Having a muse is kinda the bomb. You have this figure that ignites creativity in you. This person can also be seen as a trigger. Alas, that’s where I am. I don’t know if I like living like this. I can, however, attest that this fucking feeling has taken me across the country. I think that’s the biggest change in my life. Confidence. I started focusing on myself. I had spent years trying to help others. Grant it, some people don’t want help. Forcing it on them actually causes them to “hate” you. You are trying to do something for another person, but it is seen as controlling? Sigh. Continue reading 35,000 Choices Revisited
The fatigue of complex emotions can leave you creatively exhausted. How many hills must you climb? How many sleepless nights must you endure? Where does creativity come from? It is so difficult to piece together, where everything starts and ends. In all of that calamity, there is a beginning.
I felt absolutely shook to the core. Obliterated by words that once spoke niceties…now these syllables are placated lullabies lobbed together with “um’s”. How pathetic to have thoughts of yesteryear to come forth bearing any fruit. All rotted to the core. Studded with “we are only friends”…that friendship cost you our love. Alas, you say you were miserable and you were giving me time. Time? Where was this time? Was I to assume where you stood? Speak up.
Your words would cut like a knife. Now suddenly that cat has got that tongue. What type of creature are you? Vial belittling monster masquerading as a lamb. I look over lids to peer into dark pools in which I drown. There is no lifeguard on deck. All the floating bodies serve as rafts and I am not able to swim.
The Glow- Up
For the past couple of months, I have been racking my brain. I have been trying to figure out who I am. I have been trying to figure out, “What do I offer”? We are brought up thinking we have to “be someone”. Yet, who is this someone? When we become that someone do we get a prize? I don’t know. Maybe I became that someone and hasn’t even realized it yet?
I am tired of being sad. I just want to be fucking awesome. How in the fuck do you do that? I think it just comes to a point, when you are like fuck it. I am doing this. It is happening. If others don’t like it, they can suck it. I am sick of being PC. I legit spent over 20 years being hella proper. Okay, I am still proper. I like to swear though. I think it’s funny. So any fucking way…
I am tired of being sad. I don’t want to apologize for ever feeling sad ever. I think it’s awesome to feel. I think it is outstanding to be so moved that you move yourself into a depression. Only because there is an opportunity for a silver lining. When you’ve dug out of the muck and mire, there is hope. It is a beautiful sunshine minus the troll at the end with gold. You brush off your knees and think, “I made it. “ You went through hell to get to Heaven.
I am a lady with high anxiety. Oddly enough I am letting my fear of virtually everything drive me. So many people think that could be a bad strategy. Well if you have anxiety you totally get it. You get so nervous that you utter, “Fuck it.” That situation was your breaking point. I don’t know what it feels like to not be nervous. I wouldn’t trade my over sensitivity to stimulus for anything. It has literally taken me to Paris, Berlin and Sweden for some strange reason.
My stress self-exploits have recently brought me back to art. Creativity my haven from childhood. I am throwing my 1st exhibition and…
Well you’ll have to wait for the rest.
I have collected all my insecurities and placed them in Petri dishes. I stare at them on occasion when I want to remember who I am. Maybe I look back at them to remember who I have become? At this point in the experiment, everything sort of just blends together.
When you are at the saddest point in your life you feel as if there is nothing left. All you have are memories. All you have are hopes and dreams. Now those things you held dear are no comfort. They feel like talons dragging across your brow. Yet, when you are down for the count all you can do is look up. The sun flickers on your tears and there it is hope. A hope of new beginnings. Such beautiful beginnings, parts of you had to die, in order to see them. I guess my ass is a zombie then? ‘Cause I have done more in death than in life.
Christina M. Watkins
The Abstract Auto-Bio
The quietest noise I ever made, made a huge impact on paper. Or was the impact felt on canvas? I go in between mediums, like a medium? Okay, so I like double meanings. I am a lover of puns. I wish I could understand the complexities of my own mind. Let us travel into thoughts as they unravel.
When am I considered an artist? I look at the great works of yesteryear and cannot but feel I pale in comparison.
I cannot but feel I do not stack up. How much do I have to sell? How much notoriety do I need? Should I fall towards infamy? The answers escape me. All I do know is when I am in the thicket of creation I feel invincible. It is as if the world lifts off my shoulders. I am almost superhuman. Grant it, I cannot lift heavy objects, or jump over buildings. I can, however, escape my insecurities and push myself with pen and ink.
Is that my super strength? Is this when I can consider myself an artist? When all the chips are down, that’s all I have in my corner, my mind’s eye.
A vision that is far past 20/20.
Are you thinking about what you want? You are thinking about the actual projection of your thought. How complex? How beguiling? What does that even mean? Continue reading The Physics of Lack…
On Monday, August 21st ,2017, much of the United States looked at the sky. We gazed high above us at the wonder we call the sun. It shined down on us kissing us with a celestial rarity…an eclipse. Many planned excursions, parties, ,and some even mapped out their doomsday. I stood outside with colleagues. I also gazed up, holding my breath as the clouds rolled over the orange beguiling orb. I shaded my brow and looked away to only see spots. In an instant my mind wandered to you.
My mind tried to piece together your day. My mind tried to meld with yours as the hour drew closer to the lunar and solar overlap. My heart valves opened and closed like many times before, but now the rhythm was in triple time. My mind cast an image of us looking at the Heavens clasping hands. My hand ghosted the air close by. I am wake. I am alone. The moon now imperfectly lays itself across the sun. Clouds enveloped it like a shroud. My eyes squint. I pull out my phone and rattle off a few notes to your dedicated number. The moment has passed. Society lets out a collective sigh. We all pile back into buildings and back into cars.
For moments we were all together and in unison. I looked down at my phone, “Miss you.” That message usurps a thousand eclipses.
Alchemy. Taking blank material and transforming it into something else, is fairly spectacular. Sometimes the intention is not even apparent. This creative process is very interesting and inspiring.
There is such a unique beauty to go from blank canvas to an explosion of color or a creative vibrant script. I hope for the rest of my life to transform my truth into a reflective image.
Original Work: “JSN” 12×14, acrylic on canvas, 2017
Check out more of my work at 19art81.com .
The beauty of creation lead me here today. I don’t know if I truly accept this. I am a part of a tribe. A tribe built on color, texture, and imagination. A visual epilogue of brilliance. Am I worthy of such mental dexterity? Do I tremble before my forefathers of thought? I am beholden to this refuge of peace. Oh, to be with others who see the same vision as I do. What a beautiful thought.
For years I took for granted what was gifted to be. For years I hid like a scared animal, craving the limelight but was intimidated by the glare. Our voices should be heard, so they are added to the spectrum. Yes, we may be turned away. To only those who are blind.
That is okay. I want to be seen, from where I create.