Volume 1 number 2
Cover art by Shingo Matsunuma
WalkingBlind Art and Literature Magazine Published by NevaehVision
Kendra Gimblet - Executive Editor
alkingBlind Art and Literature Magazine’s premiere on the second of August was bigger than my staff and I ever expected. People came pouring in from all around the web and globe to see the artists featured within the pages of the periodical, read the articles, and comment, setting our readership at well over fifteen thousand people for the first issue. To say that I am really proud of the payoff is an understatement, and that payoff is art awareness. So with that I would like to publicly thank all of you for viewing, book marking, and rereading our first issue. The overall reader response was outstanding with so many wonderful reviews and comments, there were some negative feedback which was as to be expected, we can’t please everyone in the known world. One of the exciting new additions to this issue and ones to follow is that you will be able to read those responses on our Reader’s Comments page.
WalkingBlind Issue 2 vol. 1 About the front cover. On our front cover is Hito Kikai 4 by Shingo Matsunuma otherwise know as “Shichigoro.” Check out this amazing artist from Japan and the whimsical worlds he creates. To see more from Shichigoro head over to our digital art section for other images and details about the artist’s work.
WalkingBlind Layout and Editorial Executive Editor- Kendra Gimblet Assitant Editor- Glen L. Puchlerz Graphics Director- Glen L. Puchlerz Layout Director - Glen L. Puchlerz Business
WalkingBlind Art and Literature Magazine is a publication of NevaehVision. For advertising or submision queries contact: firstname.lastname@example.org www.nevaehvision.com
As you all know the first of our main goals is to become a printed magazine that spreads the universal language of art around to every nation, in preparation for that we are constantly working to improve the look, feel, and overall quality of WalkingBlind. You will be seeing some minor tweaking of format in the periodical over the next few issues as we fine tune the magazine’s appearance to really make it its own. In conjunction with that some major marketing endeavor’s are happening behind the scenes in an effort to raise the support needed to keep WalkingBlind going strong. We never ask our artists for money, but we do rely on donations and sponsors to support our overhead and operating costs. More good news is that we may have some great artistic contests with amazing prizes in the near future as we affiliate ourselves with larger artist resource vendors. My staff and I are very engaging people and love to challenge our skills with various tests and obstacles in order to reach a new level of high and have a lot of fun while we are doing it; all of our contests will be geared toward that goal. These upcoming treats will be for our visual art section and the writers, no one will get left out in any event. The prompt and or task will be applied to everyone, so invite your friends and fellow artists to participate when they are announced. By now you see that I enjoy sharing good news and this time it concerns NevaehVision, the site that hosts WalkingBlind Magazine. I am happy to say that by the time the October issue is out the website will be completely finished with blog and forum included. You will be able to chat with artists or those who just appreciate art in the lounge and make new friends as you go through the threads. Subscribe to the magazine using our new RSS feed so that you can keep in touch with the magazine and other upcoming events. Not only that, but you will be able to talk to the staff on a regular basis along with reading and commenting on the magazine’s blog. In addition to this we will be setting up a donation page for you to support our vision for the arts, so that we may continue to bring art back to the forefront of everyday society.
Features September 2010 Volume 1 Number 2
Digital Art Traditional Art Poetry & Prose Photography Articles
11 21 27 31 -
Patipat Asavasena Kazuhiko Nakamura Shingo Matsunuma Cyril Rolando
39 45 49 -
Annie Stegg Laura Bifano Rob Rey
55 57 59 63 67 69 71 -
G.H. Monroe Jessica Moulaisson Melissa Ushliyanage Samantha Puchlerz Livvy Carson Arwa Shahzad K.H. Phoenix
77 83 91 -
Michelle Carrel Mind-Cage Andrey Alekseev
99 - Indigo Reid 104 - Alex Dark
Enterainment 108 - Wenqing Yan
Departments WalkingBlind Art and literature Magazine is a publication of the Nevaehvision co. Content is protected under U.S. and International copyright laws. Any duplication without the express written authorization of Walkingblind Magazine and itâ€™s subsidiaries is strictly prohibited. Artistist creative works and/or intellectual properties are under license to WalkingBlind Magazine and remain the sole properties of the artists. For further information contact WalkingBlind Art and Literature Magazine at: http//www.nevaehvision.com or email: email@example.com WalkingBlind Art and Literature Magazine is a monthly publication with offices in Florida and Massachusetts CopyrightÂŠNevaehvision.com, 2010. All rights Reserved.
R e a d e r ’s Comments
On the general layout and feel of it and I must say it's both extremely fascinating and engaging. The way everything was arranged by itself was a work of art. It is definitely my kind of magazine, too bad I couldn't read any of the articles! Darn my horrible laptop. by SedahLiah I loved the whole first issue, can't for more and to get a subscription! by Erin
Along with the success of our premiere issue came a ﬂood of readers comments. We have to say it made us feel great! As the collection of random comments was assembled into a larger whole it became apparent that a singular voice stood out....”readers loved the magazine” and we love our readers for their support. As a reward here are a few of the comments you sent in, so if one of these belongs to you enjoy your ﬁve minutes of fame and thank you from the team at WalkingBlnd magazine. We couldn’t do it without you!!
"I've been in the computer graphics publishing business for nearly two decades, having published two very successful print magazines, edited three others, written 11 best-selling books and more than 250 tutorials for magazines around the globe. I've seen my share of magazines in this industry and I welcome and support the marvelous effort the team at WalkingBlind are doing to both inspire and educate the art community. Congrats on the new magazine! Well done!" Bill Fleming Publisher Komodo Publishing
Awesome site, found through WritersCafe. In this quick run through was really impressed with its visual quality and layout. Keep it up and will visit often. by Rory I have to say, the best art magazine I've seen in a while! It's well written and well organized and the artists you picked are brilliant. I don't dare to submit anything now, maybe in 2 years ! :D Best regards, Milica
I am by no means an expert, but I feel you guys are doing a stellar job. The layouts are well thought out and do not distract from the text! by Mr. Nakes I enjoyed the first issue, and will definitely continue to read. It was very nicely put together too! by Daniel Griffiths
PatiPat asavasena Fantasy is not just a hobby 11
Greed by Asuka111
asuka111 Walkingblind Magazine
Name : Patipat Asavasena ( ASUKA111 ) Birthdate : 22/02/1984 Title : Freelance Artist Resident : Thailand Profession : Illustration, Painting, and Concept art Web: www.asuka111.net
“ Colour helps to express light, not the physical phenomenon, but the only “
light that really exists, that in the artist's brain.
Henri Matisse, 1945
This month as we journey deeper into the well tutorials etc. I kept drawing a lot and then reof digital art, past each glowing pixel into the alized that it’s not just a hobby for me anymagical electron buzz of color and luminance more; it's love and obsession now.” How can we find Patipat Asavasena as Asuka driving anyone say it better than that? It is amazing our video-cards hard with his personal blend the emotions one feels whenever they are of somber elegance and subdued flare. Asuka falling in love with their future. Understand I’m is the kind of artist that finds rest in the mist of not lessening a college degree at all, and I enchaos and captures the feeling of peace and courage everyone to further their education as tranquility that each of his characters may be they see fit. What I am saying is before you experiencing. With an excelsacrifice that much time and eflent color pallet and great fort in something make sure it’s originality this artist continwhat you love to do, because ues to stun the world proyou may spend the rest of your ducing works that have won life in a place where you never him the WACOM Anime Girl wanted to be. Looking at Contest, Cute Award, 2009, Asuka’s artwork you can see WACOM Anime and Manga the patience, detail and adoracontest, Grande prize wintion for art that he instills into ner, 2010 and the Let's each piece. One thing that Comic Awards 2010, And stood out to my team which I Time and Space by Asuka111 the Let's Selected CG Artist brought up earlier is how exAward. It is hard to think that a person as paspressive the rich colors in his art are, somesionate about art as he, was so close to purhow the deep blues, bright greens, vibrant suing another career with a Bachelor degree reds and humming yellows all work under his in Mechanical Engineering from Kasetsart skilled eyes to produce a conglomerate of University in Bangkok, Thailand already in striking visuals. “I think my artwork is a way hand. “I was inspired by Japanese's animation for me to confess my feelings and emotions and manga culture. I started to draw as a without saying a word. Since I'm shy and don't hobby at first.” Asuka says “ Then, I continued talk too much in real life. I love work that is to study and develop my skill from available beautiful with powerful messages that can resources such as: books, artist friends, online reach to the audience.” For being only
Mask of Hatred by Asuka111
The â€˜Black Ladyâ€™ by Patipat Asavasena is one of my favorite pieces from him, not only because of the flowing onyx hair, and crystal blue eyes of the character but because of her presence. When looking at this you see her surrounded by darkness on either side as if the shadow wishes to attach itself to her black attire. The most interesting thing about this is it seems as if the light and not the darkness is encaging her, as if she is trapped and spot lighted in the intense glow of the aura. This character actually appears to be uncomfortable in the light and with a slightly cocked head she peers at her opposition.
Black Lady by Asuka111
The Manikin’s Portrait by Asuka111
motion. All of the things that make up Papipat Asavasena you can experience in the work he creates, from his shyness to his confessional feelings. All of these things combine to make a powerful artistic style and all around great person. I admire how much strength his artwork holds, while at the same time they are as gentle as a friend’s helping hand. When an artist understands who he or she is, it is in that moment that a certain style emerges; he has found that style. To follow the work of this artist or to buy his new artbook ‘Everyday Fantasy’ visit his website www.asuka111.net
A Colorless by Asuka111 Hero by Asuka111
twenty-six the artistic motivation and vision that Asuka has discovered for himself is one that will last long after he is gone. He states in the text above that he confesses through his work, which to me is brilliant, being able to use art as a confessionary is one of the great things about free expression. Many people seek to confess their sins, loves, loss, and life through a plethora of mediums whether through another person, an altar, loud music or haunting silence. Artists around the world also lay down their problems, and successes, but in a way that visually and lyrically paralyzes its viewers. Asuka’s work inspires a sense of beautiful fantasy that captures the soul from a body and introduces it to a parallel world of color and fluid
reat art is not hard to find but it is very often hard to describe. There are artists who fall very easily into categories: sculptor, painter, sketch artist and so on. But then, on the rarest of occasions, one stumbles across an artist that is so different, so spectacular there are no words to describe their style and no one category within which to place their work. These are the truly amazing artists, the ones that astound us with breath-taking views of their compositions and this artist, Amalacan, is one of them! There is no category suited to hold the body of his work as it is in a class by itself and without rival. There is a lot I could say about Amalacan but I am afraid I could not do him justice so as I step out of the way allow me to present to you
IBrain Tower by Almacan
IShell in the Darkness by Almacan
Amalacan on Amalacan! I wanted to be a painter when I was young and created works by a traditional technique. However, I felt limited in my ability to create the vision that I expected and wanted, so I was separated from creating for a really long period. About 14 years ago, a computer was introduced into my workplace which made it possible using 3D software. I was very attracted to this freedom of expression and became inspired to create art again. “Surrealism Art” and “Fantastic Realism” have made a great influence on me and I especially admire the paintings of Dali, Ernst Fuchs and H.R. Giger. Their great visions are my indicator now. I have various favorite images stored to my memory that become hints. Antique machines, armor, beetles, skeletons, old portrait photos.....They are mysterious material that make my fantasy amplified. I blow up imagination while 23
assembling those images. I enjoy that time very much. My art is a complex work composed of a lot of detailed modeling parts. I use the PC which was equipped with Core i7 to do rendering of the heavy data file. The digital image is produced by a 3D application "Shade" and "Photoshop". I acquired my skill by self-education while taking advantage of my spare time wisely. Perhaps the best teacher may have been several good books on paintings which I possessed. I make digital art with the sense that solves the jigsaw puzzle. I collect fragmentary images that are the sources of inspiration for my imagination, and assemble them carefully. During
Spiral Memory by Almacan
The Tower of Beetle by Almacan
Automaton by Almacan The Armed Meiden by Almacan
the production process my works repeat the transformation and grow like the ecdysis of insects. Such unpredictable transformations stimulate my curiosity, and lead me to answer to the mysterious puzzle. Recently, my art work has been featured in the field of Visionary Art and Surreal Art. My work was exhibited at "CARNIVORA: The Dark Art of Automobiles" with the artworks of H.R. Giger, BeksiĹ„ski and Hajime Sorayama... two years ago. I received the "animago" and "CG Choice award", it was a great honor for me. Amalacan is truly in a class by himself and it was our privilege to feature his work in this issue. Please visit this artist on the web at: http://www.h6.dion.ne.jp/~m.mirage/ Walkingblind Magazine
“ There is nothing that cannot be achieved by firm imagination ” ocated in the beautiful Japanese landscape, settled within the coastal town of Yokohama you will find a population of 3.6 million people going about their daily lives. It takes a lot to stand out in such a large populace but it’s not impossible.
Just create whimsical worlds full of happy mechanized creatures, fill the fantasy with a race people that interact harmoniously and presto you will stand out in the crowd. One artist who has achieved such status is Shingo Matsunuma otherwise known as “Shichigoro”. In his worlds pigs do fly along side happy air surfing whales and in the broader scheme of things we see his characters to a depth that other artists do not always afford us. Shichigoro’s characters not only allow us to see things on the surface but also deep within, right down to the very high octane machines that drive them. At thirty- three Shichigoro’s style is proprietary and unique with an appeal that tantalizes viewers of all ages to ponder the many facets and layers of his sur-
Welcome to the surreal world of Shingo Matsunuma 27
real worlds. Learning oil painting at an university of arts in Japan, he also began drawing artwork with digital tools such as Photoshop, and worked as a digital artist for a game company. Shichigoro found himself inspired and motivated by many various works in many genres such as traditional arts, movies, animated cartoons, and more. Shichigoro stated “I want to draw original art work that I imagine in my created world. In my world there is no fear; no fear of creatures and no fear of machines, just no fear!” The interaction of the inhabitants of Shichigoro’s worlds is a testament to this statement, exampled in scenes where small children ride joyfully upon the backs of school bus sized creatures and the creatures themselves present the smallest of Shichigoro’s mechanized humans with flowers. A truly peaceful existence is portrayed and conveyed to the viewer in a way that draws you in and leaves you wanting to return over and over again.
Kocchi by Shichigoro
Hito-kikai-2 by Shichigoro
“I want many people to experience my works of art, I want someone to use my artworks for something because I want to continue to work on art in the future.”
Welcome to a world without fear
Shichigoro draws everyday to work on his art in earnest. As he told WalkingBlind â€œI want many people to experience my works of art, I want someone to use my artworks for something because I want to continue to work on art in the future.â€? This is a profound statement by Shichigoro; art, if it is to be preserved, must be viewed and appreciated. An artist without an audience is an out of work artist. When you see Shichigoroâ€™s work for the first time you will be amazed at the depth at which his images present themselves. The smoothness of tone and the intricate detail along with the stark contrast of light and shadow all blend together perfectly to form a rich context with which to let the mind wander in this rich cornucopia of fantasy. The body of work he has produced demands to be viewed and visited over and over again, as once is not enough to take in all that his many surreal worlds have to offer. There is a sublime power in the style while at the
Give a Flower by Shichigoro
I Want by Shichigoro
same time a softness that permeates the creatures making even the largest of his characters extremely approachable, and aproach we must. Shichigoro is currently studying English to better communicate with a broader audience. We hope to see more from this artist very soon and were very honored to have Shichigoro as our cover artist for this second issue, when we saw it we new it was the perfect image to represent WalkingBlind this month and we send many thanks to Shichigoro ing for allow us to publish his work.
Hito-Kikai-4 by Shichigoro
e at Walkingblind want to encourage all our readers to visit Shichigoroâ€™s galleries frequently as well as all our featured artists.
Air Cleaner by Shichigoro
Shichigoro can be found several places on the web at the following locations: http://www.shichigoro.com/ on http://shichigoro756.deviantart.com/ and on: http://www.loftwork.com/user/14208/
Cyril Rolando C
yril Rolando is one of those multitalented artists that you hear about only in fairytales, the first thing that comes to mind when you meet him and run your eyes over his work is “Dude you can draw!” then after talking to him for a couple of minutes you notice something slightly different…he’s also a poet. Some of you out there are probably grabbing for a baseball bat and trying to find out who I am so you can take me out, but I’m not kidding for every wonderful piece of art you see there is an equally outrageous poem that fits the mood of the artwork perfectly. Cyril has found a way to capture with color and words what some people couldn’t tell you with their own body language; I am both excited and enthralled as an appreciator of the arts and a
Blowing bubbles Too much water, but you can't stop the flow, getting absorbed in your work. Too many desires, but you can't stop the walk, flooded by the law and order. Sometimes, you feel like a goldfish, blowing bubbles in a tiny bowl, but you can't stop. Dream on. Blowing Bubbles by Cyril Rolando
A golden wind will sweep your clouds away if you have a word with the sunshine about it.
Solar Symphonies by Cyril Rolando
writer to have his work among the pages of WalkingBlind. I asked him about his aspirations for his art and his reply was: “I express the most intimate and attuned connection to my life with my art". For example, the drawing called ‘Save Our Souls’, one of my first drawings (I was a psychology student when I drew it) matches the idea I had of my future work. ‘Collect Lost Bottles’ depicts messages from unknown people needing help in a tormented sea, I try to
read these messages, understand the riddles and help them reach the shore safely. My art is a pure hobby. I just draw to keep on filling my gallery year after year, and be able to see the evolution of my way of thinking.” Wanting his artwork to communicate the solution to problems embedded into the human psyche has to be one of the most generous goals an artist can have. I have never thought that the study of psychology and artwork could merge to create
such good for people, but as Cyril has pointed out it can be used as an instrument of care and understanding. I was simply awe-struck by his words, art is seen in many ways as a lot of us already know, but how many other ways is art presented to the world that we don’t know of? One thing you notice from Cyril’s art is his style, curious about what he thought of his technique I queried him: “I never went to art school so it's hard for me to express what could be my "style". I try to be origiWalkingblind Magazine
They put pawns on the market, nothing seems to checkmate, we dance on a cheese board. A new year party has begun, we see the same chicken run, still sentenced to be ignored. It's the best part of the meal, "say cheese" to the new deal, this is a game you can't afford. They control us like pieces, at the rate of the increases, it's played on a chessboard. Cheese Players by CyrilRolando
It's ok, I can manage, turning crisis into advantage, please, drag me into your mud, I will surf on a golden flood, and hug me. It's ok, I'm not in misery, you are welcome to my gallery, your sorrow gives a good return, I really enjoy what I earn, and kiss me. It's ok, give me my due, yeah, it was nice to meet you, keep on crying and come back, Indeed, my shop is a nasty crack, but love me. C'est la crise ! Economic Crisis by Cyril Rolando
nal, I like otherworldly theory and surrealism, but it's impossible for me to say if I have a style and its origin. I tried to draw on oekaki boards, then on photoshop... but nothing really ambitious.” We have to disagree with the artist here, he has an amazing artistic eye with a style all his own to follow. I once saw him critique a piece of his work that he wasn’t too happy about and from his scrutinization of ‘strange compositions’ and ‘lack of visual depth’ which I personally
though were spot on; I knew that this person held a high standard. His words made us determined to show him that he does have an art style and we didn’t know how to do that until I asked him about his motivation for art. “Emotion and color, both are the tools and motive I wish to draw with. Water is my favorite element, because its color depends on the environment and it can express many feelings (anger, coolness, dream.) So, colors like blue, purple and green are
my favorite because they bring the idea of coldness, wisdom and creativity. I wish to take a stand, politically, but I think it's a risk. In January 2009 I wanted to draw something about the Israeli Palestinian conflict, without taking the part; it's a hard exercise with only one image.” After reading his statement I found myself exploring his visual art and poetry once more to find that common link that bond them to their creator and I saw that connection in color and emotion
Breathe Me by Cyril Rolando
" Demain soufflera le vent de demain”
just like he had said. This artist forms dreamscapes within the dark pupils of his eyes and then projects that image onto a screen along with incredible textures of verse. The backbone of his style seems to be rooted in the soil of awareness, he wants people to be aware of their troubles, the world’s health, government policy and most importantly themselves; his chosen profession and influences tells us this. “I like the surrealism style and abstract world of Tim
Burton, Hayao Miyazaki and French novel authors such as Boris Vian and Albert Camus.” Cyril says “I like to play with the world and change their meaning or sonority. Some points of the Burton's universe were a great gate to my art connection opportunity. Everything seemed to be possible when I was looking at the world of his movies.” Seeing that Tim Burton is one of the people who has made an impression upon him explains the cool vibes
that roll off of his pieces like a full honeycomb. Also the French novelists Mr. Vian and Mr. Camus were both great writers narrators with famous works such as “L'Écume des jours” by Boris Vian and “Cross Purpose” by Albert Camus. With everything that Cyril Rolando shared with us about himself and his art I have no doubt that some of you will be venturing to his website so to see more of this awesome artist visit sixio.free.fr
For heavyhearted girls only, Attempt #1 : The heart alleviation Overview: Make two solid wings and stop the internal bleeding, if need be. An adult need not be present. Equipment: 1. Some sheets of paper or pieces of cardboard : A4 size . 2. An adhesive tape. 3. A pair of scissors. 4. A felt-tip pen (black or colored, as you wish). Safety: Scissors are sharp.. treat appropriately. Avoid doing the process if you are crying, the adhesive tape effect could be ineffective on contact with salt water. How to proceed :
1. On the support, draw a rough wing of modest size (15x20 cm). If you have difficulties doing the form, search on Google Images with the keywords " wing heart " and print your favorite. It's not necessary to do the second wing for the moment. 2. Cut up the form and put the wing on the support. If you choose the cardboard, it will be easier but less aesthetic. Draw the outline to transfer the model. Take about ten sheets of paper (or 2 pieces of cardboard) and cut up to obtain a solid piece of paper. You need to reinforce with the adhesive tape. 3. Turn over the model and repeat the same process to get the second wing. Once you are done with it, fix the wings on your heavyheart with the adhesive tape. After 10-15 minutes, you will feel lighter. 4. It is possible your heart may keep on bleeding. Don't worry about it, you can make repair patchs quickly using the adhesive tape as sticking plaster.
Fix You by Cyril Rolando
g g e t S e i n n A
uring my artistic travels I like to gather souvenirs to bring back from the land of Wacom tablets and acrylic paints, this time I think I may have outdone myself. I cannot think of anyone more suited to open up the section of traditional artists other than twenty-eight year old Annie Stegg. When I first encountered Annieâ€™s work I was not ready for the intense beauty and depth that her paintings held, I was blown away and brought back again by the uniqueness of her skill. Needless to say I spent hours gazing
The striking beauty and elegant quality of such work stuns its audience into a reverent silence as the art itself has the floor, and it sings.
Black Moor by Annie Stegg
at her work, exploring every color and facet wondering where she had gotten such a magical style from. I never knew until that moment how much an absolutely gorgeous piece of work could touch the human soul. How she uses the richness of color and fantasy seen in her art in order to accurately communicate her desired meaning is both spot on and amazing, coming across this artist was like bumping into a goldmine; something a person only does once in a lifetime. After gawking at her work I switched my brain back on long enough to ask her about her introduction into the arts: “I have been doing some form of art my entire life. I started professionally by working in a gallery/frame shop selling paintings while I was attending art school. Being around so much art was very inspirational. I started painting more and more at home, after work and school. Eventually, I had the confidence to bring one of my paintings into
work, and thankfully, the owner liked it. He had a blank space in the gallery, and hung it. From there I received many commissioned painting offers. And eventually, I was allowed a section of the gallery for my works. I met a variety of people working there, and started doing other aspects of art as well. Logo designs, websites, and clothing design. I was gradually able to build my portfolio and website, and from there, get other job offers.” Her answer should show all of you that hard work really does pay off. It is very motivating to see a good artist such as Annie Stegg moving up the artistic ladder because it goes to inform us all that elbow grease is still a form of currency and I’m sure that Annie has put a lot of it into her work. I am sure that Annie would like me to encourage all of the readers who aspire to reach their goals to follow through with anything that needs to be done in order to grab them. As you can see I am very excited to have Annie within the pages of WalkingBlind; not only is she inspiring, she is an admirable artist. One painting of hers that I must talk about is ‘Black Moor’ I have gazed at this piece over the last few days more than I’ve looked at myself in the mirror. There are a number of details that impress me, one of which is the color of the skin, early on I noticed that this artist has a really good technique of making skin appear so real, you can see the creamy peaches mixed lightly with other hues that make up a color and texture that is very striking. More details include the positioning of certain things such as the beautiful fish one of which is looking Walkingblind Magazine
“Love of beauty is Taste. The creation of beauty is Art.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Wild Swans by Annie Stegg
up at the girl almost curiously while another almost fastens itself like a bow against her onyx hair. The hand is a very dramatic touch I find it to be both shy and coy at the same time as the girl’s nails slightly imprint into the side of her slightly blushing cheek. The most alluring aspect without question is the eyes, they are like two inky pools of darkness that begin to suck the viewer into the painting, bit by bit you are brought into the world of the ‘Black Moor’ without any direction to where you are going. I was quickly caught by them and held captive until a force stronger than her eyes known as hunger beckoned me away. After a while of staring at it, this painting becomes family and it feels as though you know the girl surrounded by fish, flowers and the world held prisoner in her eyes. With so much awesome work to look through I found myself asking her about the major influences of her art. “Both my
Catfish by Annie Stegg
Autumn Rose by Annie Stegg
Sleeping Beauty by Annie Stegg
grandparents are artists and my father teaches art, so I grew up around it, and it was highly encouraged. My favorite illustrator is Brian Froud. His creations are imaginative and unique, and rendered beautifully. I especially love his creature designs.” Having an artistic family must be a very good plus for an artist, one of the best things any person can have is a body of people who understands them and I believe it is much better to have those people be relatives. I am glad that Annie mentioned Brian Froud as her favorite ilCarmine Flower by Annie Stegg lustrator he is extremely talented an well known, he also was the concept artist for ‘The Dark Crystal’ (1982) and ‘Peter Pan’ (2003) both of which are great movies. With such a well rounded artist like Ms. Stegg is there any doubt that we will be seeing more of her in the near future? There is no doubt in my mind that this artist reputation to stun is her audience is just beginning. Good news for Annie Stegg’s admirers is that her pieces are on sale on her website at AnnieStegg.com I have been there plenty of times to view her work and the prices on her pieces are very reasonable. Having the ability to share a vision with people is incredibly satisfying as an artist. When I am able to translate an idea or theme onto canvas or paper exactly how I envisioned it, there is nothing more rewarding!
Tenebrous Empress by Annie Stegg
notice there are
that just seem to have the ability to do just about anything?
mean they are like a Swiss army knife, no matter what they set out to accomplish they just do it well and usually with great style.
Walkingblind Magazine Walkingblind Magazine
In this article you will meet such a person, from general illustration to fine art, Laura Bifano seems to possess unlimited resources upon which her imagination uses to create her amazing style of art. WalkingBlind got up close and personal with Laura in an email interview; so for the next few minutes sit back, relax and meet the artist who can truly do it all! -I've been into art ever since I was four or five. I originally started drawing because of my sibling rivalry with my older brother. I found out that art was the one thing I could upstage him at, and then I just sort of stuck with it ever since. I was always a shy kid and I've felt the most comfortable hunched over a sheet of paper. My parents always made sure I had easy access to a ton of art supplies. So growing up, we were always encouraged to draw and paint.. I was very influenced by the dream like and allegorical imagery of the symbolist movement. Artists like Edvard Mun-
Brainocorns by Laura Bifano
Lotus Eater by Laura Bifano
sch, Carlos Schwabe, and Fernand Khnopff use shape and color in a way that is still surprising and relevant even today. And of course, NC Wyeth and Bernie Fuchs are masters of composition and color. Those guys use an economy of rendering and brushstrokes that if any one else tried would be either completely overdone or just sloppy. Seeing the exciting things that my peers work on always motivates me to keep working and experimenting. I never know where my inspiration will come from next, but I generally try to keep myself interested in lots of different things. I received my education at the Alberta College of Art and Design. It was an incredibly challenging and rigorous program that not only taught us to quickly ideate and execute finished pieces, but also to art direct ourselves. I graduated in 2008 and transitioned into working as a concept and storyboard artist for a few studios in Calgary. In 2010 I made the transition to full time freelancer. Lately I've
Young Bride by Laura Bifano
been working more towards the fine arts world rather than illustration, and recently had my first solo show entitled "Cacophony" in Victoria BC at the Boucherat Gallery. My fascinations with fashion, space travel, nature, music, myth, and story all influence my finished pieces. I also find that sitting in a coffee shop for a couple hours studying and sketching people can be pretty inspirational. You have to be subtle about it though, otherwise people tend to get creeped out. Ultimately I create for the pure kinetic joy of feeling the brush on paper. The desire to dive into creating a finished piece without putting the work of research, thumbnails and media experiments can be tempting, but almost never results in something as polished or refined as a fully fleshed out, realized image. Learning to love the process of illustration was a challenge at first, but eventually I came
Cacophony by Laura Bifano
Deluge by Laura Bifano
Mood Swings by Laura Bifano
to love the pre-development as much as creating the finished piece. My process is fairly straight forward: For the image "Cacophony" I had a rough idea of what I wanted to do, and began with some thumbnails and research sketches. Usually I just fool around in my sketchbook until I have a composition that feels right, then I scan it in to photoshop at around 300 dpi. Once it's in the computer, I'm free to move, scale and re-arrange elements as I see fit. Nothing too refined or fleshed out, but I like to have an indication of the overall tone and mood so I'm not figuring that out on the paper itself. From there I'll do a graphite transfer into a gessoed piece of 300 weight Arches hot press watercolor paper. My painting progress is detailed more in this blog post: you can visit me there at: ttp://laurabifano.blogspot.com/2009/11/cacophony.html Walkingblind Magazine
T imeless Traditional Art
ob grew up with an inquisitive mind in a suburb north of Chicago. After high school he spent a summer hiking the Appalachian Trail from Maine to West Virginia. He studied at the Rhode Island School of Design and graduated in 2006 with a BFA in Illustration. Rob currently resides in Providence, Rhode Island, where he works continuously to improve his skills and clarify his voice.
Dislocation by Rob Rey
Maintaining that inquisitive mind that drives education and growth, he hopes to make pictures that speak and inspire. To have this impact, Rob's work must contain some important aspects. It may be beauty, grace, elegance, secrecy or sorcery. It may be the evidence of the human hand in creation. Whatever it is, there must be enchantment, some allure that invokes in the viewer a feeling of connection to the mystery of the universe, to the enigma of the unconscious. Acquaintance with this mystery, and its inherent subjectivity, guides each of us to understand the error of our own righteousness and bigotry, helping us to live together more peacefully. There are things, hopefully many, that make each of us feel alive in the greatest sense of the word. Through these things we gain a greater understanding of our selves and a more balanced view of the world around us. For Rob, art is among the most powerful of these things, accompanied by nature, people and new experience. This is Rob Rey, an awesome traditional artist we found meandering around the web minding his own artwork, until he was found by one of the staff; by the time we had seen all of the art on his website I immediately contacted him and asked him if I could conduct a short interview by email. He eagerly accepted our proposal and here he is hanging out with the rest of the artists sharing his time and parts of his story, welcome to the art of Rob Rey.
Tree Fairy by Rob Rey
What do you want to do with your art? I want to improve the world. Who knows if I'll ever have the chance to have any kind of influence at all, but that's what I want to do. That may just mean to create beauty and enjoyment for other people or it may mean something of more social impact. I want to create art that makes people question. Question the world around them, but more importantly question themselves. To make people look deeper within themselves to work through their own personal psychological troubles. The famous psychoanalyst, Carl Young,
Eagle Tribe by Rob Rey
came to the understanding that mythology plays an important role in our psychological well being. Through myth we are directed through the passing stages of our lives and we come to know more intimately, our own psychological self, both the good and the bad. Without this understanding humans are prone to project their own short comings onto others, using them as a scapegoat. So by engaging viewers with story telling and mythology I hope to help people live more peacefully with one another.
Scorcher bt Rob Rey
Where did your style develop from? My style developed from a deep love of the appearance of oil paint. I knew early in my artistic endeavors that oil was the medium I wanted to use and I devoted all my time to it. The soft edges that blur into each other, the seemingly random mistakes that add life to an image, these fuel my passion for beauty, to me oil exemplifies the most beautiful visual occurrences in nature and that is what I strive to put into my work. What motivates you as an artist? This may be redundant, but beauty is my first motivation and it is followed by the desire to make a positive difference in the world. The desire for beauty motivated me to learn painting skills and the skills that I have now somewhat acquired, motivate me to use them for a good purpose.
Rusalka by Rob Rey
Who or what influenced your art? Well, the easy answer is everything, and it's true. But, to put a finer point on it, many great artists and people have been major influences on me and my art. I had the good fortune to spend a short while studying with one of my favorite illustrators, Jon Foster. Jon was very helpful, friendly, and owe him a great deal for it. I am also influenced by many more artists that I have not had the chance to study with. A short list includes Jeffery Jones, Phil Hale, Rick Berry, Gregory Manchess, James Jean, Richard Schmid, Malcolm Liepke, Zhaoming Wu, J. C Leyendecker, John Singer Sargent, John White Alexander, Nicolai Fechin, N. C. Wyeth, Dagnan-Bouveret, John William Waterhouse, Alphonse Mucha, and Joseph Clement Coll. There are of course many more, but as I said, that's a short list. Others have had a profound influence on my thinking including Joseph Campbell the comparative mythologist, Carl Jung the analytic psychologist, and several of my teachers at the Rhode Island School of Design, Shanth Enjeti, Fritz Drury, Fred Lynch, and more. Visually, I find the powers of observation in nature to be a never ending source of interest.
Find Rob at RobReyArt.com Walkingblind Magazine
Deliverance The stifling shroud that Hangs in the summer air Brings burden to even The simplest of acts. Breaths come with difficulty, As if drawn through plastic wrap. Suddenly, the skies darken And bring nature's merciful fury. The air cools and a breeze Rustles through the treetops, Turning leaves over, exposing Their pale underbellies. This breeze, pregnant With the scent of distant Lakes, holds the promise Of cool, wet relief. Grape sized drops at first. One, then another ... Sploosh, Sploosh. Drops get smaller, Falling now in raging sheets. The breeze, now a cool, driving Wind thrashes branches about As the booming clap of Mother Earth calls all to her relief. I stand, arms outstretched And head thrown back In thanks as I am drenched In her deliverance.
Deliverance by G. H. Monroe
G. M. Monroe http://www.writerscafe.org/TheLonelyStranger http://www.ghmonroe.com
“I am a 49 year old man who has has a metaphorical pen in his hand seemingly forever. I wish that I could tell you a more exciting story about the inspiration for this poem. However the simple truth is that I was sitting on my porch watching my little world around me change in preparation for a thunder storm; the smells, the cooling of the air and the trees. It was overwhelming to me ... so I wrote.” G.H. Monroe’s poetry is in one word...real. When reading the collection he has accumulated on Writerscafe you notice how down to earth they really are, it is as if he has found a way to make his poetic style as stable as the unmoving ground we stand upon. It is these kinds of writers that a young novice can look up to for support. Just like in Monroe’s other poems, “Deliverance” rings with the timbre of maturity that not many other writers can match. His take on a common occurrence such as a thunderstorm is so tangible that one can almost feel the grape sized rain falling from the sky. Reading this piece makes me want to experience the storm all over again with his visuals in mind. “This breeze, pregnant /with the scent of distant/ lakes” (Deliverance 4th stanza, l. 1-3) This is one of the lines that really stood out to me due to its sheer impact. In this one line we can feel the damp wind on our flesh, smell the water, and taste the swamp that the impregnated breeze embraced before dawning our doors. So I will release you all to go check out his other works and his book ‘That's My Story!” on his website.
Dropped Dolls i. like porcelain dolls, you always liked delicate things the most. you breathed in my sea-glass ears when I asked you if that was why you chose me, why you picked me out in a crowd of empty bodies and rosy faces. you simply smiled and held my frail hands, but my question was more than rhetorical. (sometimes I think you like delicate things just because you can break them.) iii. you were delicate in ways only I could see, with spider-web eyelashes and piano-key fingers, rolling over my spine, creating melodies only we could hear. your rose-petal lips screamed that you were stronger, but inside harsh-coloured words I found your trembling fears, bedside secrets. (I wouldn’t have broken you, even if God himself had offered me the galaxies, like sparkling rubies in his palm.) v. kissing you was like inhaling heroin, intoxicated whispers lulling me to a dreamless sleep. and the lows are worth it for the highs, and the tears are worth the smiles. (we don’t quite fit society’s ideals, but I’ve always believed two wrecked halves can make a whole.) vii. you will forever be the boy that broke me, and I will forever be the girl that wasn’t good enough, that didn’t smile enough to deserve yours. when I asked if you regretted me, you traced my lips with dry fingers. “at least you’re pretty.” (you always said things were prettiest when shattered.)
Dropped Dolls by Jessica Moulaisson
Jessica Moulaisson bing-bam-boom.deviantart.com “Jessica is a teenage girl living in Canada. Ever since she was young, her passion for art was strong, and the way that she expressed herself. She cannot see herself without a pen or camera in hand, and believes her love for the arts will be carried throughout her life. The piece “Dropped Dolls” can be interpreted in several different ways, depending on the reader. It can be seen as illustrating human nature – how people so different from one another can still be so alike, the tendency to take for granted what has easily been gained, and the pain of loving someone who only treats you poorly and keeps you for all the wrong reasons.” As always we here at WalkingBlind love to feature young up and coming artists and Jessica Moulaisson is no different. With a quickly developing poetic style and an ability to make her poetry dance, Jessica’s verses will lead you into a parallel universe where you can experience a new world with her art as your guidelines. One thing I have come to admire about this artist is that she really understands how the reader consumes poetry, and with that outcome in mind, she writes. As we see in her own words above she says that her poem can be interpreted many ways and then she goes on to explain how her audience might come to a certain conclusion about the piece; that alone takes a person with talent and a strong connection with those who take the time to read her work. A lot of people do not go for romantic type of poetry, but ‘Dropped Dolls’ is about more than loving another person; I believe it is about loving and honoring yourself first. A lesson that takes years to learn lays beautifully encapsulate before you, learn it, embrace it, and keep reading the poetry of Jessica Moulaisson.
On the Verge of Tattered and Torn Count up your sins – Like you’ll actually repent. What does your heart sing? Your soul ferments. We’re trying to breathe; The remedy’s gone. Our lungs in poison seethe. Now we’re in the wrong. You’re an awkward beauty; Your rhythm’s your own. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, truly; Your reckless fire is shown. The eleventh hour strikes. We’re no closer than before. I’m sick of all the old fights. There’s nothing for us anymore. The fire’s gotten cold, love, I have no more passion. What we have, it’s not enough. Like waves, we’re crashing. It hurts us now; This love’s a physical pain. Wear the hurt like a crown, Your own badge of shame. The words you speak, It’s all blasphemy. I’d rather you dead at my feet, Than speaking these words to me. We’re losing it all, too soon. Your lies cut us deep. All I have is the confidant moon, As it lulls me into a false sleep. Retreat to safer waters. Let your crimes dissolve. Your perfect guise falters, And you are now absolved. On the Verge of Tattered and Torn by Melissa Ushliyanage
Eulogy A proverbial twist on my human mind, My thoughts escape me. This foreign concept of letting go, Of giving in to hate, Is my internal infliction. Desperate crying, looking at a wounded sky; I am bound to feign deceit. My disillusioned ego berates me, Torments me. Am I worthy of such pride? A splattering of images Crammed into the existential bottle And thrown to the sea of my confessions. I am a soulless monster, I am god's divine messenger, I am valued and worthless. I am a portrait of myself, Lying to the mirror, Clutching to the past of my wreckage. My conquered grievance, Holy savages, Likens me to my heart. I am my own eulogy.
Eulogy by Melissa Ushliyanage
Melissa Ushliyanage www.writerscafe.org/xxblack_out “Melissa Ushliyanage hails from Ottawa, Canada. At 18, she's a first year student hoping to get a degree in both English and law. She enjoys cheesy romance movies, walking around during the middle of the night, and she will never say no to a white chocolate mocha. Melissa's writing is often pulled from painful passion, whatever that might be, with words that hope to find something beautiful. On the Verge of Tattered and Torn was written in a moment of hurt. It was a pain I wasn't sure how to deal with, but writing was the cure; helped get out the emotion and move on. Eulogy was written after reading countless scenes about people at funerals. Friends and family always got up to say something about the departed and I got to wondering what if we could speak upon our own deaths? What would we say about ourselves? What would I say? Though it couldn't possibly capture all of me, the poem is a glance of who I was, the glimpse of who I could be.” The first thing that comes to mind when reading Melissa’s work is...’This is what writing is all about’. The intense, hard hitting, raw emotion that flows from the pores of every letter speaks to you, telling you of the story its creator fashioned it to display. Though sometimes the highly visual flowered verses are adored, there must be a point when the audience wants direct pieces that don’t prance, but sting. The two poems of hers that are featured here bring reality to our kitchens, knocks its readers off high horses while granting them time to heal. Melissa Ushliyanage is the kind of writer that will agree that the world is messed up and then ask you what you plan to do about it. How can you not be utterly intrigued by an artist with that kind of ‘lets get it done’ attitude?
The Rain Trails of tears drip down the towers built up from man’s oppression.Their bricks laid in quick succession. Is silence the only living thing in this world? So tangible- so gentle.And yet can seem so detrimental. Love can feel so hateful, Filled with a lack of solids. In context, life can feel so stolid. But the light caress of the orange blossomBlooming once more Leaves all that’s painful before It can flourish into danger Evil demons of downfall Dredging up the squall. In life, is death. In life, is life. No happiness without strife. Without pain, there’s no pleasure.Without pleasure, no pain. And without the storm, no soothing rain.
The Rain by Samantha Puchlerz
Not a Color of the Rainbow
Roses are red, Violets are blue. The mockingbird’s dead, Paled in Death’s hue. Poppies breed crimson, Carnations are pink. A child’s an old woman Grown in an eye blink. The acacia’s golden, Sways in 3/4 time To the actions of men Falling far out of line. The lilacs are graying “Black Prince’s” fall down. Martyred for living In a white world, colored brown.
Not a Color of the Rainbow by Samantha Puchlerz
Samantha Puchlerz http://taishikanakerashii.deviantart.com â€œSamantha is a vocationally trained graphic artist and an impassioned writer; she has literally produced thousands of designs for the industry since the age of 14. Now at 18 she pursues a career as a professional musician in the metal genre. She will be attending the Berkeley Conservatory of Music with guitar and voice her specialties. When you read Samanthaâ€™s writing you will immediately be struck by the honest grass roots feel of her pieces as no emotion is held back. Writing with a concise and vivid dialog her poetry can be very hard hitting at times while at others it can leave you filled with a great sense of euphoria. Samantha is very active in the arts, playing several instruments, painting, drawing prolifically and even sculpting on occasion. Currently she is headed in a few week to the New Orleans area to gain insight on the music scene there and participate in several open mic nights while in the area. We hear she is also looking forward to sampling some of the great and varied cuisine that a trip to New Orleans affords. Samantha is currently seeking a recording contract and has won several live competitions for her style of music along the way. With many side projects she is always pushing the envelope of what she is capable of and so far has enjoyed a fair amount of success for her endeavors.â€?
Want to see your work on the pages of WalkingBlind..... so would we! To submit art, simply stop by our website at: www.nevaehvision.com or email : firstname.lastname@example.org We hope to see you here!
Fragments It's the fragments that matter. The dredging up the excess that hurts and figuring out how to fit around it so that it's fixed or forgotten and hoping like hell that everyone else will pretend just as much as you do that it never happened. It's tearing yourself open and analyzing all the parts and saying, no: no, that's wrong. That's gone wrong somewhere along the line, and it's the strength it takes to see it and it's the strength to pick out all the bits which have blackened and rotted and are slowly poisoning you (all the pain from all the tears, all the hate from all the fights, all the second-guessing you've ever done) and say, no: I do not want this to be my life any more. It's those little fragments of life gone wrong which change everything. It's those little fragments of life which you chose to move on from which shows who you truly are. I used to be scared of the dark: I was terrified. I was terrified of the monsters under my bed and the ghosts in the pipes and the demons in the floorboards but I grew up and that changed nothing. It changed nothing because I found out about lies and exclusion and the way it feels when it's like no-one gives a damn about you. it changed because the monsters became my peers and the ghosts became authority (they brushed straight through me like I didn't exist) and demons became the nameless, faceless people who judged me simply because everyone else did, too. The fears never went away: they just morphed and mutated. It's the fragments that matter when you know your friend sees your actions and not your reasons but it's the fragments that matter when you know someone else sees the reasons and knows that the actions aren't a reflection of who you are: it's just who someone else made you into. I was meant to sparkle, but I don't; not any more, I don't. there's a layer of dirt I have to live with every day: dirt made up of the things I’ve done wrong and memories of the people I’ve hurt and of the people who've hurt me. things that don't just get washed out of the character in the shower. The only thing that sparkles about me now is my teeth and they will rip into you and they will tear you to pieces because that's how I learned to survive; that's who I am, and if that's unacceptable to you, then I don't need you (you never mattered
anyway). I’m a reckless wrecking ball of fury when I get rolling and I’ll burn bridges and dig holes and when I explode I cause damage so extensive it's irreparable and yet the person I’ve become refuses to let me care. The only thing that sparkles about me now is a razor-honed tongue that slices and dices into you because if you're less than I am, then I win - because that's what I’ve been taught; that this is all just a competition, so don't you dare let me in, don't you dare show me your weaknesses or your flaws. I will destroy you if I’m backed into a corner and the corner is only exists in my imagination so it's inescapable. The only thing that sparkles about me now is my fury and it's misdirected and misplaced but it's how I finally found a way to cope and it's so well honed and my words so refined, I can destroy someone - I can destroy anyone, and the people I know flaunt themselves before me because I learnt to escape the attacks by starting the battles first: and so I learnt to cut down vulnerabilities and yet the people who love me still love me, and they've shown me theirs and I constantly have to remind myself: do not do it; do not hurt them. and it's a battle to back down every time. The only thing that scares me now, I realize, is myself - and that's not right. It’s the fragments of the things that shouldn't have happened that broke me. I know what it's like to suddenly trip and stumble over yourself and to think, this isn't right, this isn't who I was supposed to be. This viciousness that's ingrained itself into my character: this was never meant to be me. I was never meant to hate myself this much; I was never meant to regret so much. I was never meant to ache like this because of all these things that just won't go away. But here's what I’m hoping: that I can become my own surgeon; because the fragments, as deeply ingrained and as poisonous as they are - they're operable when I’ve figured out the source of the fault. They're able to be amputated and they're removable and I can neutralize the poison. The fragments are just fragments and the whole is worth so much more than all of this.
Age: 19 Short Bio: "Livvy Carson was born and raised in a rural area of New Zealand, travelling for both secondary and tertiary education and is currently studying for a degree in Psychology. She is passionate about all literature, music, visual arts and theatre, and frequently finds herself having deeply involved conversations on varying philosophies, or how to achieve world domination. Despite her attempts at maturity, she is a blatant adrenalin junkie with little regard to her personal safety, and moreso, she's often found climbing trees or building sandcastles and is not above dressing up in rabbit ears and fairy wings in public and cannot function without her morning coffee.
"I wrote Fragments after having coffee with one of my friends and a long-winded discussion about my history. It's been colorful, and a lot of it has been terrible, and a lot of what I have done reflects both of those things; but who I am now is not who I was - and who I am now is not who I will be. Fragments reflects this: all the little pieces which led me do things I now regret, and all the little pieces that are now leading me to rectify such faults in my personality. I believe it's something a lot of people can relate to, as many of us have felt obliged to do things we'd have otherwise not done, be it out of necessity for social, physical or mental security - and most of us will later come to regret bowing to the pressure. But Fragments is also about knowing that you can fix yourself: you can diffuse the insecurities, or the memories, and build a better life for yourself - because the bad things are just tiny pieces, and everything else can be so beautiful if you just let it. It's about fighting for something better, which I hope I've finally learned to do."
Chrysalis I sat there in the abandoned restaurant, anxiously waiting for my partner to arrive. Time was running short and it was getting dark outside. While I was sitting, I marveled the caricature that hung in front of me and kept poking my knife in the cutlet, smothered in cheese, that I had ordered a few minutes ago. Omer and I grew up together in Islamabad. Though we were not much of friends, I always found him around, particularly when no one was supposed to be. One day, while watching a children's musical show on TV, we discovered we had a similar taste in music. So inevitably, our friendship blossomed. Since our parents were co-workers, we always showed up at each other's places; listening and dancing to music. We played Ludo and Monopoly and Uno and he keenly cheated in them all. The first time I made chocolate mousse, he spat it all out in front of me. There are so many memories I shared with him, ones I can never forget. Things changed however when I turned 13 and moved to Istanbul and our families completely lost contact. Fortunately while I was doing my Bachelor's degree, I found out he's in Lahore studying music like me. Fate intervened and I had to travel back to Pakistan when my grand father died. A couple of days upon my arrival, my mother told me Omer wants to meet up. I was thrilled. I could hear an incessant tune from around. Being a virtuoso, I was disgusted to hear how incompetent the musician was. Not until I noticed a faint shadow on my right, I kept doddling with my cutlery. He stood there, arms akimbo, smiling his childhood smile. 'Ordered the food already?' I stood up to greet him. 'Heyyy!' I exclaimed. 'Gosh I barely reach our shoulders!' He laughed as he sat in front of me. He continued smiling until he realized I was awkwardly blushing. 'I'm so glad to see you!' he finally said. 'So am I, Omer,' I smiled back. 'So, has the little Beethoven mastered the art of music already?' I mocked after a few minutes of obvious silence. 'Academically, I'm still a graduate,' he winked as he poured himself some water. I watched him as he gulped it down, his Adam's apple loitering as he did. 'So how are you? It's been such a long time, wow. I mean all I remember is a fat, little girl who sang Barney songs with me!' he said, putting down the goblet. 'Yeah well, things changed. She's making music nowadays.' I answered. 'Not as good as the little Beethoven does, eh?' he winked again and reminded me of the little boy I used to play with. I
smiled at the thought. 'Maybe not. What instrument are you skilled in?' 'Every one of them, happy?' he raised an eyebrow and a tremor of smile seized his lips. 'Oh! Very munificent of your teacher. Mine taught me just 3.' I mocked and we both laughed out aloud, grabbing the attention of the waiter who cleaned the table next to ours. I guess he smiled. 'Are you not going to order anything?' I questioned. 'Not hungry.' 'Okay.' I put my plate aside, clearing and making room to rest my elbows. For a second or two, silence surrounded our auras. Then I looked at him. His eyes twinkled in a very naughty manner. Competition, here it comes. 'Play that piano for me,' he pointed towards the large instrument at the corner. 'I think they don't even let you touch it,' I made an excuse. 'Besides, I prefer flutes.' 'I do too,' he got up and came over to me. 'But let us not be uncouth and insolent towards the art we admire. 'The piano, madame?' he grabbed my hand and like a gentleman, led the way to the piano. He cleared the seat with his hand and invited me to sit. I sighed heavily, to his least expectation and utmost disapproval. 'Fine, I'll go first,' he smirked and sat down. 'Just be patient,' he said. 'I won't disappoint you.' Then his fingers began to trace a path on the keys, as he lightly played his melody. As I started understanding his message, I leaned against the case. I looked at him in awe. He ceased. 'This, is my favorite part. I have revered it from the beginning of my learning. It brings back old memories to me,' he murmured. Then he began again. I enamored his music more than he did and felt I had been listening to it for years. 'I call it 'Chrysalis'. It tells me what I am yet to become, Arwa.' he whispered. Yet to become after tonight, I thought. He smiled, as if he heard me. Heard me understand his message. When it ended, he sighed and looked up at me like a young, innocent child. 'Thank you,' he said. I smiled and proceeded towards the seat, as he made place for me to sit next to him, allowing me to play my version of his 'Chrysalis'; the song of our childhood together.
Age: 16 Short Bio: I'm a college going student from Pakistan. I read and write avidly; play table tennis; sketch and enjoy Latin music. Nothing about me is particular, I am so unique, just like everybody else. Most of my works can found on http://www.writerscafe.org/arwashahzad and http://arwashahzad.blogspot.com What motivated me to write the featured piece was music. Music has always inspired our lives. This story 'Chrysalis' is based on the fact how music, being the food of love, slowly rebuilds the affection between a young couple. I wrote this story while giving my GCE English Language exam an year ago. The love of music and the art of love transformed my thought in this piece of writing..
Dream Catcher To be a dreamer, don't be afraid to fall. because you should know that at some point, you must always stop falling, but there is no limit to how high someone can fly. to be a dreamer, be able to tell the difference between nightmare and reality with only the slightest touch. to be a dreamer, sleep with a dream catcher dangling by your head so that when you wake, you can gather all your bad dreams and turn them golden. to be a dreamer, know the pain of reality and its painfully apparent differences with your daydreams, and know that the two can never be one and the same. But that doesn't mean to stop dreaming. I have never stopped dreaming. I have never stopped reaching out for that perfect fantasy place where I am the person that I have always wanted to be and I am strong and independent and never afraid of pain. not even after the day I scribbled down those dreams furiously onto a piece of paper, only to find that they could never ever be true and crumpled the paper up and shredded it and turned my back on it. because when I looked back at my desk, the imprints of my writing were still embedded in the next sheet of paper. At night, most dreams are forgotten within a few minutes of awakening. but the ones that really matter, the ones that give me hope and keep my love for fantasy alive are the ones that I can't forget, even if I tried. I’m still scared of heights, though. standing at the top of the skyscraper, I won't even stray within a few feet of the edge. because saying I’m not scared of falling is totally different from actually being it. and people tend to tell lies, even to themselves, if only to console their uneasy souls for a short while. lies are like spider webs, though; strangely resilient, especially if wellwoven, but still easily ripped away by a human hand. But if I did fall, at least I can dream a parachute saving my life. They say I should get my head out of the clouds, but I just so happen to like where I am right now. I can look up and see the vast expanse of stars and the moon and the galaxy and all of a sudden it's right there where I can just brush it with my fingertips. Then I can look down, but see only white puffs of liquid nothing that block my view of that earth that pulls me away from the constellations. what I would give to live the lives of the heroes in the books. At least I can dream about it.
When I’m asked what I want to be when I grow up, I say that I’m still not sure. but the truth is, all I want is to still have the capacity to dream. To still be able to close my eyes and weave the shining dream-threads together to create a world of fantasy, so absurd and different from earth that it is my favorite place in the universe. But there is a sacrifice to growing up, to gaining knowledge of the way things work. With the facts of science and mathematics pounded into my head over and over and over again; the hammers of the textbooks beat the nails of the facts deep into my mind, piercing through those fantasies that are really, really, just so painfully impossible. why can't I be a child forever? Swathed in innocence and happiness and knowing only unicorns that give you horseback rides and dragons that take you for a fly across the sky. When I grow up, I still want to be a dreamer. Close your eyes; can you see it? Do those tiny dots of neon color swirl around and around, spiraling you into a whole other world? Or do you only see blackness, scarred too badly by reality that all hopes of dreaming are hideously done away with? Sleep now; can you see it? a world that your unconscious self walks, chased by monsters and villains but saved by the most perfect man that could ever exist. can you see that? My dreams; they're fading. the clutter of life and the constant burden of reality have worn them away. But I would die for these escapes, because they offer a vision of a different life, a brief respite from my real one, which only stands on the weak bricks of memories. So as long as I am alive, able to think, able to breath and eat and walk and sleep and dream then to life, fate, destiny, or whatever the hell's out there; you can throw anything at me. challenge me. Break my heart, make me laugh, starve me, make me rich, I don't care. I don't care. because even if I fail in reality, I can always dream that I have succeeded. Because for me and my soul made out of spider silk and stardust, that is enough.
Pride I’m not bipolar, I’m just terrified. of what, I can't say. but I’d rather give you a generalization because with them, I have a smaller chance of being wrong. You wonder why in the daytime I’m all laughs and smiles and a never-ending supply of happy. You ask me how anyone, especially me, can be just so filled with cheer and for what, for what do I smile for? In response, I laugh, not mockingly, but not nicely either. I tell you that you still can't read people even when they're wide open and the words written on their souls are right in front of your eyes. I tell you that you still can't hear that half of my laughs are fake, and that half of my smiles are miles from reaching my eyes. Just for the sake of enlightening (or maybe comforting) you, I tell you something else. I tell you that I’m not, in fact, as bubbling with joy as others may think. I tell you that at night, I cry into my pillow so no one but me can hear the sound. I don't wipe away my tears because then I’ll be able to feel the trails they carve on my cheeks even after they have fallen from my face. I tell you that I release all the feelings I don't dare release in front of anyone else, that I repeat my deepest, darkest, most terrifying secrets to myself in my head over and over and over again until the voice of my thoughts cracks and I let myself be taken by the supposed peace of sleep, but really, my dreams are conquered by nightmares of losing the ones I love in the worst possible ways, that includes you, you know. Somehow, those two sides of me can be squished and pounded together into one person, one human. the line between those two raw emotions is thin and smudged and so confusing that I don't know how far I can go before crossing over it. You look at me in a way that tells me that you don't know what to say, and that's right: you shouldn't. No one ever does, when I tell them about how I feel, so I just stopped telling people, until you, of course. Between the destruction that night brings to me, and the smallest comforts that the day comes with, I am left with the one thing in me that I can always count on: pride. I am prideful, if nothing else. I am prideful; I hate to be wrong, I love to be right, but somehow I always find myself being stuck with maybes. I am prideful; I hate to lose, I love to win, but I try to never gloat because I know there might be other people like me. Because of this, I don't venture farther than the things I already know, for fear of falling into a pit. I’m not sure if I’m scared of the
falling, or just the embarrassment that will follow it. maybe both. I don't take risks, because with a risk comes the chance of losing; but at the same time, without those risks, I can never win. so where does that leave me? I admit to you: I’m scared of living, because I’m absolutely terrified of bruising that pride that I hold so dearly to me. my frequent laughs of the day don't make a life; my desolate tears of the night don't make a life. I tell you that instead of living, I just exist, which has never been enough for me but I’m just so scared to go beyond that. I don't live, so I don't lose. I tell you this because it is the truth, and the truth is right - and hey, isn't that exactly what I always want? I hear those songs on the radio about living like tomorrow's going to be my last day, but how? how do I? I’ve spent all the years of this life huddled in the shadow of my limited knowledge of life, just enough for me to survive. I have told myself that this is enough for me, because this is safe, and I like safe. All those lies I have told myself, they're all wrong. but I can never admit that to myself, never mind admitting it to you. Your eyes are blank, but I can tell that you're trying to read me. and I open up my mind to you, as if your eyes could pierce into its very depths. I open my mouth to ask you that one thing I’ve been wanting to ask you from the moment I met you. You, that person who took me and held me, despite my flaws and my phobias and my pride. But that question of desperation never leaves my mouth. why? because of my pride. But I think it, I think it so hard because I know that no one besides me knows my thoughts, so with them, I can never be humiliated. and as if you, for once, can actually sense it, you ask me what I’m thinking about now, and in response, I tell you that I love you, because that always silences you long enough for me to take a moment to think. but this time, you are not shaken; you tell me that you love me too, something that you have never told me as earnestly as you do now. and I am, for once, comforted. I give you one of those rare true smiles I have a limited supply of in my heart. But love won't fix my problems, no matter what the books say. but maybe you can. I’m pounding my fists against that wall in my head that's keeping my from asking, and for the first time, I am able to bring it down. Before I can let my most primal instincts stop me, I plead you to help me.
You look surprised, but you recover quickly; you ask me what I need help with. I reply, sheepishly, with the answer: living. Help me to live. because I need someone to teach me, someone's hand to hold while I learn, so that if I do fall (oh God, I can't believe Iâ€™m doing this), Iâ€™ll have someone familiar to bring down with me. You don't respond through words, but instead, you grab my hand and pull me up, leading me outside and for the first time I see the sunset as a blooming rose of color, not a splash of sky-blood on the dimming daytime sky. my eyes have opened to a blunt, unex-
plored world, but with your hand in mine, Iâ€™m only a little scared. you turn and smile at me. I bury my head into your shoulder. I'm breaking out of my shell, and the taste of fresh, free air is wonderful and fills me. I swallow my pride, and it only lodges in my throat for a split second. I can't turn back now, but searching in the deepest corners of my mind, I find that I don't want to. We begin to walk, and now, I don't drag my feet. my head is held higher than I have ever held it before. There's a life waiting for me, and the hope of finding it makes me smile (genuinely.)
Age: 14 Short Bio: K.H. Phoenix is a fourteen-year-old dreamer with an imagination that she sometimes takes too seriously. She loves anything fantasy with a passion, and is an absolute Lord of the Rings fanatic. "I can't say exactly why I write," she says, "because sometimes such things don't have a clear definition. But for me, writing is everything I can't say out loud. It's taken from a deeper level of my mind that, for some reason, only written word can truly describe." On "Dreamcatcher": This piece is about living two lives: one on Earth, and one on a world that has no limits to its possibilities. It's about dreaming and how as people grow up and mature, we tend to lose many things, among which includes our ability to imagine. Science and math, things that involve straight facts, rule out many possibilities that exist in a small child's whims and fancies. I believe, though, that our childhood dreams and fantasies follow us our whole life, but many become blind to them, their sight shrouded by what they have been taught about the real world. What the narrator of this piece is trying to say is to never stop imagining; dreaming can be an escape, a way to soften the harsh blows of reality. Just remember: what is impossible now may not stay impossible. Keep an open mind; don't be afraid of believing in the nonexistent. On "Pride": A common attribute among people is pride, which can affect someone positively or negatively. It can give someone the confidence that they are going to succeed, but it can also render someone easily embarrassed, and therefore afraid to take a risk. Taking that extra step in life to achieve everything can be frightening back it may involve the risk of losing everything. But taking such a gamble is necessary if one is to live his or her life to its fullest; there is no such thing as a worthless life. Sometimes, we have to learn to swallow our pride and take that risk. Sure, we'll make mistakes in life, but we have to learn to brush off our knees and keep going. And oftentimes, our loved ones can help us along the way. The bottom line is: you're going to face barriers on your way to success, like everyone must, but sometimes that barrier is you. It takes courage and determination to bring down the walls in your own mind.
To photograph is to hold oneâ€™s breath, when all faculties converge to capture a fleeting reality. Itâ€™s at that precise moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy. -Henri Cartier Bresson
Alure of The Closeup
The Visionary Artistry of Photographer
Possibilities By Michelle Carrel
o o see the world in a grain of sand, and to see heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hands, and eternity in an hour. -William Blake
Possibilities II By Michelle Carrel
Stretched and Shreddeds By Michelle Carrel
Although Blake was not a photographer the idea of seeing the world in a grain of sand or an individual leaf or even a flower has intrigued man for centuries. To, for a moment in time, stop and ponder the smallest of universes adorned with alien like elaborate matrixes and structure is shear pleasure. To get in close and lose oneself in this incredible world, where even the most familiar takes on otherworld-like qualities, has allured photographers and viewers alike since the birth of the art. To live the life of the photographer you have to be in love with the medium; to breath life into a print you must visualize it even before the exposure is made, but to make a close-up truly magical you must first not only visualize but have great vision as well. One such photographer with immeasurable vision and ability to capture the very soul of an object on the close and macro planes is
Michelle Carrel. Although Michelle would probably not call herself a visionary in her approach to the art form, the fact remains and is selfevident in her images that she is extremely talented in making a close-up image with great allure and intrigue. We caught up with Michelle in a brief email interview so we, who are on the receiving end of her talented creations, may get a closeâ€“up of a different nature. Here is what Michelle had to say. Michelle how did you get into photography as an art form? When I was in high school, the only classes I found any joy in were the art classes; the school had quite a few classes to choose from, ceramics, drawing, sculpture, photography etc. My first semester of my sophomore year, I took the photography class. The first day, we were given a book about photography, and were told we should read the first chapter, I never read a page of that book! Sure, I didn't know the first thing about photography, but I believe any art in which you are forced to read an entire book on, in my opinion,
Wither By Michelle Carrel
thing further from the high school photography department, so I looked around at local colleges. I chose Johnson County Community College. Did you take up photography there too? I enrolled in the beginners photography" course, then in advanced photography... a week into that class however, I lost my job, and not having enough money to pay for the materials had to drop the class to look for employment. About six months after that, I got a hold of a decent digital camera... and due to my lack of access to a darkroom, I began to take pho-
Growth By Michelle Carrel
isnâ€™t art anymore. Art should be something you can do limitlessly... something you do to express yourself, and have fun while doing. Thankfully, I had a very good teacher. Photography is a very gentle medium, and it takes finesse... and unspoiled chemicals. It was art mixed with a subtle hint of science... and I loved it for that. Were there any other courses you were interested in? All other mediums seemed boring by comparison and my focus shifted from writing and drawing to photography only. My senior year, I decided I couldn't learn any-
“To me, photography represents a window to the way Ii see things... I'm simply trying to share that view, and help people look closer at beautiful things they would usually overlook.” Spikes By Michelle Carrel
tos with that. “I remember originally thinking digital photography was an abomination... it was choosing the easy way out. God, was I wrong.” I've been addicted ever since. I just loved the fact that I could post-process the images. Film photography has it's advantages still and I miss it to death, but I don't think I could ever go back to only film. What equipment are you currently using? I use a Sunpak PlatinumPlus 6200DX tripod, and a Canon SX110 IS Where there an photographers that influenced you more then others? I never really looked up to any particular famous photographer, sure I have admired the work of other photographers in the past, but can't say they inspired me much. However, in the two or three years that I've been in the online art scene, I have seen millions of photographs on Flickr and Deviantart... and those are the artists who inspire me the most today. What is it like for you in the field? Once, while I was making the image something and shredded, I was standing in knee high grass with huge bugs swarming all around me. It was a particularly humid day, and this was taken out in the country... therefore, there were 3x more bugs than I usually have to deal with in such situations. Anyway, I was snapping away as fast as I could, trying to get the least amount of bug bites as possible, while also trying to get a clear shot. After I got about twenty images, I ran away like a little girl. I'm sure if anyone saw it, they laughed their ass off. Now that I think about it...I usually have to do this on every outdoor shoot I go on. We doubt from the quality of her images that there is truly much that bugs Michelle while making an image and we at Walkingblind Magazine want to thank Michelle for taking the time to share a bit about her life and work with our readers. Her work is amazing and we recommend you see more of it for yourself. You can find more from Michelle onOut-Shine II By Michelle Carrel line at: http://aforadultery.deviantart.com/ 82
st rti A ea tu re d
Beelitz VIII by Mind Cage
he photographer Edward Weston once said “Consulting the rules of composition before taking a photograph, is like consulting the laws of gravity before going for a walk.” To the professional practicing photographers these laws, once learned, are implemented without wasting time in thought. They become second nature akin to that of bipedalism, they
are a way of life, allowing us the freedom to create spontaneously. The free flowing ability to frame, visualize and capture the perfect moment in time to many comes in a fashion very similar to the way we learn to walk, it is a nurturing process developed over time given to us by external forces and once acquired and acted upon repeatedly becomes part of us forever…
Right? Ok enough of that, there are also those who are just born with the freaking photographic disease. To these special human beings, and you know who you are, the all encompassing world of photography is innate, it’s just in the blood, they seem to have just been born in the know! Talent is neither learned or taught, it’s a gift and while you can nurture a talent, it
Urban Photo Exploration Walkingblind Magazine
IBeelitz XVII by Mind Cage
Dead house III by Mind Cage
must be pre-existing to do so! Now I’m am short period of time. Surprisingly he emnot going to be delving headlong into the barked on his photographic career only a whole Margaret Mead nature verses nurfew years ago in 2007, but let’s let Mindture debate and wax anthropological ad Cage himself tell us the rest of the story. nauseum, that would require open mindedness. Right now I I was searching for a new want to be a little more hobby but I was also looknarrow and focused in ing for something where I my vision and mindset could bring in my creative and just say I know impulse. I’ve seen some I’ve never tried to damn good photogragreat photos in the internet phy when I see it! – mainly at deviantART Enter “Mind-Cage” a copy a particular look and I was quite obsessed very talented and natuby these pictures so I rally gifted photograwanted to learn how to or style pher from Germany, make such images too. whose style and techThe “HDRI” technique was nical ability clearly also very fascinating and shine through in every so I’ve bought my first image. Currently excamera [Canon Eos 350D] and started to experiment. I’ve learned all ploring the urban landscape photographically, his unique application of traditional by myself [autodidactic] with a lot of reading and experimenting! I think that’s the and digital imaging perfectly blend to crebest way to create and find your own ate striking and vividly haunting works of “style”. There are many influences but I art and he’s only been doing that a very
Through Gardens of Grief II by Mind Cage
Beelitz solitude by Mind Cage
can’t tell exactly who was the biggest influence, but I’ve never tried to copy a particular look or style of any other artist. I’ve always tried to develop my own style and look of my images. In the past 2 years my passion for abandoned buildings and places has developed and I really love to go on tour and explore ruins and forgotten lost places. The atmosphere at these places is so amazing and I always try to capture the bizarre and dark atmosphere within my photographs. I never take pictures only to take pictures. I work very properly and I always have the finished picture in mind when I push the release of my camera. I want to make history visible … combined with a strange feeling of abandoned atmosphere. The post processing is also very important – it’s never the naked photograph out of the camera. I love the monochromatic look and it also strengthens the play of light and shadow. Now I use a Canon Eos 40D and several
“ I always have the finished picture in mind when I push the release of my camera.
Beelitz XIII by Mind Cage
Silent Demise I by Mind Cage
lenses [Canon, Sigma, Tamron] … I mostly use ultra-wide-angle lenses [Sigma 10-20mm] … a Manfrotto tripod which is very very important … I never use flashlight or other tungsten light. I don’t have any education background corresponding to photography, as I’ve stated I’ve learned all by myself. Also, I know how to use Photoshop so it was not very hard to learn that 89
much about the post-processing. To find the abandoned places I shoot, I and others, as I don’t do this alone, spend hours and hours of research on the internet before we take one single picture. Also we drive hundreds of kilometres every weekend [at least “every” weekend] and we also got to some locations and did not manage to get inside. It’s always a kind of
roulette. But there’s a small existing scene of people who always find “new” places and there’s some kind of information network among other “Urban Explorers”. Its quite complicated for me to describe all my processes and for every motif as it varies for each one. I will say I’ve got my workflow down and I am normally finished with a single image within 30 to 40 minutes. I al-
“Atrue photograph need not be explained, nor can it be contained in words” -Ansel Adams
Cinema Strange II by Mind Cage
ways use Photoshop for post-processing. Normally I’ve got up to 20 different layers before a single image is finished. However complicated the process may seem, the end results speak loud volumes for the themselves. The uniqueness of his style creates an unforgettable ambiance that leaves the viewer wanting to fall deeper into the mystery of this photographic journey. We at WalkingBlind hope to see so much more from this artist in the future. To find out more about Mind-Cage please visit his website at: http://www.mindcage-fotodesign.de Walkingblind Magazine
The Photography of
A N D R EY A LE K S EE 91
omewhere deep in the Russian countryside, amidst steel rail and infrastructure, there are the distant stacks of the industrial revolution; some still scream feed on demand while others have fallen silent, a faded muscular silhouette dissolving into the landscape. What was produced here, whoâ€™s lives were spent out tending to the machines of manâ€™s devise and to what ends are these symbols of mans achievement headed for. They rust in eerie silence!
To some, without vision to see beyond their worn and darkened surface, they remain only a rage upon the land, an eyesore to be dealt with; but to others a choice few with clarity of sight they are a true work of art. Finding beauty in the patterns of decay, in the color of rust and wonder in the architecture of twisted metal they become subject of lens and viewfinder which morph effortlessly into compositions that bellow with raw delight. It takes a special breed of photographer to truly bring out all the subtle nuances of these now abandon giants and transform the exoskeleton of industry into images that captivate the mind.
EV Walkingblind Magazine
Image by Andrey Alekseev
“ I’m always mentally photographing everything as practice.” -Minor White
In this month’s issue of WalkingBlind we believe we have found that special breed of photographer in Andrey Alekseev. This 24 year old Moscow resident has an amazing ability to capture the intricate beauty of these brick and steel servants of man, in such a way that sets his portfolio apart from the rest and creates for us, the viewer, a simply stunning body of work upon which to feast. While we could not possibly scratch the surface of all his art has to offer, we sincerely hope however this four page teaser will motivate you to patronize frequently the well stocked pages of his online gallery. Here is just a little more food for thought on Andrey by Andrey himself.
Image by Andrey Alekseev
I remember exactly that moment, it was an early spring morning, I looked out the window and there the first time in several months it was Sunday and there was warmth in the air. I took my camera and went to the industrial zone which was near my house and after a few frames I at that moment realized just how very interesting this subject was. Walking through these deserted places is a good way to mentally 93 Walkingblind Magazine
Image by Andrey Alekseev
relax, its my motivation. Some years before, I was an artist of computer-artÂ and admirer of H.R. Giger but I was also influenced by photographers like Henk Van Rensbergen and Harald Finster. I made collages in the style of surrealism, but this was not enough for me, and I began photographing. When I make an image it all depends on what is depicted in the scene and mood. My photographs are usually monochrome, sometimes, if there is reason, they may be colored, but this rarely happens. I like the lomography effect in my old Kodak, it has four pixels and I am satisfied with it. For me, the most important part of the creative process is the choice of images to edit on the computer.
Image by Andrey Alekseev
Image by Andrey Alekseev
When I make a photo I do not know what will be in the final version. Basically I place a transparent layer over the image that is scratched and I do this to the extent of distorting the image for aesthetic reasons. I donâ€™t care to participate in exhibitions and am currently on my fifth year at an architectural University. We wish Andrey the best at the university and in his photographic career and would like to thank him for taking the time out of his busy schedule to talk with us briefly. If you find Andreyâ€™s work and life intriguing you can find out more here at: dosimeter.deviantart.com/
Image by Andrey Alekseev
â€œBe not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
- William Shakespeare
Transcending Immortality By Indigo Reid
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the last issue I wrote about the coherence of harnessed words and the writers who have the task of maturing their writing for that purpose. In this article I will be talking about the permanence of words, and what makes a writer’s work transcend time.
When you stop to really think about it, more than half of our education in public institutes were invented, thought of, carried out, or written by people who no longer walk the face of the earth. While feasting on the created or found knowledge of these deceased men and women do you ever stop to wonder how they came across a way to be known nation or worldwide for their achievements? Do we bother to take the time to delve into the lives of these people whose ideas and methods we study and use everyday? This line of thought will lead you down many different paths, but what I want you to focus on isn’t the end result of these accomplished people but rather the journey they embarked upon to become some of the longest living human beings of all time. I will be talking about this from the perspective of writers while showing you how other well known writers long past live among us today. I will open up this part of the article by stating the obvious fact that a large portion of the world’s population strive to be seen and heard by one another, many will yearn for that sort of fame, few will reach it. In this day and age we see how hard it is to become well known at anything let alone writing, can you imagine a person that is working hard to push their art so far off the normal time frame that by the time they finished the piece it would be slapping the next generation in the back of the head? The real question that should be answered is why do we feel a need to be remembered? What is it inside of us that keens for recognition beyond our lifetime? One reason why we want to be remembered is the fear of death, no matter how hard it is to take everyone knows that death is the end; there are no more chances or opportunities for physical success after it. Death is one of the reasons why people work so vigorously to make something out of themselves and knowing that the end can come at anytime forces us to calculate a plan that will allow us to continue to live and exceed certain limitations set upon our lives. Another reason is loneliness, it isn’t hard to believe that after dying we may be cast into a sea of nothing alone and hollow waiting for something… waiting for nothing. It is plausible to think that because of this impending loneliness a person would love to hear their name roll off the tongues of the living. This loneliness goes hand in hand with our apprehension of the unknown, if you have no clue what
is to happen to your soul after you pass on the only logical thing to do is make sure that someone remembers you enough to spread your name and the meaning of your life. There of course are other reasons why remembrance after death is important to us, but most are personal and don’t need to be brought up in this article. Now as I take us into the next few paragraphs keep this one in mind as we continue. William Shakespeare, is by far one of the most undead dead writers of all time, I understand that there is also John Keats, Sylvia Plath, Vladimir Nabokov, and Mowlānā (Rumi for our western readers)but Shakespeare seems to be the one that everyone gravitates too. By finding out how this man wrote we can discover the secret to his success in finding the eternal fountain. The first thing we must look at is the fact that Shakespeare didn’t write like he was from the 15th-16th century, his writings consisted of strong willed woman such as Gertude of Hamlet and Lady Macbeth, leading characters of different nationalities like the Moorish soldier Othello, and his love of ribaldry. Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets were engorged with love, sex, horrible tragedy, and characters who disguised themselves physically and emotionally. Along with these things in his later sonnets he begins to talk about a ‘dark lady’ which he loves beyond everything else who could be anyone from an African prostitute to Emilia Bassano Lanier the wife of a patron of Shakespeare's theatrical company. If by this time you cannot see how it is that this author’s work and personality could survive so many years maybe you
should read this section again or do an engrossed study on his life and collections. William Shakespeare’s ‘against the tide’ type of writing granted him a pass throughout time. After reading the above paragraph your probably wondering how you can mirror the actions of Shakespeare in your own time, the simple solution is to stay ahead of this time period by developing the maturity of your writing. William could never have gotten where he is today without the quick cleverness of his coherent mind and the drive to continue his work. In order to have your work stand up against the erosion of time’s waves you must challenge your writing skills as often as you can, flexing it like a muscle, testing what it can and cannot handle. It is essentially up to you as a writer to either strengthen your work or watch over the months and years as it wastes away. Why do the latter when you could live forever?
*All information pertaining to William Shakespeare in this article were found by actually reading his work so if you want my sources you’ll have to read the mentioned playwrights and sonnets. Good Luck
"Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time" - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Dont feel left out! if you miss an issue of WalkingBlind you can catchup on your reading at our website! Just click on the past issues tab then sit back, relax and enjoy.
The Decline Of The Arts By Alex Dark
Gallery Will Be Closing Indefinitely Due to Lack of Support and Interest!
Poerty fettered fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed, or flourish, in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourished! -William Blake
--The Decline of the arts--
mong the maze of mobius distractions, in a world so busy that even fast food seems slow and the claxon of automobile horn drones out our evening lyric, one wonders what has become of the leisure time this Aquarian age was to afford us. In this vast oceanic wave of information and electron flow, irradiating us daily down to the last particle do we really invest the scarce commodity of spare time in those endeavors that are deemed culturally enriching. Do we take note of fine detail or revel boisterously in the experience of the experiential? Where is the finer slice of life microtomed off and matrimonially vowed to us by the avant-garde of the digital marketing moguls. Some have, and to great lengths, proclaimed to this writer that there is no longer a need for the cultured vises of society, that holding in high regard artifacts which serve no functional end other then to be aesthetically pleasing is a fools folly and a grave waste of currency by those that indulge in the patronage there of. ‘Art is dead’ has become their endless mantra and they, meaning those within my sphere of existence, recite it with out so much as investigating possibility that it’s alleged corpse may be merely dormant, still fogging the mirror and waiting again to burst forth with renewed vitality and direction. Cut the crap! Is art really freaking dead? To me its pulse had always been strong and tactile, able to be sensed beyond even the slightest flutter. Art, I am happy to say, is far from the morgue of dried paint tubes and bone hard brushes, on the contrary I have found it to be alive, well and thriving although in an altered state of existence. Art today has a new face one many may not be acquainted with but a voice and expression of thought we have all heard before. While the practice of traditional art has subsided to a certain degree, digital art abounds in scads and swarms around us with an electric hum like flies buzzing around meat. Personally, coming from an age where all that was created had some artistic facet and beauty, to a world of stock plain vinyl covered particleboard furniture is disheartening at best and makes me wonder as I move forward in age just what exactly is to come. To
“Art does not evolve by itself, the ideas of people change and with them their mode of expression.” -Pablo Picasso
me art is and always has been a part of everyday life but the deep wounds of today’s hard economic times coupled with a fleeting interest by a large part of the populous to grace the halls of art galleries across the land has forced a change in the art community and the artist themselves. The days of renaissance are gone with the great masters returning to the very clay from which much of their art medium was created and art has moved from the mainstream to a place on the back streets and side alleys. What we used to prize as the feather in our cap in the facadish days of Deco and Art Nouveau is now the proverbial drink in the speakeasies of the modern day art communities. It seems most are just too busy to stop and pay attention to the arts or have a general lack of interest in participating beyond the hobbyist level. The artist, in any venue, is seen many times by a vast majority as lazy not pulling his or her own weight in society, wasting time on pursuits that too many are viewed as less then a respectable living. I believe this to be true evidenced in the formation of so may underground art communities by those who are the last bastions of the fortress we used to call mainstream. From poetry to painting many have been driven to small clusters
--The Decline of the arts--
of like minded on places with names that imply they are deviated from the norm, hence the feeling of being underground. The stereotype of the starving artist is not so far from the truth in this barren new flood plain, there is a famine out there but just who is really starving? Without art, without enrichment a society will eventually crumble becoming stale and mundane. We need to dream, to vision with passion and manifest those feelings in some form. My hat goes off to those brave soles who fight to keep the arts alive on every front. Although there is a shortage of the desire to make even the simplest of objects into an art form for everyday use, there has never been a shortage of the talent to do so. There is on tap, a cold full draft of talented artists waiting to have their day in the sun, but for right now forced to remain in the wings hovering in the shadows and from there the plot thickens as this plight affects not only the tangible visual arts community but has gone seeping it’s way into the literary communities as well. Where are those who prefer to gorge on the written offspring of mankind’s musings as an alternative to being force fed the pabulum of zeros and ones whizzing at light speed through a conduit of twisted copper wire. There is no balance in this phantasmagorical world of counterfeit life; writers however do still abound in this maze of random access memory. With no shortage of artisans of verse, one wonders why they cling to their craft in the hellfire’s of this Nvidia born illiteracy when all seems to be lost. If there is no deficiency of writers for of the ink laden text printers impregnated upon the pages of our hardbound spawn of soul and breath why then, doesn’t anyone read except when they feel they absolutely have no choice for something work related or for school? The last I checked you could read outside of those venues anytime you want yet libraries are closing in droves across the country, the one in my town was no exception! Seems like decades ago, although only a few agonizing months, I embarked upon the arduous task of writing and posting over forty works of the liturgical genus online in an art network I belong to only to find they have been overtly abandon, cast down and trodden upon in
favor of the more cultured master pieces of narutonian fan art splendor. Why are writers shunned and averted in this phenomenon of modern bliss, when more then any other time in history has the written word been so available, is a mystery not unlike Plato's lost world of submerged acclaim. The society and culture of the population of the neo-electron nation seemingly holds to the belief that the eye must be dazzled with scene changes every 5 seconds for media to be of any intrinsic value. Teething on visually rendered haggis daily they neglect the cold hard fact that for anime characters to romp gleefully through fields of blood stained flowers as the storyboard artist intended, there first must have been an artist who wrote the story! Writing is an ancient expression formed deep within the spirit of the human breast. Writing, when unleashed with tenacity from impassioned pen to tattoo the metastasized pulp of the paper’s flesh, becomes a weapon, a lover, and adviser, a method of chastisement and ultimately the best flippen bang on a Saturday night a starving mind could hope for without having to spend a fortune on something served up with a side of deep fried strings of genetically altered potatoes. Writers are largely a very overlooked cog in the machinery of the artistic infrastructure of our society, surpassed often times even by fancy pants stick figures of epic proportions roaming the transistorized surface of computer screens. It is disheartening to live in a minority where the world at large sees art and literature as something that drips only slowly on the page or canvas only to remain closed or hidden for the life span of its lignum free archival permanence. Art and literature spewed forth even at base levels takes on life and breath, it is voracious, flirtatious, advantageous and most assuredly to the totalitarian mind extremely dangerous. Its entity is dynamic whether or not its line and form is of acrylic nature or decisively hobbled in bold face sans-serif fashion. It is always worth the price of admission to expand ones horizons in the exploration of artifacts buried between the sands of punctuation or hung at eye level on the long
--The Decline of the arts--
bronze hook of the gallery wall. It seems horrifyingly ignorant to me why more of the constituents of this artistic community don’t vie for an internship to embark on an expedition into the long sealed tombs of many textual and artistic nirvanas. Feed on a different manna, one that will leave a lasting after taste in the mind and soul instead of usual fare of indigestible Crayola garnished daily specials that quite frankly will make the educated pallet eventually nauseous as they are left to ferment in the forgotten regions desks and lockers everywhere. What am I trying to say in my lengthy discourse of pragmatic platitudes – patronize the ARTS before its too late, the life of artists and writers depends on it, but moreover the survival of our society’s cultural mind depends on it. Be aware of the art around you; get involved in the art community actively even if you can’t produce art on your own you can still be a part by supporting it. In places where art has declined it is historical fact that the humanity declined there as well, and its still happening. Recent research this May 2010, after analyzing almost 300,000 children and adults, discovered creativity scores have consistently spiraled downward increasingly since 1990 without signs of slowing down. This decrease is terrifyingly significant and most exceedingly serious. The acidic culprit eating our minds and declining our society is directly related to the number of hours people now spend in front of the TV and computers just like the one you are viewing this on. Art programs have been and are being dropped in schools in favor of computer courses (machines that think for you) and in some places art was dropped simply because those in power believed in this day and age believed it was a non essential waste of time in the digital age to involve in traditional arts when they could better direct their misappropriated funds to greater endeavors such as self-raises and Cuban style cigars.
things it takes in. Feeding it the cold steel of the alter of the desk-top-tower continuously is causing damage. Art is directly declining in America as a result of funds and minds being funneled to the advancement of the information age, but what good is information if there is no one left to use it. Now a computer is a wonderful tool and yes there is a great digital art all around us but if all we do as a society is let machines think for us we will be in distinct and eminent duress as a culture. If art dies, we die, it is that simple. Draw and write, paint and sculpt, create all manner of art as if your life depends on it, it does. Use the computer but as a tool, do not let it replace the power of the human brain to create, demand art programs back in our schools, reopen the libraries and feast…yes gorge yourselves on the wonder of art and survive into the next millennium leaving for posterity that which you yourself created for the next wave to enjoy and be inspired by. Be art aware and remember “Food for thought requires a mind with teeth!”
Pursuing one thing consistently and not engaging in other creative activity causes lack of artistic development in our brains which requires constant shifting and blending of the types of
Come back next issue for the another installment of Knite by Yuumei Yuumei aka - Wenqing Yan can be found at: http://yuumei.deviantart.com/