I don't think you can ever be too old for the completely and utterly unreal.

Also, I definitely painted this :)
And this one came completely from my mind.  I don't owe the idea to anyone.
And I know it isn't realistic.
That's kinda the point.

So apparently I'm only really happy when I'm making something.
Who knew?

What is art?

Personally, I kind of despise that question, as well as the other kinds of questions that kind of go with it, such as:
"How do you define yourself as an artist?"
"What do you want to say through your art?"

Have you ever had to do one of those reflections?  Answer pointless questions that you don't know the answer to, so you just pretend you do and try to use the word juxtaposition so that it sounds smart?

What is art?  Maybe there isn't one definition.  Maybe it isn't a tangible thing, maybe it's not something that you can use words to describe.  A picture is worth a thousand words, so why even bother to try and make up the difference?  For some people, even just living your life could be an art - the most beautiful thing you have to show for all your time and effort is the fact that you are here, alive, on this Earth that can be so goddamn beautiful.  And you're a part of it.  Maybe art is just creating something beautiful, so maybe your child is your greatest masterpiece.  Maybe art is just love.
I don't know.
How you define yourself as an artist?  Why do you have to?  People change all the time, people are the most wonderfully fucked up, beautiful creatures that can read and write and talk and make art, if they want to.  There aren't enough words in the English Language to describe even one person's entire personality or life.
And as for what you want to say, why do you have to explain yourself?  I know I have no idea what I'm saying - it's just a feeling, or just a pretty picture, but I know I don't feel obligated to answer "What are you saying" with anything else but "What do you hear?"  because everyone is different and everyone sees different things.
And I know I'm not necessarily the best artist in the world, but should that even be a factor in what makes "Art"?

Why do we need to answer all these questions?  Why do we need to label and categorize everything?  I know if there are words for it it makes more sense, but maybe part of its beauty is the fact that you can never know exactly what it is.

Maybe that's what art is.
But that's just my opinion.



A slightly different watercolour violin.

The difference is sharpie and a different scanner.

The picture came from a National Geographic.  I just thought the fact that there was a man playing fiddle to his chickens, and so I had to paint it.  Also it was an assignment, but whatever.

Sunday, Monday, Happy Socks
Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Socks
Thursday, Friday, Happy Socks

I do not take credit for the pattern, or the yarn.  I'm just really pleased with the fact that I knit socks

When it froze, when it snowed, the world felt normal.
Is that wrong?

Now it's getting warm again,
And the world is spiralling into madness.

Sister Blog

My sister also has a blog.  Hers is infinitely better than mine because it actually centers around one theme.

Here, have a link:

http://atlassmiles.wordpress.com/

Hello, world.
It's been a while.
How's the life?

I feel no obligation to apologize for my brief absence.  While not on this blog,  I did many a productive thing that I would not have done if I was blogging. I feel that it is silly to apologize for lack of an addiction to the internet.

I finished knitting my first pair of socks, which are brightly colored and wonderful.  I actually made a lot of mistakes, but they're my socks and I love them anyway.
I may or may not post pictures next week when I actually have access to my camera.

I started violin lessons again, for the first time in about a year.  It's ridiculous that I already feel like I play better after one forty-five minute lesson, but it's true.

I still do not have a job.

I have, however, caught the mysterious and surprisingly strong disease entitled motivation.
I have never felt motivation (school-wise) before in my life.  I can usually coast by without studying or doing homework or anything and get a decent mark somewhere in the range of the eighties.
Except the issue is that the eighties cease to be good enough when you find a school that looks perfect to you, where they award a scholarship to whoever gets in, and it's in New York City.
I've been to New York once before.  And there are no words to describe how that city feels.  I don't know how to describe it - it just transcends everything.  Usually I hate cities, but apparently the presence of Broadway outweighs the inherent disadvantages of a total lack of trees. (Seriously, I was there for  a week and saw no living trees except the one day where we wandered in Central Park)
Travel journal-type-things may or may not follow, although I am going to Wales for a week in March, and I will definitely post pictures and drawings and ramblings on that topic.  Hooray for non-sequitors.
The only issue is that this perfect amazing school has a seven percent acceptance rate.
So I have to study.
The eighties aren't good enough.
I have to have 100 percent.
In everything.
I'm going to go become the perfect human being now.
Later.

Hasty multicolored violin

My two favorite actor names

"He's a psychopath"
"No, I'm not, I'm just a high-functioning sociopath.  Do your research"

1 - Benedict Cumberbunch - actor - Sherlock

2 - Fyvush Finkle - actor - Picket Fences

The end of another holiday has come and, once again, I find myself one again sitting cross-legged on a chair too high for my computer desk watching shows like "8 simple rules for dating my teenage daughters" and "Radio Free Roscoe" and eating salteens.

My life is empty.

This log is definitely a horse

It was actually my own picture this time

New Year's Eve

Because blogger is wonderful and allows one to schedule their posts aforetime,
I am posting this on midnight on New Year's Eve.

I'm the kind of person who believes in beginnings and endings and everything in between, landmarks, stories and the people.
Oddly enough.
Last year at this time, or a little before this time, two of my friends were wearing furry onesies and dancing around singing Macavity.  They also put on highland dancing costumes at one point, to sing what may or may not have been You Can't Stop the Beat.

Since then, I've been to New York City, I've lost people and I've found new ones.  Yay me.
I made a blog.
?

Really, all I want to say is, in the words of the miraculous Dean Martin,  "Put your troubles away till tomorrow. If you’re lucky, someone’ll break into your house tonight and steal ‘em!”

I'm not sure what that has to do with New Years.
Maybe that's my resolution