just are. It is its own, almost spiritual language, manifesting itself through any sonic means you are willing to receive it; able to penetrate through all the barriers that separate us from one another. It consoles the inconsolable, it comforts the comfortless.

I happen to believe that the force that makes these fourth-dimension connections possible through art, exists as a raw element floating in the universe, almost in the same way a precious metal occurs in nature. Sure, it’s valuable and has the potential to spark a revolution but it is too unassuming in its natural state to reach most of us. It often needs a vessel that will translate its value before it can be consumed. In the case of a valuable metal like gold, that vessel is a process called extraction; while in the case of music, I believe, it is the sonically inclined who are connected to the universe, that become that vessel.

Bar Macedelic, which is sentimental to me for many reasons, Mac Miller’s Faces mixtape is my favourite of all his projects. From the beginning of his career, Mac always had drug references sprinkled across his music, in the “causal” way we’d known suburban white kids to dabble in the forbidden fruits. This might sound weird but it never occurred to me that he had a real problem until he was on his GO:OD AM media run over a year after the release of Faces and he spoke openly about his mental and physical condition during its recording, and eventually overdosing. Probably because even when Mac candidly and very specifically rapped things like “I've been to hell and back trying to get attached to my better half/ Never that, the smile’s so gone, so bring the coke on”, the delivery and attention to detail that carried these words were always so masterful that it didn’t seem consistent with the image you have in your head of an addict. Also, you never ever got the sense that Mac was glorifying the use of the stuff. It was always more like he was speaking openly about himself in the sometimes quirky, sometimes dark candour that he always did and drugs just happened to be a part of that reality. Insomnia, nostalgia, melancholy, space, Bill Murray, and euphoria were also parts of that microcosm. The bluntness never shocked me. If anything, it was consoling that here was this guy who was at the top of the world with access to everything and anything he could possibly fathom and yet, the degree of separation between us and him seemed minimal. He had the same questions about life than I did. But, he was processing all of it and fashioning it into something beautiful.

Here he was, essentially taking the universe’s proverbial ore and through the painstaking, emotionally and mentally exhausting process of creating (not unlike gold extraction), turning pain, love, uncertainty and all the raw materials he was interacting with in the universe into pure gold. For him, quite literally because it made him a fortune, but for me (and others) it was gold because it felt at times like it was necessary for my sanity. More than something nice to hear or look at, the product of this alchemy became a tool.

There is a high cost to those who allow themselves to be vessels for this kind of transcendent communication though. As human beings, we each have the profound capacity to feel intensely; love, regret, ecstasy, shame, sorrow. These emotions are often reactions to our experiences and need to be felt in order to emerge from them into a place of relative peace. In practice, many of us don’t exhaust our capacity to be present in our feelings because the cost is too high. It’s why we stop ourselves from loving as hard as we could. It’s why we’d rather front than confront that we’ve deeply hurt or been hurt by someone. It’s why we’d rather get dumb-wasted than deal with personal traits that make us feel shitty about ourselves. Being completely vulnerable is not only painfully crippling but also actively requires a lot of work.  

Music that accesses this dimension is almost always the result of an artist aggressively exploring their full capacity to feel. They give themselves completely to their emotions, often at a personal expense, and let the results of that process bleed onto pieces of paper, through instrumentation and into microphones. It’s harrowing and traumatic and exhilarating and once the piece of art is complete, we are ecstatic to receive it and that’s where it ends for us (the consumer). Except, that’s not actually where it ends. Because after the lengthy, complex process that is the extraction of gold from rock ore, there is an industrial vessel that is left filled with all the impurities and by-products of the process. The muck and dirt that had to be gathered somewhere so that this timeless, valuable metal that literally builds (and destroys) economies and will be used for fashioning jewelry and shaping the electronic and aerospace industries, can exist. Whose job is it to attend to that vessel? To make sure that the wear and tear of the strenuous process is not causing it to corrode internally with each cycle? Who makes the call to maintenance to find out if the vessel has been serviced after the gold has been dispatched to buyers and we’ve moved on to focusing on the Pateks and satellites it’s been for? Or, as Kendrick so poignantly put it on ‘Feel’:

“I feel like the whole world wants me to pray for ‘em

But who the fuck praying for me?”

There isn’t much I could have personally done to help Mac. Even though one day he got on the piano and played a beautiful ballad for me in my living that got me to call mother when I was being a shitty son, or that he talked me into reminding myself who the fuck I was one afternoon when I almost abandoned a project I was passionate about, the reality is I didn’t know him. And he certainly had no idea who I was. But there are people around me who I can call or go see. There are people who I interact with every other day who are vessels for gold. And we should all make it our collective responsibility to not just admire shiny stuff but also really try to take care of each other holistically. Put a call in. Get a hug in. Be kinder to one another. Listen more.

Because we rob the world and ourselves of our gold when we don’t take care of each other.  

Rest in Peace, Mac. Rest in Peace,   Pro.  Rest in Peace ,Sharpa.  Rest in Peace, Sammy. Forever with us.

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: Intimidated By One Piece? Here's How I Finally Started Watching

  Hello everyone, and welcome to Why It Works. Have you ever considered starting One Piece, but felt intimidated by the show’s massive length? One Piece is nearing 1,000 episodes now, meaning you could watch an episode a day for literal years and not be finished. That stretch of content used to intimidate me as well — my prior attempts to dive into the franchise petered out somewhere around 20 episodes or so. But this spring, I’ve at last plunged into the One Piece deep end and am now munching through episodes at an almost terrifying rate. With One Piece now available in a bunch of new regions, I figure it’s a fine time to share my own experiences getting into One Piece and hopefully help a few of you sink your teeth into this anime titan!

    First off, I should make something absolutely, unambiguously clear from the start: I get it. I really do. One Piece is a ridiculously long show. Not only that, but in my opinion, the beginning of the franchise is a genuinely rough watch. We all have a natural tendency to get defensive of our favorites, but I feel in One Piece’s case, it can actually be quite discouraging to hear “it’s great right from the start!” When you’re starting out, it’s quite possible you’ll find the show to be rough going, so learning fans think this part is “great” is likely to just tell you it’s not worth continuing. Well, I’m here to tell you that that’s nonsense and that it’s worth emphasizing the tangible ways One Piece improves over time.

  As one last qualifier, I should emphasize that I’m normally pretty skeptical of the phrase “it gets better over time.” I generally see such an argument as a reflection of a growing emotional attachment, or simply the sunken cost fallacy — but One Piece strikes me as the rare case where the material truly does improve substantially over time, as a reflection of both the production’s increasing resources, as well as Oda’s flourishing abilities as an artist and writer. 

    Early One Piece possesses some clear limitations — the animation and background art are limited, the arc narratives are a little too similar to each other, the villains can seem a bit underwhelming, and the islands the Straw Hats visit all seem kinda interchangeable. I’d be the first to acknowledge these issues, and also the first to say that the franchise does indeed overcome them. Yes, the animation and art design will become stronger down the line. Yes, the storytelling and characterization will get more complex and compelling. Yes, the islands Luffy visits become far more creative and start to feel like a reward in their own right. Over time, Oda matures tremendously as a writer, One Piece’s world blooms into a vibrant universe, and the ensemble appeal of following a pirate crew kicks into gear. But at the beginning, none of these strengths are readily apparent, and I can absolutely understand any doubts that the story might get there.

  So, how long does One Piece actually take to get there? Well, I’d say things start shaping up around Arlong Park (roughly Episode 30), when Oda starts to get a handle on poignant character beats, narrative arcs with a variety of threads, and creating a sense of physical place on his islands. After that, One Piece really starts to embody the thrill of adventure when the crew actually hit the Grand Line (Episode 62), and start visiting islands that all feel like dangerous, improbable amusement parks.

    Of course, that’s still a pretty long time — longer, in fact, than most anime in their entirety. Fortunately, I’m here to let you in on a little secret: a great deal of that time is dead air and easily skipped by even a slightly vigilant viewer.

  When you’re watching a new anime on a weekly basis, every minute of opening, recap, and next-time-on can feel like squandered potential — after all, you’re only getting one episode that week, so you want it to be a full meal of an experience. But when you’re watching a back catalog, all of that stuff can be easily skipped, resulting in a far more propulsive experience. For One Piece, as time wears on, most of its episodes offer a good seven or so minutes you can easily cut and instead start straight from the title drop. As a result, the show shifts from a collection of 22-minute episodes with a lot of dead air to crisp, efficient 15-minute episodes. Don’t even get me started on recap or anime-original episodes — if something feels inessential, don’t be afraid to look up if it’s truly important!

  To top off this sacrilege with another piece of sacrilege, here’s some more advice: One Piece works phenomenally as a second-screen watch, particularly if you’re watching the dub. The relative stillness of early One Piece animation means the story is generally carried by the dialogue, so if you keep One Piece on in the background, you can keep up with it while getting other tasks done. Obviously, this isn’t a great strategy when the show starts to get really visually compelling, but by that time, hey, the show’s really visually compelling! Problem solved.

    I’m aware these gambits might sound a bit disrespectful, but the fact is, we’re talking about a 1,000-episode series here, one where most people’s favorite moments don’t start cropping up until several hundred episodes in. Once you’re deep into One Piece, you’re likely to be hooked and have no need for such tricks. Therefore, rather than making sure to watch the show in some allegedly “correct” way, I feel it’s far more important to make sure you get hooked, using whatever shortcuts are at hand.

  Finally, I strongly suggest taking advantage of the natural “chapter breaks” provided by One Piece’s island structure and breaking the journey into chunks that work for you. Though I’m sure you’ve heard of the show’s eventually mammoth arcs, early on, each adventure only lasts for, at most, a dozen or so episodes. Embrace this structure — set yourself reasonable watch goals, and frankly, if you’re not enjoying a particular island, feel free to just skip ahead. One Piece is so freeform that, while you might eventually reunite with a missed character, there are relatively few consequences of just jumping to whatever sounds exciting to you. The very fact that Oda’s writing improves so substantially over time means the early material is inherently somewhat segregated from the later stuff — if you want to rush ahead to grand adventures, go for it!

    Ultimately, anime should be about your own enjoyment. One Piece shouldn’t be homework, and if it does feel like work, you should feel no compunction to continue. But please know, from one person who struggled with it to another, that I am extraordinarily glad I put in the effort. Like the Straw Hats themselves, the journey to the Grand Line is rough and perilous, but the spoils of victory are rich beyond wonder. Once One Piece blooms into its fullest form, it possesses a creativity and scale of ambition that rivals anything in the medium. I’m delighted I finally climbed aboard, and I wish you all luck in your own One Piece journeys!

      Nick Creamer has been writing about cartoons for too many years now and is always ready to cry about Madoka. You can find more of his work at his blog Wrong Every Time, or follow him on Twitter.

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Nick Creamer

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

[samisweetpea]

Dear Rose,

I’ve tried to find the lesson or the meaning in everything in front of me all my life, in order to let go of the past, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid to look too close. A part that really wants to shut the book before I got to the ending, because I knew I was going to have to be the one to write it and I didn’t think I knew how to resolve the conflict. But I think I get it now, being the bigger person, and apologizing for the way you made someone feel, even if you didn’t mean to. And standing up for yourself for the things you were afraid to say, but shouldn’t have been. We’re still the same person, Rose. It’s almost scary, how we haven’t changed at all. But all we’ve been doing for years is focusing on all the ways we’re different.

I have a feeling that you think I don’t know you anymore, but I want you to know that I do want to. And the parts that I might not understand, or you don’t think I will, I want to. I try so hard, in the ways that I know how. But I didn’t let you get to know me the last few years. I shut you down, deep inside. A lot of people say that about me, that I am hard to get to know. We were always so close, but not quite there, and the distance we had to go always seemed to lead to road rage, instead of enjoying the ride.

One of our favorite things to do, when everything starts moving too fast, is find places that slow us down. The ocean, the forest, the tallest trees and the creeks running underneath. Maybe some weed. We could never stop running if they placed us on middle ground, couldn’t stop banging on our drums until we found some place where the music stopped and we could hear ourselves think. We were best buds. But the bigger the world got for me and you, the smaller it got for me. I was just so sad when our family didn’t work out, and I felt small. I felt like my world got ripped in two. It was always one or the other. Win or lose. All or nothing. My limit seemed to be two ends of one infinite line, and I didn’t understand the middle.

Do you know that bipolar disorder is more common in the United States than any other country in the world? 4% of Americans as compared to 2% in other countries, show symptoms. Probably more, for people who don’t have access to help. I started to think about why that might be.

Why is everything in America black and white? Why are the United States colors red, white and blue, but we only care about the first and the last? Why does everyone have to choose between taking a risk or hating the fall? Why is this country built on dreamers and realists, zeros and heroes, men or mice, lovers and fighters, nerds and jocks, athletes and cheerleaders, artists and architects, builders and breakers, movers and shakers, fans and haters? Is that a coincidence? And why is white in between them, a color that isn’t really a color at all, but a reflection and spectrum of all of them at once, a rainbow of possibilities and differences. It also just so happens to be the thing we chose to exemplify love in all its forms.

Why does this hypocritical country keep making us choose between the worst of its polar ends? Why do they make it so hard for people in the middle to win? It ends up being very lonely for everyone. And the more I started to think about it, the more I realized many people in my life have symptoms of bipolarity, not just the disorder. Namely me. I probably have symptoms of a million things with no one label, but that doesn’t make them feel any less real. What is it about the world we live in that fosters this rollercoaster of emotion, and how do we stop it? This attraction to people just like you? To people so much different? To the best and worst of who you are, so much that you end up having to choose one?

This country is composed of polar opposites, a two party system where angry, godlike, manically powerful politicians work hand in hand with deeply burdened, empathetic, depressed ones, and no one ever wins. Misery loves company, and that company is making millions.

They ignore the people in between them, they find the differences before they find the similarities. They can’t choose between the dream or the reality. They can’t acknowledge the elephant in the room, that some people have it better or worse than others but we all deserve the same rights to be themselves and be successful. There’s a saying that in order to get past your biggest fears, you have to face them. And we often look for the things we dislike about ourselves the most in other people, or the things we wish we had and end up resenting. I surround myself with people that I end up pushing away, because they remind me of the things I wish I could change about myself. I find them all around me, like a self-fulfilling prophecy where I always feel alone and always end up alone, putting myself in relationships and friendships with people I think are too similar to me to bear, too different to reason with.

I find the worst in you, Rose. And I think I do it so I can continue to be sad about the worst in myself, so I don’t have to get better, so I don’t have to face my fears about what my future would look like without the sadness that seems to follow me. I give up on the things I’m afraid to fail at, or the things I feel judged for, or the things I am resentful towards. I don’t make apologies because I am afraid they’ll be rejected. I run instead, towards the things that make me feel small, for the things that make me feel ordinary, I settle for a life I think I’m supposed to have, outcomes I think I deserve. Heartbreak, anger, grief, broken bank accounts, sexism, punishment, divorce, death. I make choices that don’t do anything good for me, and then blame everything else but myself for them, because the pain of thinking I’ve failed is something I don’t know how to use as fire underneath me, but something I take personally.

I was so afraid of being wrong about my poor choices all this time, that I feigned being right, but you were always louder than I was, and that’s hard to argue. You’re loud and you interrupt my thoughts, you make me mad and make me feel silly. You make me different and I hate you for it. It’s even harder to tell you when you light me up or do something really beautiful, because I’m scared, it’s like you might not come out again tomorrow, or maybe you’re just making fun of the love I have for you. You take things all the wrong ways sometimes. I can’t seem to make even a small criticism or a correct one without you feeling like an awful person, rather than one who maybe just messed up a little bit. I can’t give you an inch without you taking a mile. You push at my buttons in a way that makes them break, instead of just being gentle. You’re still just a little girl, deep down. I have not been a very good guardian of your spirit.

If I ever told you these things when they happened, I felt like you’d blame yourself rather than give me a sincere apology, so I just didn’t ask for one. I thought I didn’t care, but I think I do. Even coming from you, who I always underestimate when it comes to using their words. That’s the thing about people like me. We will always care, even if we don’t want to. It demands to be felt, like a pulse, the way we love other people even when they don’t love us back. Or when we refuse to believe it.

You are me. And we made it through. And YOU are my favorite person today, when you’re all grown up. You’re a woman with the heart of a little boy on the playground. You’re funny, smart, charismatic. You are a master in debating, a true friend, and you‘re one in a million. You are born in the year of the tiger, you roar like you rule the world. Your name is holy, a godly word for “flower.” You find soulmates everywhere you go, and they find you, too. The most important thing you’ll ever do is find yourself, and that’s my favorite story to tell. But I think I finally have to tell you mine, a secret that I’ve kept inside, even though I know it’s nothing you’d expect me to hide.

The most important story I ever told was in middle school, a lesson about a little boy named Ben. He lived in a closet under the stairs that he couldn’t come out of. He had one secret, a really good one, but he thought this secret was something that made him not good enough for all the great things about him.

Ben didn’t realize that his big secret was what made him special. It was what made him happy. It made him lovely. One day he finally got his happy ending. But it took so much longer to find it, when he let the world stand in his way. He didn’t have the hindsight to move mountains and sail stormy seas to get back to himself. And isn’t it lovely to be loved by the one we love? Why hold back?

I was watching “IT” the other night, and I think the movie finally makes sense to me in all the ways it didn’t when I was your age.

I believe in a world where everything can mean something, even something small. And something small can end up meaning everything. Somewhere out there, the universe is telling us that every moment of our lives is connected, and nothing is as it seems. There is an insurmountable truth, a story full of words somewhere beyond your reach. You just have to find it. Often, the best parts just so happen to be found in the moments you’ve lost everything else. And they don’t fit in your head, but in your heart. Not just feelings, but something tangible beating in your rib cage. A noun for the thing that you fear the most. One, or two, or twenty adjectives, for the thing you love the hardest and the thing you can’t forget, even if you want to. Lyrics for the thing you’re most ashamed of, your worst critics, your biggest dreams. Poems for your family, your friends, the tears you cry, the bridges you burn, the laughs you share, the secrets you thaw. Bits of the past, the present, and the future all rolled into one, the things you run from and still run back to. Your hometown, your childhood, your bad habits and hidden vices waiting in the margins. Your biggest talents and the best of your vocabulary, when the sensations are ineffable. These words are the things that make you who you are, the things that make you iridescently whole and human. But there is darkness in a feeling so overwhelming. A tethering of language you will never be able to control or undo, a thing you’ll never quite understand. The sadness of it sees you, and it follows you like a rain cloud. That feeling always knows what you’ll do next, and deep down you think you deserve the worst parts of it -make or break. You wish you could take all the ugly words in the world and leave them behind, letting them fall between your fingers like sand. You’re not really supposed to see the whole story all the time in front of you, but sometimes, it feels like you’re the only one who can. Sometimes that same story demands to be felt. But if you do ever read it up close, if you understand it isn’t real, but that it’s meaningful, and important, and yours, you can save the ending. You can learn from it, and flourish beyond it. You can realize the plot line doesn’t have to define you, that you deserve the best things you can feel, that there is nothing better to feel than love, but love is not better than nothing. That you don’t have to walk on eggshells trying not to wake it up. This story is one I’ve been seeking without knowing it, in Friends and in PARKS and Recreation, in The Office. Especially the one where Michael finds Holly again, at the best views they can find. I found myself driving around aimlessly, crying and laughing and listening to music the other night. And I keep driving to my favorite places, places I went with you. I thought I wanted to be Jim and Pam, but I don’t. I’m an annoying Kelly, and I’m an asshole Ryan. And no matter how hard they try to fight it, they are the best story, in the end. Love always wins. The story doesn’t have to own you, or control you. You can’t change it, and you have to let the best parts go sometimes. But it will always, always get better. I heard it before I saw it in 2018, in the back of an ambulance. I’ve had the urge to follow the voice who told it ever since. The words for the story I wanted to tell have been bubbling up in me since 2018. That was the year that I almost took my life, and this is the story where I take it back.

My Grandpap, the biggest loss I’ve ever known and the greatest gift I was ever given, told me lots of things. That knowledge is power, not to do anything stupid and not to be a smart ass. He taught me we should all look out for one another, that I should treat others how I want to be treated, and that it costs nothing to be nice. The best thing about him was what he left behind, in poems and pictures of the family he made. Some of the last words he left us were “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.” (He didn’t write them.)

They were right. Whoever wrote it, at least. But I didn’t realize it, or see it, until being in the hospital, or until I lost my mind, or until I screamed for the things I needed, finally loud enough to receive them, but losing everything I ever wanted in it’s place. I thought I loved myself then, but I didn’t. I just was just hating you, for all the things I didn’t say. So much that it got blurred with love. I’ve been fighting a war inside me, and I fail every time. I feel like such a loser, when in reality, I’m just a lover.

Loving myself today is frankly, fucking fantastic. I feel like I can see shit before it happens. I feel like I am breaking cycles and breaking down my own walls - like an architect of my future. It feels like all the colors at once are living inside my chest, singing to get out.

I love myself more than anyone ever has or anyone ever will, I love the little girl I still have left in me, and I’m confidently insecure about all my flaws. I am not the worst things I have ever done, my worst memories. I am not the boy who looks like me, or tells me what I wanna hear, but is never your type. I’m not the shit I didn’t ask for either, but that stuff usually gives me luck, and I’m grateful. But I am also not the only one who understands me, I am not the only one who sees me or hears me waking up in the middle of the night for a cigarette.

I know now, what my point in writing this was. I don’t want anything out of it. I don’t know there’s anywhere left to go. I have no requests, no apologies. But I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of being angry and hard-headed and missing you from far away, leaving you to mind read the love in between my lines. I’m tired of being quiet. I’m tired of walking on eggshells, trying not to say too much or take you out of context. I’m tired of trading what I want for mediocre friendship, which will never be enough. I don’t even feel like I have anything to offer you. You’re so much more than me.

But I know I do, because we all do, and even if it’s not something I can share with the people I like most, at least I can tell myself that I will always be my biggest fan, and I will always remember the best of my story, not the worst. I'll always believe in the best of life. My good and bad and red and blue country, and the rainbow that reflects in my chest, shining like sunlight to the people I allow to see it.

My name is not Ben. I don’t know my full potential yet, or what fires and freezes will stand in the way of my story having a happy ending, but I know what I’m not.

I’m the only one of me.

And I’m not straight.

At all.

This is probably the least interesting thing about me, but the most important, because I always wanted to prove to you I’d have a wedding that would look like your dream one day, and I wouldn’t mess it up. But weddings and marriages are kind of stupid, just parties and pieces of paper, and you don’t need them to know you have something special.

And you know what else I know?

I know I am not alone, and I know you would have loved me the same if I had never told you my story. And you probably aren’t gonna know what to say, or you might never say anything at all, because it’s kind of awkward and weird now. I might never hear from you. But I’m okay with that now. I can miss you from far away, and love you from far away too.

But I’m glad I did tell you in the end, because now you see who I really am, and everything about me makes more sense.

I’m going back to Derry, every day, for the rest of our lives. It’s not that scary, I promise.

[pleiadesounds]

HIR ESTRIK

Luke Davies is a musician and music teacher from Penzance, Cornwall, but, like many of his fellow Cornish musicians, is based in Brighton. I first met Luke through his playing guitar for Rope, a heavy, slow, melodic post-hardcore band, but rather than talking about Rope, I wanted to focus on his wonderful experimental project ‘Hir Estrik’, in which he experiments with aspects of Neo-Classical, Musique Conrete and Sound Installation. His recent piece ‘Wild Music’ is a wonderful example of Luke’s unique approach to music, with as much focus on time, place, history and environment as on key, tempo or dynamics. It seems to me that the project represents a musician exploring his creative environment and boundaries in a way I rarely feature on Pleiadesounds, and I was excited to pick Luke’s brain about the project.

PLEIADESOUNDS What prompted you to begin a project like Wild Music?

LUKE DAVIES The project set out with the installation ‘In Sea’ which I presented as my final thesis for a master’s degree at Sussex University last year. It was in some ways a culmination of previous projects of soundtracking for media and an analogue audio/visual installation. The development process felt very organic and things just seemed to fall into place as I worked on it over a few months. The technical and compositional aspects, however, took a little longer to get from brain to a more tangible thing. My focus has always been in composition. I would really like to compose both on a personal level but also for various media (tv/film etc). At uni I was encouraged, for the first time, to really explore something new and to follow passions rather than do something overly safe. My first project involved creating a visual ‘documentary’ (I’m using that term extremely loosely here) looking at Cornish heritage using mostly found footage from old archive material. After editing the short film I wrote and recorded a score to go alongside. My second project was an analogue tape based sound instillation/performance. I took proven failed rhetoric from politicians and created a long tape loop from these soundbites. I then distorted and destroyed this loop slowly over time whilst playing and manipulating various other analogue loops and effects to create an increasingly oppressive and uncomfortable piece. The idea was to show how corrosive and destructive this rhetoric is, but unless any sort of action is taken to counter it then it can only become increasingly worse. WM started very much as an extension, combination and development of these two projects.

PS What are some of your goals with Wild Music?

LD To begin with the main goal was to complete my course. That’s not to dismiss the project in anyway, there is a lot of theory underlining the concept, but it wasn’t until a few different thought processes came together that I saw the potential of exploring WM further. That could be in new locations or exploring new techniques to incorporate the environment compositionally. The places and spaces that Wild Music could occupy are almost endless and I would love the chance to see where it could go. I have ideas for woodlands, mountain terrain and more open spaces. I would love the idea of people coming across a sound space in the middle of nowhere and just pausing with it for a moment or two.

PS Do you see Wild Music being more of a therapeutic experience or as an artistic installation?

LD I guess it sits somewhere between the two. It was created as an installation piece to be visited and experienced in person rather than on a screen or through a device. The idea of physically having to go to a natural space is very important to me. However, the driving ideology behind WM was the notion of creating a ‘sort of' therapeutic experience or meditative space for an individual within that environment . I want WM to give the subject a chance to focus on the sonic elements and its connection with the physical space and finally their place in the situation and their overall connection to everything. I did a lot of research on audio/visual stimuli and their effects on our mental health and tried to play on that within the experience.

PS What is the meaning behind the name ‘hir estrik’?

LD It means ‘long absence’ in Cornish. Cornwall holds a very special place in my heart and the longer I have lived away, the more I have craved eventually returning. I guess the use of ‘hir estrik’ could represent a bunch of different things, both literally and figuratively.

PS How do you see ‘hir estrik’ being translated into a live show?

LD This is something I think about regularly, but quickly dismiss. Currently, ‘hir estrik’ and what it is to me is something that I am exploring. I want to be confident that the music I do put out is something that I am 100% happy with. The flip side is that it is often a very slow process. I’m working on getting better at this. To attempt a live version, I would possibly need a few extra hands to really present the music how I would like it. Thankfully lots of my friends play music too, so not out of the question. But for now I am keeping things behind a desk I reckon. I can exercise my itch for playing live in other areas thankfully.

PS What is the significance of naming all the tracks on hir estrik’s latest album, Themes as dates?

LD The tracks are very lazily named after the days that I wrote them. I was at a period of uncertainty in my life; I had just completed my MA, was looking for work in that field or other musical ventures and had a whole host of other life crap to deal with. I wanted to focus my energy onto something positive and used my vast amount of free time to create an audio diary over a few days. Forcing myself to write and finish a track the same day was also a way of me trying to quicken my processes and train myself to be a little less precious over every detail. It was interesting to look back over the tracks a few weeks and months afterwards. The similarities and differences of the tracks in terms of structures, instrumentation etc. really do speak of the way I was viewing a lot of things at the time. It helped me start to break a bit of a negative cycle that I was getting myself into.

PS Both of your solo projects are quite organic, soft and ambient, quite in contrast to the heavy, riffy Rope. How does hir estrik Luke differ from Rope Luke?

LD In some ways I see very little difference between the two projects. They are both ways for me to express myself as a musician, but I take different things from each process. However, there is a stark difference between creating individually and working with others. With Rope, I get to collaborate with the rest of the band, both compositionally and in a live environment. We all play well off each other and that creates a very organic feel to both the music and how we play it. Very rarely would I play the same way each time, my approach is very driven by the moment and the interactions with others. But Rope is very much the sum of its working parts and we all present something different that makes us what we are, something I am a big fan of. With hir estrik, on the other hand, I am completely left to my own devices, and this can be both a positive and a negative. From a composing point, I create a lot more on my own. It just then needs to get past my inner critic, who is a pain. I have way too many unfinished projects on the go at the moment. My approach to both outlets and my end goal remains the same, to make music and be at peace with the outcome.

PS What are you currently working on? What can we expect to hear from you in the future?

LD There are lots of words and plans scribbled in note books for both Rope and hir estrik, it’s just working out when and how to action these things best. With Rope there will hopefully be some new music released and a bunch of shows and short tours throughout the year. We have just started writing and demoing for our third LP and have some other ideas floating around that we hope to be able to pull off. For hir estrik there will be a lot more music slowly appearing. I have plans for a few short EP’s over the year, some more piano led and another more guitar focused. But I will cross those bridges as they become more apparent over time. Wild Music is a project that I hope to play out over a longer period of time. Music as physical art and instillations are a very new area to me, and I am learning a lot as I go. I’m going to look for funding and potential spaces to implement the project. I have a lot of plans for ways to improve the technological aspect and present on a bigger scale, but these things obviously come at a cost. My biggest downfall comes in self promotion, I feel very uncomfortable talking about myself or my work and projects. I guess it would be best to keep an eye on or follow the various social media outlets of each project to see the outcomes of these plans.

HIR ASTRIK

Soundcloud      Youtube        Wild Music 

ROPE

Bandcamp      Facebook       Instagram

Text by Kai Woolen Lewis, Photographs by Monique Poirier

[nwkrp-blog]

                                  ⋆ — WELCOME HOME, TRAVELER.

THE SHORES HAVE GIFTED US A NEW RESIDENT. born on MARCH 23RD, 1993, BAE JOOHYUN has been on the island for 1 YEAR and is currently a RECEPTIONIST AT THE LOTUS SPA. you can always find them at HAEBALAGI COTTAGES, 302.

                                          ONWARD !

                                           ⋆ EVERY STORY HAS A REASON

while mido had never been part of the plan, really, her decision to move there over anywhere else and start a new way of life was because of familiarity. as a child, during family vacations ( or really, vacations taken in the company of her mother ), they often frequented the island for a number of reasons— the beautiful beaches, the nice and safe atmosphere, and the fact that her mothers own childhood home had been on mido.

joohyun had heard the story many times, her mother working as a waitress at a fancy restaurant that her father happened to dine at one night during a casual business trip with his own father ( the head of their families company at the time ) and a few close colleagues. it was love at first sight from then, and he’d whisked her away for a life of money and love. had her life taken a different turn, maybe she’d still find the story romantic.

during her final year of university, she’d not only been stressed over finals and graduation but also on where she’d go from there. two years had gone by since her father cut her off, leaving her to fend for herself without even a proper goodbye or wishes of luck. until that point, she’d coasted, simply focused on getting through school with the best grades and reputation she could, but when it was almost over the panic started to set in.

“what do i do now?”

she figured the first place to start was looking into homes, finding somewhere to live, then branching out into jobs near the location of said home. it was then that mido came into view, a few different housing locations around the island coming up as vacant, most within the budget she’d set for herself.

graduation came and went quickly, and though her heart felt empty with no family there to congratulate her ( despite the quick heart emoji her mother sent over text ), she found comfort in the family of close friends who came to her rescue when she found herself alone. they supported her endlessly, and their belief in her sparked new motivation. nearly two days after receiving her degree, she was off to mido.

she’d missed the tranquil air of the island, settling down in the outskirts of the island, finding peace in the flower fields and calm living, a job at the lotus spa opening to her.

she lives with new purpose, hope one day her new dreams will come true.

                                          ⋆ EVERY STORY HAS ITS ROOTS

ONE.

her luck comes with a price, joohyun born the beautiful little princess to a father who was a powerful business mogul within the tech industry and a mother who played the role of the supportive housewife perfectly. from the moment of her birth, her mother and father praised her to no end, proud of the little beauty they’d brought to the world. however, there are whispers, snickers, and taunts hanging in the air.

( “it’s a girl— looks like he’ll need to start training a successor instead of raising one like he wanted”, “i wonder who he’ll end up selling to since i’m sure she won’t have any interest in his work” ).

her mother shows her daughter endless love and support, but the same couldn’t be said for father once she begins to crawl. he’s only around when truly needed, and though he cares for his child, he just couldn’t help his curiosity during late nights— thoughts fly, wondering what could have been had the strapping son he’d always hoped for been born in joohyuns place.

TWO.

it’s never outrightly spoken, but it hangs heavily in the air.

joohyun is a perceptive one, even as a child— she understands why father never spends time with her, why mother steers her clear of fathers study when she asks to see him with distractions of playing outside and cookies, why her father’s colleagues watch her like hawks during dinner parties hosted in their seoul home.

years of wishing, wondering on her fathers part over the years turned his love sour. it’s no longer curiosity.

it feels more like resentment.

it stings joohyuns young heart, barely even 10, and already so unloved and regretted by a father she only wanted approval from. mother does her best to ease the tension, making small talk on rare occasions when it’s just the three of them.

that only makes joohyun want her father’s attention more.

THREE.

bae joohyun is top of every class, an academic genius just as many thought she’d be.

grade school, middle school, high school— all places she makes sure to shine brightly in to try and turn the greyed atmosphere in her golden home to luster ( and for just the shortest time, a period in between her leave from high school and her preparations for university, father’s able to pat her head without such a stoic face and hesitant motion ).

yet, despite the great strides she helped further in their relationship, a nasty thought takes hold silently, and she’s confused. she doesn’t love him, she’s known this for years, but she respects him— he is her father, after all ( and while his efforts are minimum compared to her mother, he’s still there ).

but…

is this really what she wants her life to become? does she really want to waste her youth chasing after standards and expectations that would only make someone else happy, and not herself?

FOUR.

she hates herself— hates what she let happen.

everything is miserable, and life seems to drag on when she knows that isn’t what should be happening. her eyes are heavy, her motivation is slim, and she can’t do it anymore. she can’t continue following through with his wants when she’s come to realize her own for the first time in her life. but she’s scared.

how could she tell her father the truth; she’d fallen in love with art, a university friend dragging her to join an art club with them during her 2nd year after stumbling on simple doodles joohyun had drawn at the very back of her trigonometry notebook. joohyun hadn’t thought anything of them, simply bored during a particularly long lecture one day, and her hands went to town.

“you see doodles, i see a future artist at work.”

joohyun knew it was all fun and games, laughing loudly and shaking her head, but when sat during the first art meeting, it had been the best experience she’d ever had in her 20 years of life. in that room, surrounded by people having just as much fun, she found no pressure— there was no one to impress, no one to look at her with hard eyes and judge everything she did under a harsh lens.

she felt at peace, learning new tricks and trades from those she felt real bonds with, and she faced a dilemma once her 2nd year ended.

FIVE.

at 24, she’s no longer bae joohyun, daughter to a legacy and heiress of a company.

she finds herself bae joohyun, the best damn spa receptionist you’ll ever meet on the island of mido.

this change of life was to be expected once she came to her parents, showing them how she wanted her life to pan out ( a completely different change from the course she’d let herself fall to from the moment she was born )— her father had been furious, reverting back to his old thoughts, yelling in outrage “you’re letting me down, and this companies reputation”, “who’ll take over now!”, “why did i ever think you could do this for me?”.

she bites her tongue through it all as he yells, as he casts her out in his anger, and as he cuts her off from family money and everything having to do with their family name. joohyun no longer has a father, but then again, she never really did.

what hurts most is the sudden absence of her mother, a rock she’d taken for granted in her pursuit for her father’s approval. they’re barely in contact anymore, only doing so in secret ( joohyun would hate for her mother to be yelled at because she couldn’t stay away ), but even that little bit is enough for her.

just as long as that love is still there, joohyun can go on well enough.

and she does go on, finishing her last two years of university with a fine arts degree, not a business degree. she’s smart enough to ration out the money she’s saved over the years in her own private bank accounts, living off of it as little as she can while working small jobs here and there, and once she graduates, that’s whene mido came to view.

she’ll soon be marking her first full year taking residence there, and as she works and saves up for a new dream that’s much more tangible, joohyun finally finds happiness.

she only hopes that happiness lasts.

#nw:resident #job:lotus spa

[sarahdrawingprint]

PP3 Presentation

My presentation aims to give an idea of where I came from, where I am now and my future plans. In the booklets I’ve put a selection of new and old work of mine as well as some examples of artists who inspired me.

WHERE I WAS:

Having been brought up in the Chiltern Hills, I have always been surrounded by and had an affinity for nature - my mum loves walking, so holidays generally consisted of enjoying mountainous landscapes, the likes of which my work now focusses on.

I have only begun to really appreciate these expanses of beauty as I get older, perhaps due to my move to Bristol which was my first experience of living in a city.

I did a foundation year in Art and Design while living at home which I massively enjoyed so wanted to take art further; deciding to do a degree in something creative. It was between here and Winchester School of art to do Graphics. In the end I chose Bristol, as I thought moving somewhere more different to home would be a beneficial challenge but mostly, Drawing and Print’s emphasis on the tangible; not ignoring tactile processes of paint in favour of the computerised.

In all honesty, I do struggle with the business of it, but to an extent I try to figure this out in my work - exploring in contrast the peacefulness that being alone in nature gives me. I am however glad I pushed myself as I think my artwork too has been given the space to breathe and therefore has become less predictable.

Historically I was very inspired by the more traditional artists, favouring more realistic or impressionistic works of art. Off the top of my head Caravaggio, Titan and Rembrandt on the more classical end as well as Cezanne and Georgia O’Keeffe were some of my favourite artists. Now I’m understanding the importance of achieving a balance. I still can learn much from the old masters yet need to keep myself open to new ideas. Tiepolo is a newer example of an old master who has been a massive influence on me and is now someone I look towards in order to grasp a good understanding of colour and layering of colour within my work.

WHERE I AM NOW:

This year on the course I have realised how much mentality affects my artwork and the importance of letting go and trying to not let preciousness or fear change the way I want to create. Instead I want to be able to see the world creatively and enjoy the experience along the way. I am becoming less conscious of worries and art again is becoming something I use to deal with emotions.

I have this year discovered some ways to minimize being overly conscious of people when creating. Music has always been important to me, and I have grown up in a household where music and other creative outlets were valued. Being in this zone of creativity, so bringing headphones into the studio, is a must for me. Often even if I am struggling to create, once I get into this mindset my ideas flow. The use of a sketchbook in tandem with my loose work also helps to solve this issue as the smaller scale generally will allow me to sort out my ideas in a way which translates to my own way of working. However, the biggest thing that’s made the most positive change to my working process is initial looseness when sketching out an idea, even when working in paint. I achieve this through a combination of loose, thin paint and a generally a coloured ground. Looking at the works of Chaim Soutine, Sorolla as well as Diebenkorn – it is easy to see their figurative and gestural marks. Most of these core artists which influence my practice are really loose, something which I’m massively enjoying experimenting in as it’s so far from my more traditional sketching manner.

Furthermore, through this method of adding a ground, I think I’ve developed a key understanding of the importance of ‘setting’ and the degree to which the background massively affects its surroundings. Colour theory plays a huge part of this and has been the main core of my fixation. Despite this, my historical exploration of colour was in my opinion much shallower as I was only considering the colours and their relationships within the object I was painting yet usually this was just pasted onto a ground which I mostly took no notice of. Now, I am trying to see the entire piece as a whole and adding a ground colour has so far allowed me to do this with much success. Although I often will change this colour, it forces me to continually consider the colour relationships I am forming.

This year I am mostly focusing on painting natural forms but with a more abstract and loose style. This enables me to take some of my attention away from exactness of what I’m drawing; instead focusing on my mark-making and colour choices. Learning about Rhoda Kellogg’s research into the classification of entopics, was a key factor in my decisiveness to consider my mark-making more.

I have also enjoyed visiting galleries more this year than any other year and I’ve found that seeking out exhibitions of existing artists that I love to be the most inspiration for me. My favourite gallery visits of this year were the Munch exhibition and the Sorolla exhibition. Munch uses tone really dynamically to even create ‘colourful’ black and white pieces. Sorolla is almost the other end of the spectrum; his work taught me the subtleties you can achieve within colour and I’m fixated by his methods of painting light and shadows.

As well as listening to visiting speakers and official conversations in the studio, the presence of the studio this and last year has been something that I shall miss after the course is over. Fin, for example has sworn me off mixing Titanium white, something which without I am finding gives the overall piece much more lightness. I am also finding, not competitive feeling but a fever to achieve more and am experiencing how having other artists surrounding you can cause you to push the boat out more.

Future Plans:

This 4 year delve into what a career within arts would be like has only solidified some of the ideas I went in to the course with. I love painting and happily would paint for myself forever yet the pressure of deadlines, as ever, gets to me and really affects my working process negatively. Due to this I am looking into career paths which would give me a stable source of income but enough time to continue painting at my own pace and enable me to feel free to create work which I’m proud of. It probably took me all of first year to find my own feet on the course so working on commission has practically been written off the possibilities entirely. I know that I always want art to be a core pillar of my life so teaching at the moment is what appeals most to me. I have looked into programs where I could live and teach abroad for a year – such as the JET program (Japan Exchange and Teaching) and the TEFL program (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) as I thought they would be really interesting culturally. Currently, I intend to apply at local schools to do some volunteer work, ideally sitting in as a teaching assistant with perhaps some opportunities to lead the class.  This aims to solidify that this is a career path I could see myself in before I took the next step which would be achieving a teaching qualification.

Do you have any questions?

[go7ravel]

The ‘Busy’ Trap

By Tim Kreider 

If you live in America in the 21st century you’ve probably had to listen to a lot of people tell you how busy they are. It’s become the default response when you ask anyone how they’re doing: “Busy!” “So busy.” “Crazy busy.” It is, pretty obviously, a boast disguised as a complaint. And the stock response is a kind of congratulation: “That’s a good problem to have,” or “Better than the opposite.”

Notice it isn’t generally people pulling back-to-back shifts in the I.C.U. or commuting by bus to three minimum-wage jobs who tell you how busy they are; what those people are is not busy, but tired. Exhausted. Dead on their feet.

It’s almost always people whose lamented busyness is purely self-imposed: work and obligations they’ve taken on voluntarily, classes and activates they’ve “encouraged” their kids to participate in. there busy because of their own ambition of drive or anxiety, because they’re addicted to busyness and dread what they might have to face in its absence.

Almost everyone I know is busy. They feel anxious and guilty when they aren’t either working or doing something to promote their work. They schedule in time with friends the way students with 4.0 GPA’s make sure to sign up for community service because it looks good on their college applications. I recently wrote a friend to ask if he wanted to do something this week and he answered that he didn’t have a lot of time but if something was going on to let him know and maybe he could ditch work for a few hours. I wanted to clarify that my question had not been a preliminary heads-up to some future invitation; this was the invitation. But his busyness was like some vast churning noise through which he was shouting out at me, and I gave up trying to shout back over it.  

Even children are busy now, scheduled down to the half-hour with classes and extracurricular activities. They come home at the end of the day as tired as grown-ups. I was a member of the latchkey generation and had three hours of totally unstructured, largely unsupervised time every afternoon, time I used to do everything from surfing the World Book Encyclopedia to making animated films to getting together with friends in the woods to chuck dirt clods directly into on another’s eyes, all of which provided me with important skills and insights that remain valuable to this day. Those free hours became the model for how I wanted to live the rest of my life.

The present hysteria is not a necessary of inevitable condition of life; it’s something we’ve chosen, if only by our acquiescence to it. Not long ago I skyped with a friend who was driven out of the city by high rent and now has an artist’s residency in a small town in the south of France. She described herself as happy and relaxed for the first time in years. She still gets her work done, but it doesn’t consume her entire day and brain. She says it feels like college –she has a big circle of friends who all go out to the café together every night. She has a boyfriend again. (She once ruefully summarized dating in New York: “Everyone’s too busy and everyone thinks they can do better.”) What she had mistakenly assumed was her personality –driven, cranky, anxious and sad –turned out to be a deformative effect of her environment. It’s not as if any of us wants to live like this, any more than any one person wants to be part of a traffic jam or stadium trampling or the hierarchy of cruelty in high school –it’s something we collectively force on another to do.  

Busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked, in demand every hour of the day. I once knew a woman who interned at a magazine where she wasn’t allowed to take much hours out, lest she be urgently needed for some reason. This was an entertainment magazine whose raison d’etre was obviated when “menu” buttons appeared on remotes, so it’s hard to see this pretense of indispensability as anything other than a form of institutional self-delusion. More and more people in this county no longer make or do anything tangible; if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary. I can’t help but wonder whether all this histrionic exhaustion isn’t a way of covering up the fact that most of what we do doesn’t matter.

I am not busy. I am the laziest ambitious person I know. Like most writers, I feel like a reprobate who does not deserve to live on any day that I do not write, but I also feel that four or five hours is enough to earn my stay on the planet for one more day. On the best ordinary days of my life, I write in the morning, go for a long bike ride and run errands in the afternoon, and in the evening, I see friends, read or watch a movie. This, it seems to me, is a sane and pleasant pace for a day. And if you call me up and ask whether I won’t maybe blow off work and check out the new American Wing at the met or ogle girls in Central Park of just drink chilled pink minty cocktails all day long, I will say, what time?

But just in the last few months, I’ve insidiously started, because of professional obligations, to become busy. For the first time I was able to tell people, with a straight face, that I was “too busy” to do this or that thing they wanted me to do. I could see why people enjoy this complaint; it makes you feel important, sought-after and put-upon. Except that I hate actually being busy. Every morning my in-box was full of emails asking me to do thing I did not want to do or presenting me with problems that I now had to solve. It got more and more intolerable until finally I fled town to the Undisclosed Location from which I’m writing this.

Here I am largely unmolested by obligations. There is no TV. To check email I have to drive to the library. I go a week at a time without seeing anyone I know. I’ve remembered about buttercups, stink bugs and the stars. I read. And I’m finally getting some real writing done for the first time in months. It’s hard to find anything to say about life without immersing yourself in the world, but it’s also just about impossible to figure out what it might be, or how best to say it, without getting the hell out of it again.  

Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets. The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration –it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done. “Idle dreaming is often of the essence of what we do,” wrote Thomas Pynchon in his essay on sloth. Archimedes’ “Eureka” in the bath, Newton’s apple, Jekyll & Hyde and the benzene ring: history is full of stories of inspirations that come in idle moments and dreams. It almost makes you wonder whether loafers, goldbricks and no-accounts aren’t responsible for more of the world’s great ideas, inventions and masterpieces than the hardworking.

“The goal of the future is full unemployment, so we can play. That’s why we have to destroy the present politico-economic system.” This may sound like the pronouncement of some bong-smoking anarchist, but it was actually Arthur C. Clarke, who found time between scuba diving and pinball games to write “Childhoods’ End” and think up communications satellites. My old colleague Ted Rall recently wrote a column proposing that we divorce income from work and vide each citizen a guaranteed paycheck which sounds like the kind of lunatic notion that’ll be considered a basic human right about a century, like abolition, universal suffrage and eight-hour workdays. The Puritans turned work into a virtue, evidently forgetting that God invented it as punishment.

Perhaps the world would soon slide to ruin if everyone behaved as I do. But I would suggest that an ideal human life lies somewhere between my own defiant indolence and the rest of the world’s endless frenetic hustle. My role is just to be a bad influence, that kid standing outside the classroom window making faces at you at your desk, urging you to just this once make some excuse and get out of there, come outside and play. My own resolute idleness has mostly been a luxury rather than a virtue, but I did make a conscious decision, a long time ago, to choose time over money, since I’ve always understood that the best investment of my limited time on earth was to spend it with people I love. I suppose it’s possible I’ll lie on my deathbed regretting that I didn’t work harder and say everything I had to say, but I think what I’ll really wish is that I could have one more beer with Chris, another long talk with Megan, one last good hard laugh with Boyd. Life is too short to be busy.

[tuthillscopes-blog]

Henry Greens Party Going: an eccentric portrait of the idle rich

check it out @ https://tuthillscopes.com/henry-greens-party-going-an-eccentric-portrait-of-the-idle-rich/

Henry Greens Party Going: an eccentric portrait of the idle rich

Amit Chaudhuri revisits a masterful tale of revellers stranded in a hotel, which recalls Joyce and Woolf but resembles neither

In the late 1980s, after i would be a graduate student in Oxford, I purchased a amount of three novels by a writer I hadnt heard about, Henry Eco-friendly. The Eco-friendly everyone was speaking about then had an e in the finish of his surname, and the name was Graham. He was almost a precise contemporary of Henrys: born in 1904, annually before Eco-friendly, he resided considerably longer. Both belonged to well-to-do families, but Eco-friendly was particularly affluent. His father was an industrialist. Id attempted studying Graham Greene, but had not made much headway. Then Henry Eco-friendly arrived, and Graham quickly grew to become, for me personally, another Greene, after which not really that. About Henry Eco-friendly, however, theres an irreducible, longstanding excitement one of the couple of who’ve read him.

I have to have purchased the 3-novel amount of Loving, Living, Party Going because John Updike had, in the summary of the amount, not just given Eco-friendly centrality like a precursor, but known as him a saint from the mundane. The religious example was excessive, what had helped me admire Updike to begin with was the means by which hed deliberately made room for that mundane, for that banality that fills our way of life and means they are truly interesting. But I discovered Eco-friendly to become a different of author, with almost no chroniclers impulse that every so often directed Updikes decade-lengthy projects, with no abiding curiosity about realism, despite his remarkable eye and ear and the gift for recording character. Replying to some question offer him by Terry Southern for that Paris Review in 1958 Youve described your novels as nonrepresentational. I question if youd mind defining that term? Eco-friendly stated:

Nonrepresentational was designed to represent an image that was not really a photograph, nor a painting on the photograph, nor, in dialogue, a tape recording. For example, the deaf, like me, hear probably the most astounding things over-all them that have not actually been stated. This enlivens my replies until, through mishearing, a brand new degree of communication is arrived at. My figures do not understand one another greater than people do in tangible existence, yet they are doing so under I. Thus, when writing, I represent very carefully things i see (and I am not seeing very well now) and just what I hear (that is little) however i express it is nonrepresentational since it is not always what others hear and see.

Eco-friendly actually stands approximately James Joyce, in the inclination to become intolerant of ordinary British syntax and punctuation, and Virginia Woolf, in the feeling of how narrative could be formed by things outdoors of event. But, out of the box obvious from his remarks to Southern, Eco-friendly further conflates his aesthetic with disability and eccentricity. (Right at the beginning of the job interview, he will not field an inconvenient question for the reason he cant hear the interviewer, although it rapidly becomes apparent the deafness is opportunistic.) Greater than Joyce and Woolf or other author I’m able to consider, Vegetables contribution towards the modern novel may be the imprimatur of the unapologetic eccentricity and, through it, a reconfiguring of the thought of singularity.

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Communicated joy and delight Henry Yorke AKA Henry Green

I have seen that Picador omnibus edition in the hands of readers and teachers, creased, carried with a degree of protectiveness. But, by all accounts, it didnt do well and soon went out of print. Since then, Greens nine novels have had spasmodic resurrections, come and gone and come back again. What will it take for Green to penetrate the general consciousness? His writing went out of view after he died in 1973 (and he hadnt written a book for 20 years before that), though more recently a handful of influential literary champions made him something of a cause. But maybe its to do with what Ezra Pound known as age. Most likely the recent decades havent been receptive to some novelist whose sole purpose appears to become to fashion a language that to speak pleasure. Woolf was shockingly neglected her present status owes less to literary critics regarding feminism. Jean Rhys was absolutely forgotten until her last work, Wide Sargasso Sea, permitted her to become annexed later by postcolonialists. Joyces mythic scaffold and verbal play identified him to academia to be essential both to modernism and also to the work of hermeneutics. I mention these authors not just due to their ability to transform and delight but additionally because some facet of their writing continues to be converted advantageously into some terms which are vital that you particular literary historic moments. With Eco-friendly, were given one type of artist who, such as the poets of ancient India and A holiday in greece, is not to provide us but delight. We dont get sound advice with your a author.

I hesitate to Party Going a modernist work because its sui generis, stands by itself, and it has not given itself to the modernism industry. However it has something that is similar to standard modernist texts, through which I am talking about not just what Frank Kermode known as its mythic structure, or its mythic punctuation of dead pigeons and bathing women, or its purgatorial fogbound atmosphere, or even the periodic abnormality of their syntax, but the truth that its thinking about and not the journey however the waiting, and not the event however the interruption. Dense fog working in london causes all trains to become cancelled. Traffic on the highway reaches a dead stop some people enroute towards the station need to abandon their cars and walk a minute of both liberation from, and lack of, class privilege. Among throngs of frustrated but jubilant commuters several wealthy people has convened they expect to go to the south of France as visitors from the qualified Max Adey. Two women especially are in search of Max: Julia Wray and Amabel. Max continues to be intending to escape Amabel, but she tracks him lower. Meanwhile, the entire group continues to be gone to live in the station hotel and given rooms with baths the shutters towards the station happen to be introduced lower. Amabel in some way finds her way inside, and Max reaches once ashamed, trapped, and temporarily disarmed by her immense beauty. It appears to Julia, whom Max have been courting inside a room not lengthy ago, that her putative romantic holiday with Max isn’t to become.

The simultaneity from the narrative causes it to be less just like a text supervised by an omniscient narrator than the usual particular type of cinema, a cinema less invested in one protagonist as with whats happening at the same time in a number of rooms and also the spaces around them. The fabric continues to be organised by an auteur akin, in the method, to some film editor, like a montage of quickly intercut scenes that produces a fantasy of unity and continuity. The restricted but unique locale and also the limited time period of the experience stimulate Jean Renoirs The Rules of the Game, which depicting several upper-class individuals with conflicting love interests who end up stranded with their servants inside a manor house on the country estate throughout the weekend too constitutes a narrative from nothing. Released, like Party Going, in 1939, the show isnt about either belonging somewhere or just being in exile it’s about inhabiting a transient, busy condition of unfinishedness. The aesthetic of these two works is remarkably congruent. Both also appear before the destruction from the worlds contained within them, and both possess a strange indestructibility. Renoirs film was trashed by the best and also the left because of its pointless portrayal from the inefficient wealthy, simply to be recognised in later decades like a landmark of cinema.

Self-absorbed upper classes Satyajit Sun rays Kanchenjungha.

Kanchenjungha (1962) by Renoirs most gifted student, Satyajit Ray is known as following the mountain peak the films upper-class holidaymakers are advised of because they mill round the hill station of Darjeeling. They’re completely self-absorbed, as the Kanchenjungha provides an opening right into a world beyond that will not present itself. Are you able to believe this area was only a Lepcha village prior to the British switched it into the town? states the insufferable patriarch Mister Indranath for the finish from the film. Empire! It had been insubstantial by 1962, such as the mist. Its becoming intangible in Party Going too, but not really much. Its there, within the global allusions, the truly amazing railways.

Sun rays film is instantly. The expertise of studying Party Going approximates this a feeling of getting joined, through the sentence, a particular continuum and time period. The 4 or 5 hrs it requires to complete the novel can also be the time where the fog rolls in after which begins to lift. The spell lifts too, so we understand weve joined a global we cant possess. This conflation from the figures time using the readers suggests the authors preoccupation with and mastery of form, that is a different type of reality towards the one the novel is depicting the result of his abstract nonrepresentational method.

Party Going isnt a singular within the usual feeling of the word. It provides us a superbly comic account of their figures, but it’s also an assemblage of moments, as well as different types of awareness around the globe as well as of writing. Eco-friendly is certainly not otherwise mindful of his literary context: when Julia walks towards the station and registers the procession of headlights at nighttime, the narrator points to the novels antecedents: These lights will come like ideas in darkness, inside a stream There are the epic similes, signalling to all of us that Eco-friendly resided currently once the British authors inheritance went beyond European modernism. Here the narrator describes a couple in Maxs party browsing the station to place their host:

Like two lilies inside a pond, romantically some of it but infinitely remote, encircled, supported, floating inside it for a moment, but forecasted when you are different onto another plane, even though there am much water you can avoid seeing these flowers or were prone to miss them, was Miss Crevy and her youthful man, apparently peaceful, envied for his or her clearly easy conditions and Angela coveted on her looks by all individuals water beetles if you want, by individuals people standing round.

Eco-friendly makes them vivid, semi-ironical comparisons frequently. Here, the simile concerns the station masters look at crowds of smokers, every third person smoking it could have the ability to looked to Mr Roberts, ensconced in the office away above, like November sun striking through mist rising off water. As Max and Amabel talk on the telephone before he heads off and away to the station (he’s laying to her about his intentions), her observation that here i am like a few old washerwomen slanging away at one another sounds more striking of computer should, as though Amabel were unwittingly situating the storyline inside a world good reputation for the epic. Two pages on, as Alex proceeds with the fog inside a taxi, it appears the [s]treets he experienced were wet as if that fog 20 feet up had deposited water, and glare which lights slapped within the roadways recommended to him he may well be a Zulu, within the Zulus hell of ice, sitting down in the taxi in negligence Umslopogaas together with his axe, skin beating within the hole in the temple …. And Robert Hignam, because he presses with the crowd within the station, remembers:

When small he’d found patches of bamboo in the parents garden also it was his romance in those days to pressure through them they increased so thick you can avoid seeing what temple might lie in ruins just beyond. It had been now, these physiques so thick they may have been an outlet of tailors dummies, water heated. These were so stiff they may as well happen to be soft, inflamed bamboos in groves only while he had once pressed with these, moist and warm.

The shutters are soon likely to come lower within the station, keeping new commuters out Maxs group will probably be at the same time nervously and luxuriously ensconced within the station hotel. Regardless of the feeling of enclosure and jail time (we’re simply inside a condition of siege you realize), the narrative has ramified and been placed on the planet: Party Going is both a comedy along with a cosmology. It is not about being hemmed in or trapped, or about being British. It enacts a fluidity of perception where it is also about being Zulu, about people being when compared with branches, to household servants inside a princes service, where Amabel is famous not just in London however in northern England and Hyderabad, in which the a large number of Smiths, a large number of Alberts, countless Marys seen collected below from the hotel window appear woven tight just like any office carpet or, more stylishly made, the holy Kaaba soon to create out for Mecca. Party Going is partially art-house movie, having a unique soundtrack, and partially certainly one of individuals remarkable British texts, like Basil Buntings Briggflatts, by which locality, eccentricity as well as class flow interior and exterior other cultures. Its this flow that’s envisaged here with regards to the noise, the murmurs, the silences, the laughter and also the courtships that occur as the trains have stopped, to ensure that any time things might open within an unlikely way.

A brand new edition of Henry Vegetables Party Going is printed by NYRB Classics.

Find out more: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/mar/18/henry-green-party-going-amit-chaudhuri

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