Inspiration (and lack thereof)

Over the long weekend, I finished up a project I had been avoiding for almost two years (crazy, right?) I don't know why I never finished it, as the concept and design was really easy. My desire to paint, though, is deeply rooted in inspiration. When I am feeling inspired (by life, by love, by whatever fleeting momentary events that leave me in awe of the world surrounding me), I desire to express via artistic media like painting, writing, etc. I have realized recently that I've been lacking inspiration in my life. I don't know what is going on with me, but I feel like change is in the air. I need to breathe new air, experience new avenues, spread my arms underneath the warm summer sun and just let go. In two weeks, for the first time in almost 10 years, I will be able to do just that.

As soon as I get my act together, I am going to take a couple pictures of the project to post on here just because I can.

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing. 

You know how this is: 
if I look 
at the crystal moon, at the red branch 
of the slow autumn at my window, 
if I touch 
near the fire 
the impalpable ash 
or the wrinkled body of the log, 
everything carries me to you, 
as if everything that exists, 
aromas, light, metals, 
were little boats 
that sail 
toward those isles of yours that wait for me. 

Well, now, 
if little by little you stop loving me 
I shall stop loving you little by little. 

If suddenly 
you forget me 
do not look for me, 
for I shall already have forgotten you. 

If you think it long and mad, 
the wind of banners 
that passes through my life, 
and you decide 
to leave me at the shore 
of the heart where I have roots, 
remember 
that on that day, 
at that hour, 
I shall lift my arms 
and my roots will set off 
to seek another land. 

But 
if each day, 
each hour, 
you feel that you are destined for me 
with implacable sweetness, 
if each day a flower 
climbs up to your lips to seek me, 
ah my love, ah my own, 
in me all that fire is repeated, 
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, 
my love feeds on your love, beloved, 
and as long as you live it will be in your arms 
without leaving mine.


Pablo Neruda

This will most likely get deleted at a later date, but I have a few things to get off my chest. The world, as I see it from my eyes at this particular moment in time, is a really fucking shitty place to be. The vast majority of people are so wrapped up in their own vapid and meaningless lives that they can't take the five seconds to look around them and just truly understand and appreciate everything around them. It's sad, really, when you see someone who's only joy in life is planning their overly-priced vacation, or buying a new car, or making sure they do everything and anything to advance their position in the money-based hierarchy that American culture is obsessed with. Fuck you, capitalism. Fuck you. And fuck everything else, too.


Love always,
Shawn

The final pieces

P.S. If you click on the images, you will be able to see the whole thing. I am horrible at re-sizing images, apparently. :)

Part II of the "Dreams" series

I'm working on a photoart collection with images inspired by the lyrics to songs. This first collection I'm posting is based on "Dreams" by the Cranberries. I wanted the writing to look like slips of paper from a typewriter, like fortune cookies. I don't think it really worked the way I had hoped. Oh well.

Picking Up the Pieces

So here I am once again, blogosphere. Instead of pretending that I'm some prolific writer, I am going to just try and update with little things: fleeting moments and memories from my every day life. When I'm feeling particularly brave or inspired, I might even post a poem. Expect artistic expressions, a lot of rambling, and probably nothing particularly interesting.. I mean, it IS *my* life we're talking about here, people.



Waiting

We're sitting here, waiting,
Two waves on the lonely sea
Waiting for you...
Waiting for me...
Waiting for the us
That could have been but never was.
I can see your wave,
From the balcony of my cheap motel room,
And you crash
Against the jagged rocks below...
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
A million pieces scattered,
Never whole.