MUSH.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Declaration of a fragmented mind.

Where to start... So many crevices and tiny pieces weaved into this thing I call my self. It seems like I have hit something within, and have been trying to pinpoint it, but cannot exactly discern it. For a long time, I have been looking at the space between my pores, the threads that make me who I am. Many elements are part of it. This is an attempt to explain it to myself a little better.

As of lately, I have found new interests. Taking on a new language. Trying to learn another tongue. First, it was German. Now I'm enrolled in a French adventure. I like the sound of unknown words, the challenge of deciphering a code I'm not familiar with. Another of those codes is music. I had never touched an instrument until about six months ago when I decided that time was not expanding, and that if I wanted to make music, there should be no more waiting. I picked up a violin... the sound of its notes had always captivated me, touched something in my soul and made me feel immense joy, but also an enormous sadness. I cannot say I'm good at it. I'm starting to learn the language of music, the way my hands move from string to string to produce a myriad of sounds I did not know I could produce. I always loved those sounds, listening to melodies and songs that transcended styles and genres. And now I finally get to make some of those sounds myself. They are more like noises at this point, but you have to start somewhere.

Let's add a couple more layers to that construct. When I studied art, I used to get excited about drawing and imagining objects that later would be brought into life. That enthusiasm didn't last. That seems to be a big problem with me; nothing holds my interest for too long, and maybe that's why I feel the need to keep bringing new elements in, fragmenting this being a little bit more each day.
I cannot say I consider myself an artist. Never had. But I do enjoy the creative process, all the thinking that evolves into something that can stimulate the senses. When I wanted to be an artist, I convinced myself that art was a lie. I rejected the notion of pursuing an idea, of sticking with a media. I wanted to try everything, experiment with materials, to not get tied up by a style. I went from drawing to painting to building to filming to writing to piecing together and finally to destroying. Some people would say that I lack perseverance and will never succeed at anything. I sometimes think that's true. But then, I start looking at my self again and realize that cohesion is not my thing, and that success is not what I'm looking for. I ramble across an open field full of surprises and never know what the next thing I'm going to stumble upon will be. Sewing a dress? Baking a cake? Making a ceramic bowl? or perhaps, writing a novel that will never get finished? All my little children are still in the womb and probably never will be born. I seem to have a tendency to abort them and keep them in glass jars where I can look at them and remember their origins, see how small they were, and think about how they never got to grow into something that could later be contaminated.

What others discard, I take. I think of a new use for all the remains and make a big plan in my head. Usually there are many details to it, and a lot of carefully crafted theories about it. But then I forget about it. It slips away with such ease, as if never even existed. Then I go Zen. I empty myself, do nothing, scratch the lines I had started and throw away the used page. But that doesn't last either, and it seems like the things that were, still are, even if I try to erase them.

Another way to bring in new pieces is by observation. Looking around me and finding interesting creatures to set my eyes upon. That's probably why travel is a bug that crawls inside me and pokes my gut at times. I want to see places, meet people, be an observer of all the existences I can observe, experience other ways of life, and dissect them to truly be able to distinguish what they are made of.
All this incoherent babble remind me of the opening passage in the tragedy of Faust, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe:

"Ah! Now I’ve done Philosophy,
I’ve finished Law and Medicine,
And sadly even Theology:
Taken fierce pains, from end to end.
Now here I am, a fool for sure!
No wiser than I was before:
Master, Doctor’s what they call me,
And I’ve been ten years, already,
Crosswise, arcing, to and fro,
Leading my students by the nose,
And see that we can know - nothing!"

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

November's gone

December. Last month of the year. Wow, it went by fast.

All in all, it has been a good year (despite all the little tragedies, that at the end, are not really tragedies at all).

This year I took on learning how to play the violin, took a wheel throwing workshop, made a little hat for my friends' baby, sent my first essay to a literature conference, broke my computer, got a manual car, learned how to drive stick shift, got a new phone, learned how to use my phone, made some dresses, started a garden, got my wrist repaired, my house got broken into, cooked my first turkey meal for Thanksgiving, enjoyed running for the first time, stopped running when it got cold, got stung by a wasp... Yeah. It's been a good year.

Monday, August 2, 2010

I've changed my mind.

Today, I hate bugs.

My house may be tick-infested! I have been taking care of a friend's dog, and I've noticed that she's been dropping ticks all over the place. The ticks are replete with the poor Shinobi's blood and cannot hold onto her body anymore, thus, they are roaming around my house, on the carpet and possibly my furniture and bed!

I was reading about ticks online, and I began to freak out when I read about their life span (from months to years!!!), and their reproduction habits (female adults can lay hundreds to thousands of eggs at a time!!!) I hope things don't get any worse!

Monday, July 26, 2010

Let's get this boiling.

My first blog.

I just thought I needed a strategy to give some sort of shape to this mushy substance inside my head. My world has become a blend without a defined consistency, a porridge-like existence. Sounds sad, I know, but I actually like porridge.

However, I feel the need to identify the elements of this mush and try to sort them out. There will be a disparate assortment of the most random pieces of my mind. Anything from cooking and sewing to rock climbing and Ph.D. thoughts. Whatever comes along at the right time will be trapped in here, becoming a sample for a life experiment, an attempt to outline the pattern of my existence. Maybe this will help me find a way through the thick jungle of my thoughts.

Today's thought:

I like insects. I love the geometrical patterns on their legs, wings, shells. I also like plans a lot. I have been photographing some of the most curious bugs I see and collecting dry plants with the intention of using them in an art project. I started collecting plants a few weeks ago when I decided that I wanted to get a tattoo for my 31st birthday. I have been looking for something I like, such as a climbing plant, or a botanical illustration of orchids. Haven't found exactly what I'm looking for, but I'm still in the process even though my birthday was four days ago.

Here, a few pictures I took (all bugs and plants).