Dance barefoot on the glowing cinders of a dying fire.

D-L Alvarez

http://derekeller.com/dlalvarez.html

"His work reasserts the potency of the handmade object, its inextricable photographic quality bespeaks an impersonality and estrangement long associated with the "death" of painting (and drawing). Similarly the hand-draw gridded matrix that structures these drawings refers as much to the "failed" promise of abstraction as to the computer pixel and its own utopian claims - simultaneously critiquing and extending the claims and procedures of high modernism."

\\\ and O O

the collapse of the optimistic ideals of the late 1960s.

Manson Family Murders

Looks back to the 1960s and Modernism with a wistful glance.


[Vitamin D- New Perspectives in Drawing, p012-013]

i'm happy today

coney island

Trip to NY, November 2010

no one knows what colours or patterns the dinosaurs were

Hi internet.
It's been a while.

I haven't missed you as much as I thought I would.
I have found other things to consume my time.

Aside from working full time hours at the cinema I've also been drinking enough to erase many evenings worth of memories from my mind/playing a lot of Solitaire and Minesweeper.

I have around one month left before returning to university for the final (a.k.a. terrifying) year and have begun to get a little panicky about how unprepared I am. When we broke up for summer I remember thinking, "So yeah, I have a very vague idea of what to do, but I'm sure with the 4 months we have off I'll be able to clarify and refine these ideas to a fantastical art-producing standard."

This clarity never arrived.

I've had a particular image floating around in my "Inspire Me" folder on my desktop for a little under two years now. Frustratingly, I saved it with no reference to where it was from or who made it. It increasingly became more and more appealing to me each time I've flicked through the folder over time as my aesthetic style has evolved and refined. Therefore it became increasingly frustrating that I could not track it down and find more of the artist's work.

Tonight, as I found myself in place of internet, I decided to catch up on whats been happening at Booooooom, opening interesting looking artists' websites in new tabs as I scrolled through. I got into the one particular artist whose work really ticked all my cups of street. Like, really. Searched through his image archive a couple of years and BOOM; there appears the exact image that had been haunting my desktop for so long.

I cannot express the sort of gracious awe I felt without getting sort of Biblical, referencing miracles and whatnot. That's really not my style. So I'm just going to post a shitload of photos.

http://www.hollisbrownthornton.com/index.htm

comforting things

I have had so many little things to worry about lately that I have found myself quaking, actually quaking. The whole heart beating, mind wont rest, must get up in the middle of the night to pace around the room type of indirect fear.

Tonight, when I realised I was quaking, I decided to write a list of "Things I am Worried About". I started writing the list and my hand continued.
It picked up on so many little things I didn't think were that important, things that have collectively combined to form the quaking. I got to 16 bullet points which filled the page, but couldn't bear to turn it over to continue. One page of fear is quite enough for now. I will leave it and score things off when they no longer give me reason to worry.

I have spent a lot of this Summer watching the sun rise and set. I'm not sure why. It has just all of a sudden become something appealing to do. Something soothing, when all else is erratic and unsure the sun will always rise and set.

Life In A Day

Today I saw this film. It was nice.

My flatmate said it made her feel like she hasn't achieved enough with her life.

It made me feel like I haven't documented enough of mine. Not that I feel I have any great achievements to show. But that if you write, draw, film or photograph something everyday then it proves you've existed. You've done something. Anything. Even if its completely insignificant.

The sky outside is beginning to look like guilt.

I couldn't sleep.
It got to about 4am and I decided to go for a walk. I must have just missed the sunrise.

It still feels somewhat exciting, getting dressed to go for a secret early morning walk. As if I was sneaking out of my parents house.

But I'm not.

I live on my own now and no one will notice I'm not here.
There's not even any need to be quiet.
No one to wake.

The air feels new; untouched. Impossibly quiet.

I think about the making of 28 days later. When Danny Boyle closed off specific areas of London between the hours of 4 and 5am to film deserted, apocalyptic scenes.

Maybe everyone is dead?

It starts to feel more like a real day.
Cars becoming more frequent.

I find £20 on the ground on the way home.

Ecstatic.

Now I can buy milk.