more notebook pages

black book

decided to post some of the stuff from my black book; a project from my painting classes. the idea was to select an artist and create a sketch of an idea for a painting that is inspired by their work. so these pieces are heavily influenced by other artists but w/e. the artists are hecka cool so you should def check them out

notebook pages

a list of moments, part I (an exercise in imagery)

You are sitting in an armchair, body wracked with weakness and curled into a sickly heap. The windows are open, washing the room in quiet sunlight. It is autumn. You clutch a mug of coffee, half-empty and tepid, eyes fixed ahead of you. You, so bundled with blankets that your cheek is the only place the breeze can touch; you, eyelids heavy with the dense sweetness of sleep. Soft noises emit from the television screen, and there is water running in the kitchen. Cotton coughs scratch at the back of your throat; you drown them in jamoke; sniffle. You feel gold in your veins. You feel mercury at your fingertips.

☾

You run the bathwater as hot as you can stand, sitting your bare ass on the edge of the tub as it fills. You've stuck a stick of incense into the shapeless mass of white soap melded to its dish; ashes crumble and drift with the smoke. Slipping into the bath, your pale form flushes blotchy pink and your lungs fill with warm moisture. Yellowed light bounces off walls and casts rippling shadows between your fingers. You watch steam rise from the water's skin and sink further into the tub, until you're submerged past your nose. It is silent except for your splashes and the ringing in your ears. You curl and uncurl your toes in the heavy swirling; study a brown mildew stain in the corner. You lift your chin from the water; cool air brushes your wet cheeks and the musky scent of incense hits your nostrils. You sigh deeply.

☾

You perch in your tree. Its spongy red bark leaves streaks on the back of your grass-stained jeans. Soggy book clenched in stiff hands, you inhale wisteria's heady breath; exhale to the warmth of rain-dampened earth. Drizzle patters at the foliage above your head, a muffled hum at the back of your mind. Every so often a bird calls from another tree. Every so often a raindrop falls to the page and soaks in, seeping through your story. Your eyes scan lines of black ink; your teeth nibble at red slivers under your nails. You notice nothing. Your body is filled with the life of another. Leaves rustle in a gust you can't feel. You do not exist in this moment.

doodle dump

winter watercolor

each day

i grow sloppier

bits of me  s h a t t e r i n g

at

an

unknown

touch

.

if my breath

weren't so

            f

            o

            g

            g

            y

i might know the source

.

instead  i   smile   at  empty   branches

and squint

through the frost

.

i search for order

but i crave this chaos

.