i think the reason i hate drawing is because the only "good" art you're taught about whem growing up looks like this
Even with a varying of styles, you see nothing other than traditionally smooth white people. now, all of these paintings are famous and stunning, but by the time your exposed to artists like pollock and picasso and van gogh, your told to copy their style, when in reality the whole point of non traditional expression is specific art.
in your middle school art class you were probably told to scribble on a page and find a shape in the midst. it was only recently when i discovered two of my favorite pieces of art, one of them is a realistic contemporary bust about love and sex titled "Jeff and Ilona" by Jeff Koons
and my favorite piece of artwork, Jay DeFoe's The Annunciation.
i fell in love with defoe's work because of her take on dark and light, and het unique take on firm brushstrokes as they relate to texture.
and most importantly, she made something entirely unique. sure, it had influences, but she didn't remake anything, just her own takes on new things.
i discovered that the main thing i enjoy drawing is abstract and contemporary takes on whimsy and gore and passion and peace. basically complex portrayals of complex emotions.
i am not an art historian or a renound artist, but i have taken 9 years of public school art, and for the first time in a decade, have found myself genuinely enjoying creativity that spawns from itself, not another's creativity that inspires my own.
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Poetry
@terranoctis @breakingitswings @hiddenhina Because you mentioned that you like it when I write (I think), so I wanted to share my (KIND OF SUPER LONG 5 PART) poem with you!
@rose-grangerweasleyisbae @queenofthyme Because I love it when you write and you both are my favorites!! (I’m not sure if you knew that already!! BUT I DO!!) This isn’t Drarry related, but since I can’t write fanfiction the way you do, I just wanted to show you something that I did write. (But if I could twist this, the speaker would be pining!Draco, Harry is He, and Ginny would be She...) XD
And to any other of my followers who do end up reading this, please give me feedback (both negative and postive)!! I’d love to improve!!
Museums
I. He Says He Hates Museums (An Introduction to Kindness)
II. She Smiles (It’s for the Better)
III. I Am (Weighing My Self-Worth)
IV. If He Is a Lighthouse (Then I Could Be a Lighthouse Too)
V. Museums House Dinosaur Bones (While I Hide Skeletons in the Closet)
Summary: All parts can stand alone, but together, they tell the story of the speaker, who, goes from trying to change him (the object of her affection), to trying to change herself, but in the end, comes to a realization. Part I is about his statement. Part II is about Her (the object of his affections who is in love with someone else). Part III is about the speaker. Part IV is about him. Part V is about museums in general.
Museums
I. He Says He Hates Museums (An Introduction to Kindness)
He says he hates museums,
But what I hear translates to
He got hurt somehow in his past,
Possibly at a museum,
A living essence of Complicated,
In need of a saving grace;
This is my chance
To take him in
And fulfill my grandiose dreams for salvation
Of the male species.
I’ll rewrite the experience for him
Because the magic is in discovering
That through these rooms housing art,
One has the power to revisit the past.
We’ll walk through exhibits together,
I’ll show him the hards and the softs
Of The Persistence of Memory
All he needs is an introduction to kindness
He’ll find it in the angel from The Annunciation,
Face to face with a miracle,
And me, his loving Savior.
We’d have good conversation in a museum—
When really, he just means he hates museums.
II. She Smiles (It’s for the Better)
He says he hates museums,
Because they’re boring
So I go and visit 50 this summer
And I think although he says he hates them,
He likes Her
And she is the most beautiful painting
Inside The Louvre;
Protected by bulletproof glass,
Nothing but time could cause Her looks to fade away
But who in the world can fight against time?
When our hour is over,
We all grow dim and our colors fade,
So naturally—
She is flawless.
She looks and doesn’t see him
Because he isn’t Romeo and she can’t be his Juliet
But maybe it’s for the better
That we don’t poison ourselves over love.
Although she smiles because of someone else,
Still, he goes to find her and likes Her anyway
And for that, I cannot find fault
Because, like all of us,
Even if we end up being star-crossed lovers
All the same
He cannot deny his weakness for beauty,
Even though he says he hates museums.
III. I Am (Weighing My Self- Worth)
He says he hates museums,
Yet he himself is a piece of art.
My best friend says not to get too hung up over it—
That I am a work of art too,
A Jackson Pollock maybe
Something Abstract Expressionist
A bit obscure,
And too much emotional intensity,
Investing way too much time
Searching for the hidden meaning
And making out words and people to be
More than they really are—
Sometimes things are genuinely that simple.
I sigh Her name
And my friend smiles gently and says,
People all over the world know Her name
And wait hours to flock to Her
The majority will trample over each other to see Her
They’ll spend a few seconds with Her,
Take their selfies and leave,
She is valuable
But only a few know how to appreciate her worth—
Just as with you.
Not everyone,
Only the special few,
Will spend a little bit longer with you,
Perhaps out of confusion
Because they can’t figure out
What you’re trying to say, she jokes,
You are an acquired taste
Because you make them curious.
Maybe somebody out there could admire that;
But maybe what he means is
I’m not made up of
The types of paintings he longs for,
After all, She is Real
And he is a Realist;
I’m only a Modern woman
Weighing my self-worth,
When he says he hates museums.
IV. If He Is a Lighthouse (Then I Could Be a Lighthouse Too)
He says he hates museums,
He’d rather spend his time in bars
Or hole-in-the-wall diners
A real-life Nighthawks.
He introduces me to his friends one day,
When he isn’t looking,
They express their concerns about him
He smokes too much, drinks too much,
I wonder how lonely he must feel
He reminds me of The Lighthouse at Two Lights,
A sad, solitary figure
Withstanding dangerous coastlines,
He shines his light into the distance
Searching for Her
The way a compass’s needle
Is magnetically drawn to the north.
I could be a lighthouse too
Situated on an island, facing him
Providing safe entries into harbors,
Imagine, together, we’d shine as bright as the stars,
Beacons of safety for the public good,
The price—
The water’s relentless erosion,
But the true tragedy lies in our lights never touching
Because Her smile is the inevitable ocean between us.
I think he and I
Would sympathize with Van Gogh,
All 3 of us spend our lives
Gazing at the stars in the night sky,
His soul is the half that makes strenuous pacts of silences
And mine, the half with occasional bouts of sanity
But why should it matter if he says he hates museums?
V. Museums House Dinosaur Bones (While I Hide Skeletons in the Closet)
He says he hates museums,
And I wonder if he also means the ones
That are trendy these days
The ones young people visit
To take hipster pictures
And post on social media,
The ones that include aviation
And all the famous fliers,
You know, the one filled with ice creams in diverse colors,
Vast arrays of lights, a room of mirrors,
Memorabilia of love and lost,
The ones depicting the legends of musicians and their records
The ones that come alive at night
In Hollywood
Broomsticks and wands from movies,
Displays of books
Or pipes, located in 221B.
I may not understand him,
But I understand museums well
We both hold and collect things
We store them
Or put them on display,
The way people bare their hearts.
We keep track of dates
For periods when we’re eager to time travel—
Museums house dinosaur bones,
While I try to hide my skeletons in the closet,
Instead of disposing of them,
We horde things forever.
Immovable dreamers,
Who fantasize about being infinite among the galaxies of planets and stars,
We look for beauty in the things that others don’t always care to see
In any case,
Museums are meant to make you feel
And I still can’t tell,
Whether he is afraid to feel
Or if he just doesn’t want to,
I guess hatred is a feeling too.
I hope he finds what he is searching for,
Because I often fool myself into thinking
That I deny changing myself for any girl or boy.
He likes cigarettes
And smokes them the way I am addicted to over-analyzing;
I inhaled secondhand too much tobacco this summer
I hate the way it smells,
So maybe it wouldn’t have worked out anyways
Even if he did like museums,
Because smoking chokes me
And that is what we would do to each other,
I shouldn’t have to change him
I shouldn’t have to change myself either.
We like what we like
And we hate what we hate
What’s special about museums is that we’re free
Free to embrace our independence, free to create,
Free to love and hate.
Museums are a place for discovery and discussion
A home for freedom of expression
A refuge for those who invent brand new solutions
Instead of ripping apart others’ creations,
A symbol of hope for those who made it, despite others’ criticism.
I think maybe I am more of a Picasso
Broken into tiny shards of Geometric Cubes
Little pieces that tell a story
I’m sharp in corners, without meaning to be
Existing with a lack of form
Challenging the expectations
Of idealized beauty in women;
I’m not here to provide pleasure for the male gaze
I love it here
There are many people in the world who find love here
So why should it matter if he says he hates museums?
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