Inricate Musings of Mind (And Art)

A little behind..

2009-06-03T00:24:00.000-07:00

No pun intended but this is what I've been up to...

Except of course this was shot a few weeks ago.. making me a little behind ;p

Being an Artist

2009-05-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

My friend mentioned something that was so very true, and something I hadn't really thought of, but knew deep down. It was on of those 'ah-ha' moments, but not in a good way.
It was like realising that your life was condemned to bad luck and there was nothing you could do about it. In fact, it WAS realising this.

It's about being an artist.

This friend made a statement that being an artist was a curse. That from the moment you were born you knew that you were different from everyone else, that you would find things difficult, that it would take you a long time to learn, and that in some cases you never will.

My life in a nutshell.

Think about it - some of the most amazing and even famous artists had personal issues. Emotional issues if you might.
They call it Emo these day's but I don't think the term justifies it.

I'll tell you what it feels like.

It feels like I always think too much and never know what to do. I stress too much, I'm too competitive, I let things get me down when they shouldn't.

The whole world is oblivious while I procrastinate myself into a state, asking myself 'why?'.
Why can't I just work like normal people? Why can't I keep a job? Why do I hate the political system? Why can't people understand my point of view? Why don't you just give up with your job if you hate it so much? Why would I rather be living on the streets then to live like you people? Why do I live in fantasy more then I do reality? Why can't I just stick to doing one thing?

Do you know what it's like to question everything you do? How about what it's like when you're constantly unhappy for no reason whatsoever? When you tear yourself down when nothing's wrong? When you make yourself unhappy when you're feeling good?

When you've got nothing to do, do you find it difficult to do the things you've been meaning to do that would only take a few seconds? And call it laziness but it's not, it's physically being unable to bring yourself to do it, but for other things that is not the case.

I realised that I'm so afraid of being alone because that would mean having to think about my own life - having too much time.
Or if my time was taken away I would feel like I was living in hell and would want my time back and would do so, before the vicious cycle started again.

I bring myself into an emotional state on a regular basis, for no reason whatsoever. I criticise myself for things I shouldn't be.
I think about things so much that even in my own time when I should be having the day off my mind is full of things to do. Things I've probably even made up if something else didn't exist.

I live in fantasy.
I have conversations with myself.

And you want to know the scariest part?
I'm petrified of being truly happy. I'm scared of going to social events for fear of rejection. I'm scared that if I'm really happy in a part of my life, that it's all just going to fall on it's head and I'll be back where I started - back here.

I pull myself away from everyone else. I reject invitations. I reject friendship.

I am all alone.

I am paranoid as all hell.

My life has frozen and your world is still spinning around me.

If something was to be the death of me it would be myself.

I am my own worst enemy and I have no best friend.

And that's not all - there's more to it. There's things I just can't explain.

In my spare time.

2009-05-16T00:02:00.000-07:00

This is currently what I'm working on in my spare time (click to enlarge).

As you can see it is still in it's early stages of manipulation.

The image is currently comprised of 3 images, with extensive manipulation.
The three images used are below and are respective of their creators:
http://nirelstock.deviantart.com/art/583-Countess-II-121074665
http://almudena-stock.deviantart.com/art/Little-star-78685832
http://lockstock.deviantart.com/art/Dark-Drapery-pack-one-82966139

Can you see how the pieces fit together?

I basically wanted to show you how much work actually goes into creating one of these - and how bored you get of the music you're listening to - a collection I must update!

The processes that have been done so far have include:

Source the images - including finding ones that suit my idea AND could potentially fit together well.
Cut out the images - using layer masks created with the brush and pen tool and whatever else I deem suitable.
Manipulate the images in terms of size, liquefying and warping the image to fit together.
Place the images together and make final adjustments to the way they fit together.
Paint over the top skirt and the bottom skirt using endless amounts of layers (and the brush tool!). This includes painting in mid-tones, highlights, and shadows (and extensive painting to change the colour of the bottom skirt).
Repainting the lace on the bodice.
Adding a hand painted fringe between the top skirt and the bottom skirt.

I also want you to note that this is a simplified version of events - there were things added and removed that I did not end up including in the image thus far and therefore has been cut out of the list.

The total working hours thus far would be around 8 hours.

I know that sounds incredible for what seems like not very much, but now you have an idea. Another 8-10 hours will go into this piece before completion.

From here I will need to repaint the whole upper body including skin, bodice, and possibly the frame she is holding.
The final piece shall have shattered mirror like glass coming from the frame - the piece is supposed to express body image trauma.
I am still unsure of the background, and still have many hours of image sourcing to do before I can even think about continuing.

So, now you know.
I believe the hard work will pay off eventually, we shall see :)

Pulling Hair

2009-05-13T05:42:00.000-07:00

Do you know what I do when I'm upset?
When I'm angry?
When I'm stressed?
When I can't take it any more?

I scratch my head.
I will sit there with my head in my hands or leaning against the arm of a chair and I rake my hair with my fingers.
I run the tips of my fingers through my scalp looking for imperfections - for a scab, for dry skin. Then I scratch, attack, and pull it off.

Normally I will sit there for hours, raking through the same bits of my hair, head in my hands. My back may ache, I may be shaking by the cold, but I will continue to sieve through my hair in aim for perfection.

There are people that pull their hair out in times of stress - I come very close. Many a time have I pulled out individual hairs, not on purpose, no, but pulled them out nonetheless.

It becomes an obsession - it is an obsession.

The more I do it the more I can't stop. Till my head aches and my scalp is sore.
Till my hair goes greasy from the oil in my fingers.

I'm in my own little world. I'm having conversations in my head.
It goes back and forth, again and again, adding new bits of argument each time.
It's a battle, I'm battling against someone yet not a word was said.
But by the end it all feels the same.

Maybe I'm just crying for attention at these times, maybe not. All I know is there's me, my world, and my argument. And I won't stop till it's over.

It's over.
My head hurts.
I'm going to bed.

Moyston Trip 2

2009-04-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

It's almost obvious that if something doesn't exactly go the way you plan you try, try and try again. Well the same goes for travelling out 250-300kms away to retake the photographs you missed out on taking the first time round.

And so I did.

This time however the agenda was a bit different, with my birthday falling on the weekend that we had planned to go the second time - it was more of a relaxing weekend away with the opportunity to take photos as it arises.

The weather only one week later was much different - the drive up there consisted of extremely heavy rains and winds to the point where you're driving 110kmph and not being able so see much more other then little in front of you and rains hitting your windscreen with the poor windscreen wiper trying to keep up. There were also no foggy mornings so the continuation of the theme I had already started was impossible.
That and the winds and rain being so strong on arrival that I was afraid of going outside for photographs in fear of ruining my camera (which is crap anyway but you know..).

Which means we sat inside with a good book, a fire, television, and the wind causing the house to shake.

Finished works are as follows:

Moyston Trip 1

2009-04-26T21:36:00.000-07:00

It's the last week of the holidays and I'm disappointed with the amount of work I am creating. I know this trip has been planned for a while but it almost seems like it would never arrive, and it almost seems like my last chance to create quality work.
So, after getting the a-ok to borrow my man's Auntie's property for the weekend, we head down with all the camera gear and of course our overnight stuff.

At the first stop off to take photographs I jump out, taking out my camera gear and setting up my tripod. I take my film camera in one hand, film in the other, and proceed to wind on the film (it's an automatic wind). Of course (and it had to be so) my camera will not take the film and continues to flash at me, showing it's empty. I take out that roll and try another. The camera will take on a little bit of film but will not take any photos. I scrap that roll and try again - and continue to do so until I realise there's no hope. The camera is dead, and I think it's the battery that only needs to be replaced every few years. Or on the one day you need it..

Alright, that was a little annoying. I guess that just leaves digital then - at least I checked it this morning and it said it was all charged up.
So I turn on the camera and of course as luck has it - the battery is flashing. It's going to die. That leaves me with about 20 mins of battery life.
I switch it back off.

All that's left is my Holga and 35mm adaptor, which I use (after fuming and almost throwing my cameras to the ground).
Of course there's no automatic rewind or black bag so I'm left with one roll of film.

250kms away, a tank of petrol, and ONE roll of film.

Early morning (6:30am) and it's time to use what's left of the battery life on my digital SLR. It's foggy, it's beautiful, I'm soaking from the mist, I'm scared of not being able to see anything around me (and of large open spaces), but we venture on (Warren joins me of course though his main purpose was to catch yabbies for breakfast in the neighbours dam - which we didn't catch).

Well I'm glad my camera gave me that much life, the shots I took were beautiful.

And so some mobile happy snaps (though I adore the one's through the window):

And of course the finished works from the trip..

The Window

2009-04-23T02:13:00.001-07:00

After leaving my ex and moving back in with my family 6 months ago, life was getting a bit much. How had I escaped dependence, become independent (or a little less so back then) and then gone back? Why was my brother using any excuse to call me a 'fuck head' or to tell me 'to move out - nobody wants you here'? And how was I going to regain my independence, all by myself?

I spent the next two weeks telling my family in every moment possible that I was moving out. Of course my mother didn't believe me - and when I sounded serious she just asked about how I would manage and pay for all my expenses as well as how I would be able to do it on my own. I didn't know, and I still don't now. I'm a dependent person, I'm lost alone.

But after seriously considering my options and starting my search for 'housemate wanted' online, I found a website with hundreds of hits, a new one uploaded almost every 10 minutes. And I searched. I searched for three days, only finding one add that tickled my fancy (after one failed phone call to a lady that seemed too old for me to want to stay with). This add asked for a preferred female housemate to move in with two males (ages unknown then) who were looking for someone to get along as well as just someone to move into the spare room.
I wanted to move in with people I could be friends with. They wanted someone who could be friends with them - or the person who wrote it did.

But how could I move in with two males? I mean the idea sounded great in my head but would it really work?

There was only one way to know - make the phone call. And for whatever reason I was so nervous. It's almost like this was my only hope, my last chance or I'd keep looking and never finding. The beginning of a new life.

So I made the call, and the loveliest sounding man in his late 30's answered. The conversation went smoothly and the next week I find myself excited and nervous about to enter the house as a sort of interview.

Now, to meet the man..
A beautiful man with a large build, pale skin, blue eyes, and a punk styled fringe opened the door.
We started a conversation instantly, and on walking into the house I discover that this man enjoys forms of artwork, creates them himself, loves food (my biggest love), photography, similar music - every one of my likes.

I see the room, we don't stop talking, I walk past this big beautiful window. The house is old, very old, breaking down, but beautiful. Made more beautiful by the lovely man (and the occasional visit from the other housemate) that lives in it.

Soon enough a knock on the door and another girl is waiting to view the house. I stutter a little, stumble a bit, unsure about what to do next. My half an hour was up and it was my turn to leave, to my disappointment.
But I did, with a message that if I was successful (and large hints that I was) I would be called on Sunday.

Sure enough, Sunday comes and I received my phone call of success and a week later I've moved in.

And of course, after becoming great friends with this man, Warren, I find myself in a 4 months strong relationship - the age difference surprisingly not causing any issues thus far (though concern from both parts of course).

So one day, after an interruption on my behalf I set up my camera (with cuddles throughout) and took this photograph.

This is the window that gave me independence, let me meet my second love, sees me through all the hard times, let me grow and develop (quite a bit and at a very fast rate since I've moved out), gives me a roof over my head, a place for inspiration, and the one I look at many times a day.

This is my window, and I'll be very sad if I was to ever leave it.

The First Nude Shoot (March)

2009-04-23T01:53:00.001-07:00

I'm back-tracking a little bit so that I get all the content and information on here that I want, which includes adding some more work from the month of March, but with explanations to go hand in hand.

This is the first nude shoot that I have done with any model let alone one I hadn't met before. I met up with the lovely lady after she agreed to do the shoot with me and we set out to breakfast - all I had to offer other then the images themselves (though it was the best breakfast I could afford for the both of us!). As it was already decided that she wanted to shoot indoors, we then headed down to my property (as not only is it the place that I live, breathe, and function in, but it is my place for inspiration and I want to show it's beauty before I get over it myself), and the shots were taken. The lovely model soon went home and I was left with this:

The top two and the last three are shot on film (both 35mm and 120mm). All film was scanned and edited digitally (my preferred method).

For larger images, click them.

Selected Works - March 2009

2009-04-23T01:38:00.000-07:00

Selected Works - February 2009

2009-04-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

Time To Pick Up My Game / 2008

2009-04-20T23:18:00.000-07:00

Selected Digital Paintings 2008-

Selected Digital Photomanipulations 2008-

Other then what you see above, I have traditional paintings and drawings to show for this year - an update later to come.

Time To Pick Up My Game / 2007

2009-04-20T22:51:00.001-07:00

I crave very much to keep this blog up to date but I almost don't know how to start.. or continue!
I want to add all my past work and I want to add everything that I'm working on now as I work but because I'm not used to doing so it seems to be a very big adjustment to make.

But of course to do so I need to start somewhere (as well as just doing it!), and so we shall start a little bit in the past.

Strictly photography / illustration work until further notice.

2007:
Selected digital portrait photography work -

Though most of my work was film that year, I have no negative scans. Next week I shall back track a little and scan and post these photographs.

Cigarettes

2009-03-29T22:10:00.000-07:00

I'm intrigued by small things. The tiniest thing could make me stop and stare.

I'm the girl that's staring at you on a train when everyone else is trying their best not to catch anyone's gaze. Sometimes I make stories.
I remember one story in particular.

A trip on the train one afternoon. I don't remember what my intention was, why I was on that train, what line it was or where I was going. But I remember a lady and her child. A young lady, early twenties I believe. And her child. Her newborn. No older then one year old. And the expression on that lady's face. A look of procrastination. Or to me, something specific.

I had been working at PixiFoto and Portrait Place. The both are the same. Run by the same company. Selling the same products. The only difference is the price range and the feel of the store. Pixi was a cheaper Portrait. Some preferred one over the other. But the both were the same. Even the photographers were the same. I worked in both.
And both had the same clientele. New parents with their 0-5 year old child. Growing families. Children. Lots and lots of children.

It was Christmas time. The time where Children ruled the parents. Catching onto them like leeches. Running around toy stores creating havoc and mess; the parent's one time where control was non-existent.
If you didn't have a child you were having a child. Just past spring time. Love was in the air. And all of a sudden Christmas time comes and the pregnant woman come through with a march. You'd never have thought they existed at any other point in the year. But they're out of the drawers now, and everywhere in sight.

The combination of a daily serve of children combined with the spring come Christmas season made this one girl very clucky. I may be very young, yes, but this mixture in addition to my irregular menstrual cycle (I believe this may have had something to do with it. I blame that, or insanity), was unbearable. My relationship was two years strong. My financial status was stable. And I believed the timing was right.

The only issue was and is my strong pessimistic beliefs in myself. I believe that I have been given the worst of everything. If anyone was to die of cancer, get shot in the head, or not be able to have children.. it would be me. I just knew it. I have always believed it. And I still do.

So when I sat on this train and watched this sad faced lady glance at me with a child beside her I believed in an instant she'd tell me she had made a mistake and hand me over the child. And I would forever care for it as my own.

I thought about this for the whole train ride. I believed this would be the series of events that proceeded. I believed this to the extent that eventually when the lady got up and exited the train at her stop, I was shocked. And shattered.

I guess it would be like your version of loosing the lotto every week.
Oh, life could be a dream.

Yes, I am intrigued by small things. Small things allow me to create stories in my head. They feed my imagination. Or they just make me stop and stare.

...like Cigarettes. I spend more time looking at them then smoking them. To me they are beauty. The way they burn. So a rainy day with a Cigarette in my car waiting for class. I apologise I smoked in the school grounds. I felt guilty afterwards.

I will tell you the story as to why I started smoking one day. Remind me.

Stepping Bells

2009-03-26T22:31:00.000-07:00

A little while ago I came across a children's park.

With a group of friends we proceeded to play on the equipment. Slide down the slide. Climb up the ladders. Swing on the swings. Like children.

I don't perceive myself as a child. I may be the age of a child, yes, but does a number really mean that my mentality is not of an adult? When I meet new people I don't immediately tell them my age. When the age old question comes along, however, I am hesitant. 'Young' I reply automatically. Then with a little more thought.. 'Guess', or 'Younger then you think', or even 'Nineteen'. The reply is always the same. 'Oh my goodness', 'I had no idea', 'Wow you seem so much older', 'You're only a kid!', 'I feel so old'.. you know the deal.

To the person that does not know me I first explain that I feel 25. I feel like I act, dress, and live to this number. I know that I've had richer life experience then that of a 19 year old. Or so I believe.

My closest friends are over 25. I can't communicate with people my own age. I date well over 25.

And yet, given the opportunity to run around like a child, I will. I am naive, innocent, and ignorant as all hell when I want to be. And I want to be. Ignorant at least.
The world is easier to deal that way. When you don't know.

And so I sit here torn between young and old.

Go figure.

.. the noise those bells made was wonderful. I was hooked.

Toilet Light

2009-03-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

For my first post.

I have a phone with both video and photo capabilities. I seem to use the video option quite a bit. And I call myself a photographer? No. A student. Exploring all options before I put my cards down and declare my life to one thing or the next - that is if I ever can.

For now however..
Back to my phone.

One day while walking into the bathroom (toilet truthfully, though bathroom is a much nicer term), I was mesmerised by the light shining on the walls; the shadow from the tree breaking it up into little segments floating in unison. Dancing in unison.

I ran and grabbed my phone..