Friday, December 30, 2011

Little Suzy's Neighbors

Little Suzy sat down and pondered about her life.
"Should she go left or should she go right?"
She knew deep inside that there were questions she must have answered,
so she asked her little neighbors:

The wife told her that she needed to think about her future lover and child.
the things she did would not be fit for their eyes.

The hippie told her that she should enjoy her life,
and not care about society's condemning eyes.

The whore told her that she does not need a man,
for they were just play things; all males should be decieving in little Suzy's eyes.

The artist told her that she needed to concentrate on work,
for what did she have left when everything disappeared right before her eyes?

But only the Heart remained silent and absolutely still,
for it knew what little Suzy really wanted was for someone to hold her and whisper,
"Everything is going to be alright, for you are perfect in my eyes."

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Figure Drawing I 2011

Perspective Freshman 2011

 1-pt perspective: Ancient Ruins

 2-pt perspective: Welcome to Nemo World: Junkyard Scene

3-pt perspective: Welcome to Nemo World: End of the Society

Where the Stars and Snow Meet

Where the Stars and Snow Meet
There's a time in one's life where one must feel
the nature, the sun, and the breeze.
Touch the skin of a bark, kiss the mint leaves,
and dance with the night where stars and winter snow meet.
- dec. 2010

left: abstract design
right: representational design

2-D design freshman year 2011

 Televisions, Screams, and Animalistic Dreams

While the Wind Blows at Dawn 

While the Wind Blows at Sunset 

The Little Match Girl (Winter Abstract) 

 The Gypsy's Psychedelic Dance

If I Were in Love. . .

If I Were in Love. . .
I would sail for the stars, searching for you if you were lost.
I would bask in the morning sun, just because you said you liked me glowing.
I would buy you the infinite bliss I could get, no matter what the cost.
I would hold your hand as we strolled through the autumn mist, hoping,
hoping for your love in return.
I would weave you a sweater, even if it were still summer.
I would collect spring flowers to put in your chestnut, wavy hair.
I would stop the passing of time, just because your heart hurts.
I would softly sing you my heart's favorite tune, hoping,
hoping for your love in return.
I would read books next to you, just to peek at your face.
I would laugh even if it sounded awkward to your pick-up lines.
I would skip, trying to sync our steps and walking pace.
I would wrap you with sheets, captured in my binds, hoping,
hoping, for your love in return.
I would paint my nails the color you see lovely to my complexion.
I would lie next to you when the rain kisses your window.
I would kiss your tear-drenched lips with affection.
 I would fall in love with you again, hoping,
hoping for your love in return.
if only I were in love. . . 
                                             - september 2011

La Lettre d'Amour (The Love Letter)

La Lettre d'Amour
Il une fois y avait un garcon qui etait amoureux.
Il adorait une fille qui avait des cheveux mous.
Ses yeux bleus comme le ciel de minuit,
ses rires frais comme le brouillard enneige,
ses levres rouges comme les roses dans l'eclat.
Oui, aussi rouge que le soleil de cadre a l'est.

Donc, le garcon a trouve des fleurs blanches pour son amour,
et il a marche dans les champs et les rues.
Mais les fleurs blanches sont mortes quand le petit garcon a vu,
sa fille souriait et embrassait un Homme qu'elle s'appellait "son amour".

Ainsi, le garcon a marche lentement a son maison,
avec les fleurs mortes et les petales taches avec la couleur rouge.
Aussi rouge que le soleil de cadre a l'est.
                                          - 2010

To Sit in a Musty Chair

To Sit in a Musty Chair
I sit here now, in a musty, wooden chair,
gazing upon your face and hair as fluid as the wind in the air.
I try to commence a conversation, as gently as I can speak,
yet you gaze on with a stony expression, and silence overcomes the meek.

My fingers kiss your chilled, ivory cheeks,
my lips caress your ears of words from my soul,
yet you still gaze on with a dull expression,
mocking my greed evermore.

I grow impatient, furious that you'd make me anticipate;
yell and scream at you like a ravaged beast,
my gory heart pierced with a obsession and hate.
Yet you still gaze upon me, with your lips unquivering and eyes unmoving.

My eyes ignite with passion and despair,
my mind infested with agony.
My entangled fingers latch onto the Devil's hand,
and tear you limb from limb,
attempt to detach you from me entirely. . . 

Remaining paper pieces float around the foul, distilled air,
your delicate face shredded and fluttering everywhere.
I breathe quite heavily, engulfing flames staining down my face;
but in the corner of my vision I see your eyes,
your fiery, hazel eyes,
gazing upon me still.
Mocking me,
taunting me forevermore.

I sit here now, in a musty, wooden chair,
gazing upon your face and hair as fluid as the wind in the air.
                                                   - 2010

Ode to Tommy

Ode to Tommy
Strange and odd is this quiet fellow,
always roaming about and never quite still.
His carrot-stained hair is flamboyant and curled,
blended with a splatter of milk, so soft and pleasant.
The striking azure of his sharp, wide eyes,
makes one's breath escape their mouth,
bewildered and hypnotized.
When he asks for food he does this little thing.
Sits right at your doorstep and waits,
waits patiently until you emerge out of the human dorm.
Stares at you innocently, with those big blue eyes,
and faintly utters an pitiful, little cry.
To make you emotional he cuddles your legs,
drawing you into a bittersweet fantasy.
You see, this fellow is very sly and clever,
uses his wit and charm to disarm your armor.
Especially when he uses his technique on how to say please,
the very noise he emits makes you weak in the knees.
The sun is his friend,
and the cement his bed,
but how peaceful does his modest visage show.
For all he does is absorb all the light, curl up into a sphere-shaped ball
and waits, 
waits for me to show.
                                             - 2008


The wailing, the sighs the earth will make,
chills the souls of the living.
The trees will quiver,
birds will whisper,
and people will wheeze warmth into their hands.
The mountains will groan,
and oceans will roar,
for nature will bring life again.
                               - 2008

I Was a Jagged Line

I Was a Jagged Line
I was a jagged line.
Sharp, unbearable, and wrathful.
Dips and spikes had decorated my lines.
Many pounded on me only to recoil with excruciating pain,
for I was surely not the kind, the kind you'd want to toy with.

Deceitful, dark, and wan.
I was the eclipse that tormented the sun and swallowed its light,
the fangs the lion bared and the poison the snake wore.
I used my briar to protect myself form the outside.
Deep inside I was strained and defenseless,
scared that my foes would kill me with my weakness.
So I built a fort and locked myself inside,
threw away the key and brought a musket at my side.
Shot a few people who were just passing by,
my jagged line began to grow as I murdered inside.

I was a jagged line.
Innocent as a crimson rose,
agonizing as the thickest thorn.
I was like a poison poured into the purest cup.
Sweet with the wine but at the end came the demise,
for I was surely not the kind, the kind you'd want to toy with.

Difficult, bitter, miserable.
My lines had many dents and smudges,
that were in need to be straightened and erased clean away.
The pain was too much to bear and the darkness was near,
I felt like I was dying inside.

My crooked lines had cuts and twists,
tears and blood were all inter-mixed. 
Only one artist noticed and gazed at my deformation.
He took a long eraser and diminished all my impressions.
Grabbed a thin, wet brush and made me into a new black mark.
Had made me into something special that I hadn't been before.
The painter created me into an odd yet unique shape,
and used me to finish a masterpiece;
the smile on Mona Lisa's face.
                                       - 2008

Troubled Leaves

Troubled Leaves
The pines tingle and tremble in the dusk of day.
The snow remains steady and dares not to breathe.
The wind softly moans around the colden decay.
The flakes dart back and forth, hiding among the trees.
The clouds claw the sky, leaving desperate, pleading gashes.
The last blades of grass sweat from the ominious presence.
The fog hovers in and crawls amongst the grime and ashes,
as the forest is consumed with an eerie silence.
                     - 2010

The Truth about Love

The Truth about Love
Love is like a fleeting train.
One boards it without knowing the end,
while watching others come and go through the window pane.

One sees the clouds, the scenic vapors, and the olive trees,
yet never feels the soft, lusting breeze.

Thus, one just sits stagnant and absolutely at will,
until the time comes when it halts to a still.
                                                    - 2010

The Most Beautiful Demon

The Most Beautiful Demon
Here I lie in the dawn of wake,
a time between mist and a night of fate,
a peculiar demon flew by the glass of the window
and began knocking, knocking,
for my heart to quake. 

I cried in disbelief,
my face turning ice stone cold,
my blood began killing me,
chilling me, as bitter as the white winter snow.
Yet my heart lingered on as the demon gazed upon,
knocking, knocking,
for my soul to wake.
                                                               - december 2011  

Artist Journals

 Unrequited Love
 L'infant de Fleur
Bubble Bath
Tiki Warrior
ink/color pencils

Young Folks
ink/watercolor/color pencils
Anatomy of the Human Subconscious Mind
In the Breeze
Finite and Balance
graphite/color pencils
Innocent Affair
 Hair have Eyes
ink/color pencils
 Like Father Like Son
ink/nail polish
 Peter Pan
 Voodoo Sage
 Fashion Recycled
ink/pencil shavings
 Spirits and Festivals
 Once Upon a Time. . .
 C'est Noir Aujourd'hui
 Odd Couples
 Naked Women
 Naked Woman 2
 Garden Child