holly_evolving: (Default)
You know...I know my flaws. I struggle with the emotional complications of ADD and post traumatic stress. I'm not an inspiring victim. I cry a lot. There are a lot of days I don't have the energy to shower. I'm not athletic. I have poor stamina and not much in the way of hand/eye coordination. I'm not the best at any of my talents. I often lack motivation entirely. I can't play any instruments with competence, because I don't practice. But I also know my merits. I'm a damn good writer, and a good enough performance singer to move people. I can sketch passably well, and I take decent documentary photos and video. I'm remarkably organized, I'm very, very good at my job, and I've got most people I know beat for resilience. I generally understand people and can usually see the big picture as well as a few moves ahead. I'm supporting myself and an elderly cat with health issues on less than half of what most of my friends earn. So...I like myself, I like my art, and I feel no compunctions about asserting my value. My work is good and so am I. I AM an artist, and I like my art.
---
Maybe it's just that I don't seek perfection. I see the flaws in my work, but I don't hate it for their presence. Perfection is impossible and a waste of time. People surrender their entire voices to it. I'm good; I don't need perfect.
---
Or maybe it's that people get inundated with enforced false modesty and shame and are told that those are humility. When you examine the idea of pride as a sin more deeply, it becomes apparent that pride is never what they're talking about. Arrogance and hubris are sins. Pride - honest happiness in one's positive attributes or in a job well done - can't be a sin. If it were, then by extension, only self-loathing could be good. How many kids grow up hating themselves because they are just culturally indoctrinated to do so? The words say "love yourself" but the actions say "don't," and then we guilt people for learning the "wrong" message. Fuck that. Love yourself. Love your art. And if you can't do those things yet, allow yourself to take the steps that will let you learn. Anyone who says you're not allowed to feel simple, honest pride in your accomplishments - in your progress - is lying to you and frankly, trying to hurt you.
---
"That kid's getting too big for his britches." Yeah, fucker, because he's GROWING. Maybe instead of trying to cut him down, help him make some bigger goddamn britches.
---
Yeah I honestly do take personal offence to the idea that all artists are *supposed* to hate their work. Nah man. That's a thing that can happen, and people have their reasons, and there's always plenty that gets scrapped and kept from publication. But damn it, if I put work out there to share, it's because I LIKE it. Why would I inflict something I didn't like on my friends? Who has the audacity to try to sell writing that they don't like themselves? That makes no sense.
---
I'm not saying I assume that everyone is going to like my work. Of course that won't happen. Taste is subjective. But I haven't spent 29 years writing to produce garbage.
---
Response from my friend: "As much as I hate to be on the other side, I know full well why I don't like most of my work. I know that I should be able to do much better by now. Some of that is instilled in me by society, with the idea that I should be further along with my skills with the classes that I took in college and what my parents paid for. I also know that I am not always a good judge of whether my work is good enough or not, which is why I share things, even if they are just okay in my opinion. All that being said, big props to you for getting past all of that and liking your own work."

My reply to him: "I'm not saying you can't dislike your work. I'm saying the cultural push to do so is wrong and harmful to growing artists. It's there when kids are taught it's bad to be proud of themselves (instead of it's bad to be boastful or arrogant). It's there when people in positions of trust and authority abuse their power and break kids down *instead* of teaching them. It's there when a parent or teacher resents a kid for their ability and fails to nurture it.
There's plenty of my work that I don't like because it isn't good. There are drawings and poems I don't share, and songs I don't sing. But I can tell what's wrong and do better next time, and there's plenty of my work I like because it is good. I have learned how to to honestly assess it, in large part because I am a stubborn, willful, obstinate, defiant brat who managed to resist all the bad shit until I could get to real teachers who focused on their students instead of their disappointments.
So if you're just not sure and you don't want to share a piece, reach out to an artist in that medium that you know and trust to honestly critique and give you meaningful feedback. You are talented and you've put a lifetime of work into developing that talent into something, and you have every right to enjoy pride in a job well done."
---
The whole concept of the tortured artist destroying masterworks maddens me - they're tortured because they've *been tortured.* That doesn't go away on its own. People need to know that what's been done to them is 1) not okay and 2) correctable. Because why would anyone try if they didn't know it could get better?
---
I just really don't want to see any form of self-rejection praised, let alone normalized. People shouldn't be taught that they're not supposed to like themselves or the things they're good at. There's a lot we can't do about it - but we can choose not to model it. There's a big difference between "I'm struggling with this piece," and "I hate my art why do I do this?"
When we catch ourselves at that second one, that's time to stop and think and drill down to what's really going on.
---
I can't count how many times I've flung a notebook across the room and cried a bit, and then realized oh shit I haven't eaten in like 10 hours and I'm thirsty and exhausted and hell, the whole reason I'm art-ing is because I had a terrible day and I'm trying to deal with it.
---
So many artists preach radical compassion, but forget to show it to themselves.
---
Sometimes what I do is ask myself, what would I think if it was my niece's work?
holly_evolving: (Default)
I like it best when two lovers throw control away
One is not the master, one is not a slave
Together, they leap from their skins
Exploding toward and through and out from each other
Dissolving
They are not flesh and skin and bone
They are atoms, intertwined
Flowing through each other
Adrenaline, oxytocin, dopamine - these are mere suggestions
The lovers are ecstatic
Ex static
Shifting through time and space
The world ends with their fingertips
The space beyond the edge of the bed falls away and they fly
They become sky
They are not lost, they are free

I don't want us to drown in each other
I want us to become the river

Alice

Mar. 11th, 2011 11:10 am
holly_evolving: (Default)
Alice is very old now. All her hair is gray. She is tall and lean and wrinkled. The town children think she might be a witch, because her gaze is like iron and so is her grip.

She lives in a big old stone house on top of a hill, and she has no neighbors. Well, no human neighbors, that is. And she doesn't exactly live alone, either. Inside Alice's house live a couple of big, nasty, battle-scarred cats. Outside her house, in the tall trees on top of the hill, live turkey vultures. Lots of turkey vultures. There are ten trees...and there are three hundred vultures in them.
holly_evolving: (Default)
~~~~~~~~~~~~I found this little scrap of writing I did a while back, and I still like it. Even if it was inspired by the trailer for the Doom movie.~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Maynard (a thin, reedy-looking white-haired man in the appropriate oversized lab coat: "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I assume you all know why you are here."

Molloy (tall, very square and muscular, soldier): "Yes, sir. You're going to brief us on the hostile situation under the station."

Maynard: "Yes, good. Well. Um. The, creatures, that is, that we have been able to capture and observe thus far have revealed to us the following information: they are a group of heretofore unrecorded aberrations unlike anything seen on Earth's surface. We have been able to determine that they are completely immutable and only marginally flammable; however, they do react to all of the other natural laws we've tested against them. They appear, in fact, to be of a profane nature as opposed to our mundane nature."

Molloy: "What the hell are you talking about, sir?"

Maynard: "These, um, creatures, are...well, they're demons, Molloy."

Various murmurs of incredulity from the assembled soldiers, about 20 in all.

Molloy: "What, are you serious? How do you determine that there are demons under us?"

Maynard: "We have acquired recently as a member of our research team a priest with unparalleled knowledge of several hidden Judeo-Christian texts." Shocked look from Molloy & co., several soldiers begin to pray. "Whatever their reason for being here, and whatever the true reason for their existance, these things are, in fact, demons."

Molloy drops into his seat, head in his hands. This is just too fucking much for him.

Maynard: "On the plus side, they do react to offensives in the manner expected of any other organic life form."

Molloy: "Meaning?"

A woman enters through the rear door of the briefing room. She is scruffy and butch in appearance, probably mid-40s. She carries a double-barrelled shotgun over her shoulder, wears a cross, and is smoking a cigarette. Her name is Clancy.

Clancy: "Meaning, if it looks like a dog, you can probably kill it like one."

Molloy: "Who the hell is this?"

Clancy: "As far as you're concerned kid, I'm Jesus."

Maynard: "Ah, welcome, Miss Clancy. Gentlemen, Miss Clancy is somewhat of an expert on these demons. She has been in battle with them before."

Clancy: "Let's not understate things here, doctor. I've been fighting these monsters nonstop for the last 30 years. The U.S. military is in my backyard, now."
holly_evolving: (Default)
And did you think you were the best that I could do?
All these years later, all I feel is anger towards you
You lied to me and you made me feel like
No one could ever want me
But in the end I wouldn't be the one thing that you wanted

Mama's boy
Mama's pride and joy
Don't ever grow up
Don't ever get out
No woman's gonna love you like your Mama always could
Mama's boy

Never let it be said that I don't learn
holly_evolving: (Default)
Oh little town of Bethlehem
How still I see you lie
Your people are afraid that if
They get too loud, they'll die

And in your bleak streets shineth
A glaring bright searchlight
Checkpoints, thumbprints, and ID cards
Rule over you tonight


This whole situation sucks.
holly_evolving: (Default)
Dr. Maynard (a thin, reedy-looking white-haired man in the appropriate oversized lab coat: "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I assume you all know why you are here."

Molloy (tall, very square and muscular, soldier): "Yes, sir. You're going to brief us on the hostile situation under the station."

Maynard: "Yes, good. Well. Um. The, creatures, that is, that we have been able to capture and observe thus far have revealed to us the following information: they are a group of heretofore unrecorded aberrations unlike anything seen on Earth's surface. We have been able to determine that they are completely immutable and only marginally flammable; however, they do react to all of the other natural laws we've tested against them. They appear, in fact, to be of a profane nature as opposed to our mundane nature."

Molloy: "What the hell are you talking about, sir?"

Maynard: "These, um, creatures, are...well, they're demons, Molloy."

Various murmurs of incredulity from the assembled soldiers, about 20 in all.

Molloy: "What, are you serious? How do you determine that there are demons under us?"

Maynard: "We have acquired recently as a member of our research team a priest with unparalleled knowledge of several hidden Judeo-Christian texts." Shocked look from Molloy & co., several soldiers begin to pray. "Whatever their reason for being here, and whatever the true reason for their existance, these things are, in fact, demons."

Molloy drops into his seat, head in his hands. This is just too fucking much for him.

Maynard: "On the plus side, they do react to offensives in the manner expected of any other organic life form."

Molloy: "Meaning?"

A woman enters through the rear door of the briefing room. She is scruffy and butch in appearance, probably mid-40s. She carries a double-barrelled shotgun over her shoulder, wears a cross, and is smoking a cigarette. Her name is Clancy.

Clancy: "Meaning, if it looks like a dog, you can probably kill it like one."

Molloy: "Who the hell is this?"

Clancy: "As far as you're concerned kid, I'm Jesus."

Maynard: "Ah, welcome, Miss Clancy. Gentlemen, Miss Clancy is somewhat of an expert on these demons. She has been in battle with them before."

Clancy: "Let's not understate things here, doctor. I've been fighting these monsters nonstop for the last 30 years. The U.S. military is in my backyard, now."

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