Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sketch #27
In honor of my sister getting her first tattoo in the last few days of her 18th year. She got one on her lower back. These are the ancient Vietnamese characters of her full name. BTW, this is not her back.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Sketching and Self-Reflection
I like the way a good sketch makes me feel more alive. When I’m infatuated/in love/obsessed with someone, I see more hues. I see more clearly. That’s why it makes sense to sketch during those times. Now, though, I don’t feel much for anyone. There’s Lady Librarian, but she’s more like a dream lady to me. I’ve given up trying to speak to her. I just wait until she turns away and then I give her back dark, smoldering looks. And I try to memorize her.
Is that creepy?
Well, I’ve given up being normal, being conversational, being healthily among people. Now, I spend lots of time by myself, staring at the wall or laying on the couch staring at the ceiling or squatting next to one of my plants and staring at a leaf.
More than a few times, I’ve told my sister Christine that I feel unbearably lonely. And she rolls her eyes and sneers back—Well, no wonder. It’s been years since you’ve called [name] and [name] and . . . And then I would feel even more guilty because it’s true. I am guilty of leaving so many friends behind. One day, for no apparent reason, I just stop communicating. I can’t even give a good reason to myself. Most of the time, I don’t know what I mean by lonely.
Well, lately, doing all this sketching has made me realized what I mean by I feel lonely. I feel lonely for myself. When I’m really busy, I feel lonely for the deepest, truest part of myself—who is an artist and a writer. I’m a creative person who has given up art and writing to pursue science. And it has cost me. I don’t know how to survive as an artist and a writer, so I’ve chosen a career. A scientific career. And I’m afraid that I’ll wake up one day and realize that Myself has left and what is left is a shell.
This summer is a gift. I am so glad that I failed two classed and they put me on probation and I have to spend a whole extra year in college. Because If I hadn’t failed, I would be spending this summer pursuing my scientific career and wondering why I felt so unhappy. Instead, I failed, hence I have an easy summer, hence, I chased after Myself, hugged her back into my mind, placed a sketching instrument into her hand and a sketch book into her lap, and told her to be herself.
Sometimes, I feel like going back to former sketches and reworking them, but I don’t. I have less than two months of vacation left, and I need to get as many sketches done as possible, because I am pursuing . . . something unexplainable. I’m . . . pursuing art. That’s the best way to put it. I am racking up ideas for the empty, sad times ahead, so that I can look on this blog when I’m not sketching, and I can see that my art hasn’t died yet. Oh, so dramatic, but I feel like these sketches are headed somewhere. Maybe it’s the birth pains of developing my own artistic style. Who knows.
Even last year, when I painted a thirty foot long beach mural, I could not have sketched like this. And I am not currently obsessed with anyone. So why am I sketching like this—as though there were a purpose to these sketches? Maybe, just maybe, I am pursuing my artistic career? If so, I have cause for celebration.
Is that creepy?
Well, I’ve given up being normal, being conversational, being healthily among people. Now, I spend lots of time by myself, staring at the wall or laying on the couch staring at the ceiling or squatting next to one of my plants and staring at a leaf.
More than a few times, I’ve told my sister Christine that I feel unbearably lonely. And she rolls her eyes and sneers back—Well, no wonder. It’s been years since you’ve called [name] and [name] and . . . And then I would feel even more guilty because it’s true. I am guilty of leaving so many friends behind. One day, for no apparent reason, I just stop communicating. I can’t even give a good reason to myself. Most of the time, I don’t know what I mean by lonely.
Well, lately, doing all this sketching has made me realized what I mean by I feel lonely. I feel lonely for myself. When I’m really busy, I feel lonely for the deepest, truest part of myself—who is an artist and a writer. I’m a creative person who has given up art and writing to pursue science. And it has cost me. I don’t know how to survive as an artist and a writer, so I’ve chosen a career. A scientific career. And I’m afraid that I’ll wake up one day and realize that Myself has left and what is left is a shell.
This summer is a gift. I am so glad that I failed two classed and they put me on probation and I have to spend a whole extra year in college. Because If I hadn’t failed, I would be spending this summer pursuing my scientific career and wondering why I felt so unhappy. Instead, I failed, hence I have an easy summer, hence, I chased after Myself, hugged her back into my mind, placed a sketching instrument into her hand and a sketch book into her lap, and told her to be herself.
Sometimes, I feel like going back to former sketches and reworking them, but I don’t. I have less than two months of vacation left, and I need to get as many sketches done as possible, because I am pursuing . . . something unexplainable. I’m . . . pursuing art. That’s the best way to put it. I am racking up ideas for the empty, sad times ahead, so that I can look on this blog when I’m not sketching, and I can see that my art hasn’t died yet. Oh, so dramatic, but I feel like these sketches are headed somewhere. Maybe it’s the birth pains of developing my own artistic style. Who knows.
Even last year, when I painted a thirty foot long beach mural, I could not have sketched like this. And I am not currently obsessed with anyone. So why am I sketching like this—as though there were a purpose to these sketches? Maybe, just maybe, I am pursuing my artistic career? If so, I have cause for celebration.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sketch #23
Sometimes, I become mesmerized with one of my sketches. I wonder—Who are you, strange one?
Friday, July 3, 2009
Sketch #22
My brother and I went to Hobby Lobby and the mall today. I got another sketch book, some more sketching pens, and my brother got watercolor paper and charcoal pencils. We had to sit around for twenty minutes to wait for the bus, so we sat in the food court area, which features a carousel. I looked around for something to sketch, and my eyes lighted on a bunny. My brother said~ You should sketch something that doesn’t move. I said~ I know, but there’s nothing else interesting. So for the next ten minutes, I watched two boys get on and off bunny and I sketched it as it rushed past me every few seconds.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Meals on Wheels
Today, as part of my Community Nutrition class, I delivered meals to the elderly and infirm for Meals on Wheels. This is the report I wrote about my experience~
On July 1, 2009, Kyle and I delivered six meals to Meals on Wheels participants within Columbia. Many of the participants were shy but very polite. When they opened their doors, I always began with, “Hi, I’m a university student and I am delivering your meal today.” The participants, all elderly except for one, would glance quickly at us, then stare at the floor for a moment, and then look around for the meal. I usually stumbled while saying my introduction because they would be reaching for the meal quickly, and then politely but adamantly saying, “Thank you,” and be closing the door—all quicker than I can twelve words. One elderly woman was the exception. She was watching for us and met us in her driveway and had kind words to say to us when we told her we were university students. The last woman we delivered to was not elderly, but her voice trembled as she said “Thank you” and she was breathless, almost dropping the meal as we handed her bag of bread over. It was my impression that it takes great courage for her to open her door to the world everyday.
I had a wonderful time delivering the six meals. Meals on Wheels “meets the psychological and nutritional needs of homebound elderly participants” by providing human contact as a nutritional meal is delivered five days a week. The food looked good. My stomach was growling. Perhaps for many participants, this is usually their only human contact for the whole day. Many homes, as we stood in the doorway, smelled musty and dusty, as though unused to company. Perhaps the participants were shy because we were new people to them, but if we delivered weekly, I think we could have eventually been able to chat and be friendly. Many participants seemed ashamed to be receiving the meal. Their downcast eyes and abrupt movements speak of shame, and I wish I had a way to reassure them that there is no shame. Instead of saying, “Bye, have a nice day,” I should have said, “Thank you for being part of this program.” That’s the way I felt—thanks for letting us feel that we do not cast away our elders into loneliness and hunger.
On July 1, 2009, Kyle and I delivered six meals to Meals on Wheels participants within Columbia. Many of the participants were shy but very polite. When they opened their doors, I always began with, “Hi, I’m a university student and I am delivering your meal today.” The participants, all elderly except for one, would glance quickly at us, then stare at the floor for a moment, and then look around for the meal. I usually stumbled while saying my introduction because they would be reaching for the meal quickly, and then politely but adamantly saying, “Thank you,” and be closing the door—all quicker than I can twelve words. One elderly woman was the exception. She was watching for us and met us in her driveway and had kind words to say to us when we told her we were university students. The last woman we delivered to was not elderly, but her voice trembled as she said “Thank you” and she was breathless, almost dropping the meal as we handed her bag of bread over. It was my impression that it takes great courage for her to open her door to the world everyday.
I had a wonderful time delivering the six meals. Meals on Wheels “meets the psychological and nutritional needs of homebound elderly participants” by providing human contact as a nutritional meal is delivered five days a week. The food looked good. My stomach was growling. Perhaps for many participants, this is usually their only human contact for the whole day. Many homes, as we stood in the doorway, smelled musty and dusty, as though unused to company. Perhaps the participants were shy because we were new people to them, but if we delivered weekly, I think we could have eventually been able to chat and be friendly. Many participants seemed ashamed to be receiving the meal. Their downcast eyes and abrupt movements speak of shame, and I wish I had a way to reassure them that there is no shame. Instead of saying, “Bye, have a nice day,” I should have said, “Thank you for being part of this program.” That’s the way I felt—thanks for letting us feel that we do not cast away our elders into loneliness and hunger.
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