don't ask me what i am, ask me WHO i am

I recently returned home from a very inspiring trip. A pilgrimage, if you will, to a holy land. Not the holy land, but a holy land. There was some prayer, yes, but although full of power and beautiful harmonies, that was not the sole reason why I felt as if I was in a sacred place.

What I discovered amidst the trees and under rainclouds was something more. Something I've found at various times throughout my lifetime, but never in such a large dose. I wish I could have taken more travelers with me along the way.

I sang, rejoiced, danced, prayed, learned, stretched, grew, faltered, stumbled, laughed, smiled, and cried happy tears of comfort. In a room full of strangers and of acquaintances and close friends, I became a stronger person.

There is a small downside to this. It's difficult to express what exactly it is that I'm feeling right now. There are people in my life who would be inspired by what I've experienced and there are those who would be pushed out of their comfort zones if I were to but mention this feeling, this organization of souls out to change the world and challenge stereotypes.

I wish this wasn't the case, but I will share what I learned with them while in the muddiest of Holy lands: Being "good enough" sucks. You don't have to, you get to. Everyone means the world to someone. Don't ask where someone wants to go to college, ask why.

If people look up to you, you can truly make a positive impact on their life. In your time here on this earth, it's more than possible that you can change the world-or, at least, someone's.

we, the people

we, the people.
we, the jewish people.
we, the "chosen" people.
we, the superstitious people.
we, the rich, big-nosed people.
we, the persecuted people.
we, the different people.
we, the joyous people.
we, the people.

*this poem starts with the basic reality that all people are just people, and then builds upon that with labels, negative stereotypes, truths, opinions, and at the end is stripped back down to the original statement. in no way do i agree with stereotyping, my purpose was to show that we are all just people, and should be viewed as just that. (just to clarify)

conversations i keep having with myself

The following are fragments of dialogue that I have with myself when I can't sleep:

In 7 hours, I'll be awake and will have to repeat the day I just experienced. Most things will be the same, except everyone will be wearing different clothing. When did I stop needing a night light to ward off the darkness? I should write more speeches. I should write more of those long epic tales that discuss something truly meaningful. I should write more. Why do people judge each other so much, even when they promise not to? I wish my friends now were my friends five years ago. I wish I could have grown up knowing them. Look at the moon beams dancing on my pillow. Look at the way they slant in through the blinds on my window. How am I supposed to sleep with the moon sliding and slipping all over my pillow? The moon is pretty far away from me. Right now. Lightyears away, in fact. What's beyond the moon? Nothingness. What's beyond nothingness? A lack of nothingness. I wonder what the point is to all this. If all there is beyond the moon is nothingness, there is nothing else. I'm so tired. Physically and mentally. This year- it's so difficult. I want to hear his voice again, but it's probably too late. He might be asleep already. I should be asleep too, but I'm not. Why am I not asleep? Oh yeah, those moon beams. It's always the moon's fault.



to be continued.

improvements

i've never even felt pretty before.
and now, now i feel beautiful.

what a colorful world

For the first time since 1976, William Eggleston has brought his artwork back to New York City. This artist has traveled through Japan, Russia, Italy, France, Mexico, and Spain to capture the world’s colors, but hasn’t traveled to New York to display his photographs in over thirty-three years. His art show entitled “Democratic Camera, Photographs and Video, 1961-2008” was on display at The Whitney, and lucky me got to see it before it closed on January 25th.

What pushed me to brave the bitter cold and commute into the city was a startling fact I only just discovered about William Eggleston. In a recent interview published in Warhol’s Interview magazine, he admitted, “Incidentally, all these years my wife has told me that I'm color-blind. I think with being blind the one thing you would have going is that you could still feel things, see your way around so to speak. And if you had had the experience of seeing at one time in your life, then you would know what it was like and be able to function. I've said this before, I think I could really photograph blind if I had to.” While reading this, I was in a state of wonderment as to how the pioneer of color photography could be color blind. Is it some ironic twist of fate that the founder of color photography has the inability to see color in the same manner as you and I? Or is it because of his colorblindness that he is hailed such a chromatic genius? Whatever the answer, one thing’s certain: possessing a unique perception of color hasn’t hindered this artist in any way, shape, or form.

He accomplished this by being the only color photographer in a sea of black-and-white photographers. He established color photography as art. He made it acceptable. Eggleston became interested in dye-transfer printing while he taught at Harvard University. This new process resulted in some of his most stunning pieces, including "The Red Ceiling" (pictured above).

The hype about the closing of William Eggleston’s exhibit was so great, we had to stand on a line that extended out the door and wrapped around the side of the building just to attain tickets. Once inside, it became a game of weaving in and out of my fellow Eggleston admirers, trying to seek out the photos I had studied in school. This was more challenging than one might think.

However, dragging my unenthused boyfriend to a (gasp) art museum in the freezing winter weather proved to be worthwhile. As soon as I stepped out onto the third floor, I was beaming. The first photograph I saw was the image of an elderly woman sitting on a couch. This was the piece that originally drew my attention to Eggleston’s work. The way the floral print on the woman’s dress complemented the print on the couch was very appealing to me from the onset. When viewing one of Eggleston’s pictures you can’t help but think, “Wow. This is what color should be, all the time.”

I discovered ten times more art than I expected to find that night.

Seeing the world through Eggleston’s eyes would be the greatest thrill of a lifetime. Unfortunately, his photographs are the only means we have to seeing color from his perspective. Through his pictures, Eggleston is able to share his world with us. I believe that maybe his color-blindness isn’t a curse, but a blessing. Would his pictures be the same without it? Would they bring joy to so many? Would they bring color to those whose lives are tinted gray?

William Eggleston’s Democratic Camera exhibit at The Whitney was perhaps the only chance any of us will have to witness true color with the founder of color photography himself. Seeing the world through Eggleston’s eyes was one of the most colorful nights I’ve yet to experience.

diaries of the internet..?

so i''ve always been a diary kind of girl. i have been for the past three years, in fact. so this is different, this 'publishing my thoughts for all to see' thing. but it's...refereshing? is that the word i'm looking for?

i'm in a good place right now. a huge weight has been lifted recently, but it's sure to be replaced by an even more massive one...aka The SAT's. which hasn't really settled in my mind just yet. there's a multiple choice test that determines my future. scary? yes. intimidating? definitely. overpowering? not quite.

everyone around me has already begun to obsess over their futures. and i have absolutely no idea what mine will consist of. i have no idea what i'll do. and i have no idea why i'm venting about this right now. but maybe it's just easier to write all this stuff for other people to read than it is to write about it in a private, locked up journal. maybe this is more liberating?