Shapes

It's the circle in the square.

The idea doesn't work.

And I know it won't.

But I thought of it anyways.

Somehow the circle fits.

Because it's just lines on paper.

And lines on paper are easily crossed.

Almost 16?

1. I seem suffer an injury for every self portrait I take, this one caused head trauma from tripping over my tripod.
   
2. I'm terrified of dark windows I can't see out of at night, I've always thought there was someone outside looking in at me I couldn't see.
   
3. The last time I cried because I was physically hurt was four years ago, when a guy friend started smashing my broken wrist into the desk, because I told him it was impossible for my wrist to hurt at all so long as it was in it's cast.
   
4. When I was a baby I was born with a fluffy red Mohawk.
   
5. The one thing I regret in my whole life was going along with a plan to get rid of one of my very best friends. Everything was resolved, but every time I see her I feel unworthy to be her friend after what I did. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself, and I hope I never do.
   
6. I'm really freakishly shy if you don't know me, but if you knew me well, you'd know better than to think that.
   
7. I have a REALLY bad temper, but I'm very good at keeping it inside.
   
8. I'm not very religious at all, but it's mainly because I don't know what to believe. It's the bad thing about being imaginative and logical at the same time, it makes me very conflicted.
   
9. I think my cat is the best smelling thing in the entire universe; I just like to ENHALE her. =P
   
10. I really hate retouching my face when I upload self-portraits, but I'm incredibly self-conscious of my skin.
    
11. I've been told many times to write in to those embarrassing moment columns in magazines, because stuff like that seems to happen to me all the time.
    
12. Each of my ears is completely different, but I like to think it gives me character. J
    
13. I can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't confused, but I think that could be a good thing because I always have an argument for every side, so I tend not to miss many options.
    
14. If you examine the contents of my room, you can find out almost anything about me.
    
15. Last year someone I cared about a lot shattered me, and I'd do anything to understand exactly what happened in the whole messy thing, to try and help myself continue to get over it all.
    
16. When I talk about my insane British grandmother, I mean it in the most loving way possible, because I'm pretty sure she's where I got all my character from.

Broken.

I know I really shouldn't. It shouldn't matter at all. It's so stupid. Even if I knew it all along and I was just deluding myself that I was being completely, utterly, ferociously, back stabbed. I'm so confused but I shouldn't be, I should know whats wrong with me but I don't, I'm sorry, but I' guess I'm just one huge ass living faliure at life.

Careers Projects

Digital production, documentation practices, introduction to portraiture, first year programs, undergraduate requierments, portfolio applications, OCAD, Sheridan, Ryerson, residence accomodations, STU/SEM courses, Liberal studies, faculty of arts electives.

Nononononononononononono.

Why are you making me think of this now?

I'm too young to go to unniversity, to plan my future.

I don't want to ever leave my friends.

I don't want to grow up.

Faller

I smile that special tight smile.

My face goes the special shade of pink.

I feel the special little pulse in my neck.

My stomach twists in special knots.

My spine tingles in special patterns.

I'm falling in that special way.

Yellow Belt

It seems wrong for a girl to beat people up to impress a boy.

Maybe I'm sexist.

Dreaming with a broken heart

Last night was really great, I didn't think you loved me like that, I didn't think anyone ever would.

But unfortunately when I woke up I was only hugging my pillow, and it was damp from the feeling of abandonment and the loneliness wouldn't let me escape back to you for the rest of the night.

Life.

If I knew you in real life,

And you didn't live in a different country,

And you weren't taken,

And I wasn't too shy,

I could be your good friend,

Because you seem to be more me than I am.

Life isn't fair, but it's not like I didn't know that already.

Why, hello there...

Who are you mysterious flickr boy?

You and me may be the same person.

But I hate to say that my stream can't show you that.

I want to learn about you.

You fascinate me.

Oh no no no dear girl, this is a BAD idea.

But he makes me... smile.

It was a dream.

I had the most amazing dream.

Of a boy who looked in to the sun and whose eyes lit up into the most unusual shade of blue.

And he turned to me and smiled.

And he never said anything to me.

But I could hear his thoughts, and looking in his eyes I knew that he was thinking about only me.

And we sat in the sun together, and no one else could come in, because we we're the special two.

And they talked and speculated, but they never knew about our secret arrangement.

But the boy gave up trying to hold me in.

And he let me go.

And I got tired of staying with him.

And now that I'm free we don't have any sunlight anymore.

But every time I hear this boy I know's voice,

I think of sunny windows and blue eyes and sappy blog posts.

A secret.

I'd never felt so claustrophobic in my life,

than when I heard you'd set me free.

But if you hadn't,

I'm afraid I might still be in love with you.

Flash.

There's a new picture in my head I've been making for a while now.

It's too fantastically true and made up to photograph.

I love photography.

But this is when I get out my pencils and draw my feelings.

Ink

I'm a very multicoloured canvas, with unlimited dimensions.

But when you go in to "levels", and drag everything down, I'm a pure white canvas.

With a black splotch right smack in the middle, that you didn't notice before.

And even though there's infinately more white than black,

all you see is the black, because it's so much darker and different from the rest, it's hard to look away.

Hoped

Oh dear.

That's not good.

I guess I was hoping you stopped writing because you had nothing to write about.

I guess I was just hoping.

I should know by now things like these just don't go away.

But I was hoping that they would.

I'm a stupid idiotic naive hoper.

Mirages.

I'm walking through my desert.

And I've just managed to start enjoying the heat.

And I've found some people along the way I can laugh with and who can keep me company.

And things aren't that bad anymore.

The problems only come out quickly at night in the darkness, but I lock them away safely and they don't bother me in the morning.

But the heat is really quite hot.

And sometimes, even though I'm trying to enjoy it I miss my snow and my winter.

And when I see the mirages I do, I really hope that they're just mirages and not actually real.

Because that would just open up all my little problems and splay them out to bake in the sun with me.

And I'm hoping these mirages are real even though I shouldn't, but they can't be anyways because it wouldn't make any sense.

So when I look up from smiling and laughing and being the most out-going in the room, in to my lap so I can't see you.

And manage to meet your eyes across the circle.

I pretend I can't feel your hand through all the hands that are linking us.

And I pretend I don't wish I were sitting next to you so I could finally be allowed to touch those hands.

And I pretend you weren't looking at me and smiling when  I look up.

I pretend you aren't happy to see me again.

Because that would spill all my problems out to bake.

I've cracked.

I've craked, it was bound to happen someday.

Because I'm laughing and crying at the same time.

And I've never felt so happy at once before.

Or missed anyone so completely.

I'll just sit here smiling and feeling like the luckiest girl.

Who was hooked up from the mud and thrown in to the sky.

And has finally realised she can fly without her hook.

Thank you. So. Much.

Oh dear.

I love him still.

He's just too... loveable.

But it's okay.

Because I only love him.

And that's it.

Because he's sweet.

And it's okay to love him.

When I'm not in love with him.

Happy Birthday

Reminder at 12:00.

Happy Birthday!

Hugely decorated locker, mini cake, hugs.

Happy Birthday!

Whispered singing, embarrassment.

Happy Birthday!

Candy question right, unselfish Kassy, he said it like old times.

Happy Birthday!

Inside jokes, more hugs, free food, happy, silly.

Happy Birthday!

No presentation, slack class, hanging out.

Happy Birthday!

Unit test, being smart, Mr. Rennie remembering.

Happy Birthday!

Free cookies, photography, being brave, Carol of the Bells.

Happy Birthday!

Being mobbed;

Happy Birthday!

And it continues.

Happy Birthday!

Best. Birthday. Ever. I. Love. My. Friends. Life. Is. Good.

:D:D:D:D:D:):):)=)=):D

The Heartache Can Wait, Brandi Carlile

You're talking about leaving 
It's right about Christmas time 
Thinking about moving on 
I think I might die inside 

I'm thinking about years gone by 
I'm thinking about church at midnight 
I'm thinking about letting go 
I think that might finally be alright 

But this is where we shine 

Silver bells and open fire 
And songs we used to sing 
One more chance to be inspired 
Is what I'm offering if love is not enough 
Then stay with me because 
The heartache can wait 

It's not about hanging on 
It's making my deal with God 
If I could call one last truce 
We've given it all we've got 

Then I'm gonna catch my breath 
And make it a long December 
If we've got nothing left 
This could be worth remembering 
With a smile upon my face 

Silver bells and open fire 
And songs we used to sing 
One more chance to be inspired 
Is what I'm offering if love is not enough 
Then stay with me because 

Silver bells and open fire 
And songs we used to sing 
One more chance to be inspired 
Is what I'm offering if love is not enough 
Then stay with me because 
The heartache can wait

Epic.

You know that place?

Where you feel so huge?

And every thing you do is so important?

And you want to run outside,

with cinematic flashing shots,

to run to the climax of the movie?

And you feel it all swell up in your chest?

That flash of giant inspiration,

that makes you want to scream and play air guitar,

and make art?

That's where I'm at.

A Rant.

WARNING: RANT AHEAD.

Yesterday morning in careers I read a very dream-shattering article on the Internet. It was about how photography isn't art, I will never be successful as a photographer, photography is only popular because it's easy, and that if I did get a good career in photography I would be subjected to spending the rest of my life shooting mindless photos of weddings, babies and other creative-ly confining subjects. 

It's been eating away at me for the past couple of days, and I'm only barely able not to track down the person who wrote that article and kill them slowly and painfully. I'm not going to pretend I know ANYTHING about any of this, but this is my opinion.

1. Photography is an art. It's not just about taking a frozen image from our lives, it's also about creating an image that is ART. If you knew every tiny little technical detail on how to mathematically manipulate dials and shutters and apertures and ISO numbers and who knows what on a camera, in order to get the most  scientifically technologically beautiful picture, I'm sure it would look like a piece of crap if you didn't have talent. That's not to say if you had all the talent in the world, and didn't know how to work a camera you'd get a great photo, but there is nothing scientific about some of the greatest photos ever taken. Think about "Afghan Girl".It's (arguably, of course) one of the greatest photos of all time. Yes the colours are nice, the background isn't distracting. And sure, in this version her face looks a tad low in the frame to me, but honestly looking at this photo is that really what anyone actually sees? Personally, I see the emotion in her eyes and in her dirt covered face.  This photo tells a story, and it communicates something to whoever's looking at it and creates some emotional response. That to me is one of the many signs of art. I'm well aware how much technical knowledge helps photography, I understand what aperture, ISO, shutter speed, mega pixels, etc. are. It's hard to explain! You need both, but if you had to pick one or the other, go for the thing you can't learn. The invisible magic substance in your soul that tells you what you need to know.
2. It isn't EASY. I sort of touched upon this already, but you can't just flippantly pick up a camera and take a snap shot of something pretty. Even if you have talent, that's not to say you don't have to WORK to get it to show through. I personally am not even close to being an amazing photographer. I'm maybe about .000001% there. But I honestly feel that I've improved immensely from my first crappy little shot of wet pine needles to the photos I take now that I am personally very proud of. And I worked HARD to do that. I looked things up, I read my whole manual, I tested out every function on my camera. I took photos of identical things from different angles and lights, trying to get different emotions. I take maybe 80 photos at least usually to get one I'm satisfied with. You need to pay attention to different elements and think and see artistically.
3. Now, as to making it a career... that's one thing I still need to think about. There are so many pros and cons and lists and issues and decisions, I have no idea. I don't even know any professional photographers, but there are some I think I could maybe contact. I think it would be great to be a photographer, it's not something I just find fun, it's something I really LOVE and hold very close to my heart. When I'm out creating photos, even if they aren't the best, I feel like I'm doing something amazing and natural and calming and inspiring. It just feels like something I have to be doing. I honestly, truly, LOVE photography. I don't know if I'll ever succeed at getting to make it my profession, but whatever I do I will definitely incorporate it into my life.

And then... 

I went on to find one of the people who's work I admire most's photo to show up on DIGG, not posted by her. I was heartbroken as I read all the disgusted comments, the stupid jokes, people made fun of the COMMENT she wrote at the bottom. Hey, it wasn't the most intellectual thing anyone could say, but please people, grow up. 

My opinion on photoshop:

The photo was VERY heavily photoshopped, and I'll admit the original looked a bit crappy. But I've been thinking, and I've decided that photoshopping an image is just as much an art form as taking one is. You need to pay attention to lighting and texture and contrast and composition, and I really, really, admire this DIGITAL ARTIST'S work, because I think it's usually gorgeous and it conveys so much feeling and character through it that I find it difficult to believe that someone could be so stupidly narrow-minded that they would completely miss the entire point of her work. Maybe I've been using the wrong word for her this whole time, and I think I have been. I'd definitely say she's a digital artist, not necessarily a photographer. A painter might paint a painting. And then he might think, hey, this would look a lot better if I added some snow on top. And maybe I could get rid of this funny looking branch here, and add in a couple holding hands and walking down the street together in the background. And would people say it wasn't art anymore?

This isn't to say that anyone who photoshops their photos slightly is a digital artist, no way. I mean, even before photoshop there was dodging and burning and contrast enhancing and cropping going on, in the DARKROOM. I like it when people call photoshop and similar programs digital darkrooms, I think it's completely true, very, very advanced darkrooms with tons more features, but all the same, there's nothing new about editing our photos after we take them.

Photography is art because...

"Because there is a difference between a picture and a photograph. Anyone can learn to operate a camera. The art comes in when you start cheating the camera. You select a non-standard exposure and/or aperture, you select the framing of the photograph and its composition. If you are shooting in a studio you control the lighting. A professional photographer once told me that a real artist with a camera can take a black and white photograph of an apple and the viewer will know whether it is red, yellow or green. I learned what seemed like a million things from him but I still take pictures and he seldom misses the opportunity to tell me."

"Photography is an art for the same reason modern art is art. Its the process the effort and the thought that's put into it. Photography may not be as time consuming as other media, but all the elements of art are present. What differentiates a photo from a snapshot is first the art elements(i.e. rule of thirds, composition, lighting, line, shape, form, etc. that all would be present in a drawing or painting). Then secondly the meaning that is behind the photograph, which is also present in other art mediums. Fine art photographs are supposed to be worth a thousand questions not a thousand words. Granted, a photograph can make a statement, but along with that statement should come the question why. Photography is mostly considered an art form because it is meant to give a completely different perspective on the way our world is portrayed. I could go on about this forever......"

This is an endless debate, and I have about forty million different and conflicting opinions on it, so I think I may stop for now and go stew for a bit. Though I think the best comment I've heard made on this whole photography/art/photoshop etc debate has been:

"I myself do not use the word ART ever.
I never argue or even contemplate this issue.
I have replaced the word ART with SELF EXPRESSION a long time ago.
l same goes for the word ARTIST."

A bit blunt, but a very good point.

Ugh ugh ugh.

Why do I always hate you at night?!

And then in the morning everything's fine?

This is so stupid.

Shhh...

The hidden things aren't things when you  live here.

The hidden things are the lip biting and the tooth clenching to try and keep them all hidden.

When I grab my own wrist, and hold down backspace so I don't type that.

I don't hit enter.

Ever.

Sometimes the lid cracks and all of them look out and up at the world, and some escape.

Like Pandora's box, releasing all the feelings in to the carefully sterile world.

Sure it'd be great, and things would be free and there would be release and colour.

But not all the colour would be good, and some of the most important colours would be off.

So I'm going to keep sitting here, holding the box closed with my weight.