I woke up after four hours of sleep in panic. I have had a dream about going to an interview. I entered a tiny dirty yellow room. There was only one gray window, dead flower in a beige pot, plastic-wooden table and a chair. I was sitting there staring at the shadow. Trembling I took out my portfolio. The silhouette I was talking to was changing between Jareth the Goblin King and Andy Warhol. I knew that I don't want to fail in front of this heroes. I knew, I wasn't good enough. I got paralysed.
I woke up.
The war that one has in one's own mind can be as destructive as a real war. The fears...seeing one owns vulnerability, passions, wishes, dreams, dramas. And one's greatest enemy, the judge: oneself. In my dream I embodied my fear of being not good enough into great people who were only a shadow. The two figures were my own judgement, my own demon showing me that I will fail in what I love to do.
Since I've found out that I can be an artist. I have always wanted to be one. I have always tried to do what I love. I feel, this is who I am. At the moment I am looking for a job. Every time I am opening website, reading the vacant places I feel lost. I have a B.A. in PR and Advertisement and one B.A. in Graphic Design. I like doing stuff in these area, but I love the design more. I want to do creative job and then it will never be a job, it will be just art.
With the moment of growing up we start to put labels. The human mind needs them so it can categorize something in the social structure. It needs them to search and find. I found out that I don't want to be categorized. Even if I want to make art and work as a designer, will this actually make me an artist? Perhaps, I will only be put in this category in my own mind and the heads of the others. But nobody can be "pure" when being labelled, because every soul has too much ingredients and every artist is cooking his creations with them. The longer the artist cooks the deeper he explores and finds out new and magnificent ingredients. The artist does not need a label. So how could an artist find a categorized job?
xoxo
Blackish fluid and unhealthy mist are poisoning my days
Thinking of the self as being an artist
- may be, it is a big mistake
There are spirits in my late night bottle
But there are too many in my head
Gently loving crimson revolver is calling the colour red
This is NOT a suicide
For the many thoughts are stopping me from diving
- not that I don't want to be no more....
But the progress of an artist is to find out - how long?
Sunday, 4 October 2015
Sunday, 10 February 2013
"Arts and the Negativist"
Sometimes I am afraid of the arts. The main reason is the life that I see in a specific picture or in a concrete artwork. It happens so that I can't truly appreciate the peoples works, because of the energy and the colours in them, which are making me sick.
The artists – howling wolves trying to be themselves vomiting their inner worlds. Most of the time I can't bear their understandings. It’s like watching a body without skin and fats – only muscles, red flesh, so red that it makes you want to cut yourself to check out if there’s a possibility to be one of them. Peeled like some sick bastards with a butterfly skin.
And here it comes. My love with the arts. This irritating feeling to see somebody's happiness or sadness overall, emotional world painted on a piece of…of something. This curiosity to see what will happen to your soul and understandings after visiting one or two galleries in a week, this is killing me. We actually are what we see and accept, but aren’t we what we see without accepting it?
The last time when I was putting my outfit on I thought “Great, another piece of shit on you, you're so unique (sarcasm) dressing yourself like every wanna-be artist.” The word “unique” nowadays is a rumour, just simply because no one is. You cannot look unique, there's someone who can have the same looks as you do. Independence in its visual art is quite impossible; the manner is that makes you look independent from everything you have seen. And indeed the manner is the same visual mistake…you've seen something and you're coping it, your thoughts are built from the outer world. The social area destroys your life view and personality which are already created from one's personality and in its own reality it is a kunstprodukt.
The artists are their works and their works are the artist believes.
I may not be a good artist, am I indeed damn it, an artist…don't really care what exactly I am. Actually I am nothing, I am not me, I am a complex of everyone I've seen. We are all nothing but synthetic products of the area we're living in. Our dreams and hopes are already reality in our brains and they aren't really dreams. Why should we have a need to dream of something which is produced by someone else's dreams? Only the pure feelings which cannot be drawn, written, said are these which make us unique and independent in the art of living.
The artists – howling wolves trying to be themselves vomiting their inner worlds. Most of the time I can't bear their understandings. It’s like watching a body without skin and fats – only muscles, red flesh, so red that it makes you want to cut yourself to check out if there’s a possibility to be one of them. Peeled like some sick bastards with a butterfly skin.
And here it comes. My love with the arts. This irritating feeling to see somebody's happiness or sadness overall, emotional world painted on a piece of…of something. This curiosity to see what will happen to your soul and understandings after visiting one or two galleries in a week, this is killing me. We actually are what we see and accept, but aren’t we what we see without accepting it?
The last time when I was putting my outfit on I thought “Great, another piece of shit on you, you're so unique (sarcasm) dressing yourself like every wanna-be artist.” The word “unique” nowadays is a rumour, just simply because no one is. You cannot look unique, there's someone who can have the same looks as you do. Independence in its visual art is quite impossible; the manner is that makes you look independent from everything you have seen. And indeed the manner is the same visual mistake…you've seen something and you're coping it, your thoughts are built from the outer world. The social area destroys your life view and personality which are already created from one's personality and in its own reality it is a kunstprodukt.
The artists are their works and their works are the artist believes.
I may not be a good artist, am I indeed damn it, an artist…don't really care what exactly I am. Actually I am nothing, I am not me, I am a complex of everyone I've seen. We are all nothing but synthetic products of the area we're living in. Our dreams and hopes are already reality in our brains and they aren't really dreams. Why should we have a need to dream of something which is produced by someone else's dreams? Only the pure feelings which cannot be drawn, written, said are these which make us unique and independent in the art of living.
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
She died
It was 24th of December, the first day before Christmas,
or Christmas itself, depends on the place where you live in. Somebody called
my grandmother and told her that she died - my great aunt died in a hospital the same
day. I've never asked how or why she was there. Well we were having lunch with my
family while my grandma received the call. My mum felt into tears, and my grandfather who's
sister passed away - he was stoned. I felt alienated - like I haven't had anything to be sad
about, even about the pain that the others felt. My sister told me I'm cruel and I'm the only
one who doesn't feel anything, after I asked her if she feels alienated as well.
Today is 26th of December and my great-aunt is under the
ground. The funeral was right at 12 o'clock. I don't wanted to go. Firstly I wanted to be there, to
see all the pain, to feel and eat it. Then I thought it would be too cruel. I stayed at home with my
sister. She - my sister, right from the beginning refused to visit the funeral. Me on the other hand, I was
thinking, and still do, about the coffin, about it's shape. Was it traditional as I call it
"Carpathian" model, because the first time i felt in love into a coffin was years ago, while I was watching Van Helsing,
so there I saw the coffins while the blond haired mortician was pretending he was dead in one of them. So
yeah, my twisted mind made me think about coffins. And now while I'm writing I find the possibility of her
laying in an expensive coffin negative. She was a peasant woman. Living at one room all alone with her
cats. Too old. As i know her life was not the best she lost husband and children when she was young. So her
life was in pain. Maria - her name, she was buried without pain. Sounds good...well, she passed away
in a hospital. Don't know if it's because of disease, but even if it was, she was old - 87, as I heard
this morning. My mind leads me to the thought that she don't wanted to live any longer, and to
die at exactly this time. Perhaps her thoughts were "Another Christmas and I'll be alone, but this
Christmas I'll be alone in a hospital lying not on my bed, not in my house, being here in agony. It's time to
join my beloved once, that I lost long time ago".
And her spirit flew away, my imagination builds the
picture of her and what relief she felt at this very moment when her spirit left the body. This weak,
sorrowful body.
My mum and dad came back home from the funeral. Maria is
buried in the cold winter ground. The corpse was born at the 1st day of September, 87 years ago, in year
1925.
66 years after on the very same day I have been born. And
I'm wearing the name of Magdalena.
Sounds funny she was Maria/Marry and me
Magdalena/Magdalene. 66 years teared Marry Magdalene apart.
Bible symbols...some another shit...
She died.
R.I.P.
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Disappointment
It has been a long time since the last time I wrote here. I am not sure if somebody is really that interested in reading the following sentences. I am sorry for my English :}
We all love somebody, or like somebody, or just prefer the one.
Our feelings are making us weak, and much more fragile. Fragility is a common happening in our heart, mind or soul, depends on the way of understanding. We are building a wall with expectation, emotions, fears about ones personality. And one day something happens, our fears are meeting the expectations we have. This changes the structure of the wall and the whole Universe we have built. The emotions, which I am able to see as colour in this case, are changing. The wall looks brand new - new structure, new colour, everything seems to look different. We do not think how is it in real, we are able to accept only what we think we see, after rebuilding the view we are putting a ban in front of us. The wall grows every time when there is a recreation, the reason of it are the emotions. Every time they are more than the previous, we are collecting feelings mixed with emotions. But once again the understanding here depends on the way we explain feeling and emotion. So whatever...feelings + emotions, the wall is growing, changing colours, growing, changing colours and growing, growing, growing...Sometimes it is not able to grow any longer and it stops, when it stops it is so high that only a small blow, like the one we use to blow a small candlestick, is able to ruin it.
We all love somebody, or like somebody, or just prefer the one.
Our feelings are making us weak, and much more fragile. Fragility is a common happening in our heart, mind or soul, depends on the way of understanding. We are building a wall with expectation, emotions, fears about ones personality. And one day something happens, our fears are meeting the expectations we have. This changes the structure of the wall and the whole Universe we have built. The emotions, which I am able to see as colour in this case, are changing. The wall looks brand new - new structure, new colour, everything seems to look different. We do not think how is it in real, we are able to accept only what we think we see, after rebuilding the view we are putting a ban in front of us. The wall grows every time when there is a recreation, the reason of it are the emotions. Every time they are more than the previous, we are collecting feelings mixed with emotions. But once again the understanding here depends on the way we explain feeling and emotion. So whatever...feelings + emotions, the wall is growing, changing colours, growing, changing colours and growing, growing, growing...Sometimes it is not able to grow any longer and it stops, when it stops it is so high that only a small blow, like the one we use to blow a small candlestick, is able to ruin it.
Saturday, 24 November 2012
Book in view 1
Halloween in Sicht!
Publisher: Fisher
I was delightfully surprised finding out how good this book was written. And I paid for it only 1€
If I may say this is the best book for children I read this month. It includes short spooky stories which are suitable for children, teenagers and adults. It gives the feeling of Samhain. And while reading you are able to return back in the old days when peoples believe in creatures was so strong that they were "alive".
Publisher: Fisher
I was delightfully surprised finding out how good this book was written. And I paid for it only 1€
If I may say this is the best book for children I read this month. It includes short spooky stories which are suitable for children, teenagers and adults. It gives the feeling of Samhain. And while reading you are able to return back in the old days when peoples believe in creatures was so strong that they were "alive".
Friday, 16 November 2012
Beetlejuice Outerworld Corridor Is REAL!
Interesting room illusion
by Luiz Eduardo Borges, Brazil
Tim Burton
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
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