heathen

Art has always been a sanctuary for me. I can't claim to be any good at creating it, but having any capacity for self expression is invaluable. Whenever the world outside is bleak and miserable, there's some kind of safe haven within.

When I was in middle school (maybe age 10 or 11), I started taping-pinning-gluing my collection to the wall. Little scraps of paper from my life. Little memories. The cartoonist style post-its from my brother. The origami flowers folded by the friend I've known since I was two. My own little doodles.

I finished messing with it sometime during high school. I'm not exactly sure when - during the times I was zombified by overmedication, my memories get a little hazy. But through all bullshit madness I endured or caused, doing this simple task gave me the space to sort myself out.

So all this time later I found myself staring at the remnants of whatever once was. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it had meant something back then. It was just a wall I splattered the pieces of my soul all over.

I settled on the idea of tearing it down mid-December.

I like the concept of temporary art. The sort that only remains in photographs after it's no longer present in the environment. The kind designed to deteriorate with time.

It was easy to take apart, piece by piece. I've come to a point in life where I favor change- sometimes drastic change- over the stability of a stagnant atmosphere.

These photos are all that remain of the pieces I created.



Every once in awhile I still doodle, though nothing I've seriously spent much time on. I have enough other interests with writing, sewing, photography, modeling, archery, etc... and trying desperately to narrow my focus.

The most recent doodle on the iPad



Pheed Me
Twitter