Finally painting again!
This time I am focusing on a more conceptual piece… It might seem a bit weird at the beginning, but you just have to pay attention to the details in order to understand the whole idea behind this work. Every little thing that’s portrayed has a meaning and a reason to be there, I’m not painting this one for the sake of beauty. The fact that I am using colors –yes, I know, I’m not doing a black and white piece, what’s wrong with me?!– is no coincidence. Ever wondered what a purple or a black rose mean? Have you ever read The Raven by Poe? If you want to get the gist of this piece, it is mandatory to know those things! I am not getting into much detail explaining the concept behind it all because, firstly, it’s way too personal for me to put it down in words, and secondly, I’d rather let you draw your own conclusions. I have a long way to go, and I am already dreading painting the girl’s skin and the background… Actually, I just noticed that I still have to finish some details of the sketch! Oh well...
This is what I have so far:
The title of this piece is inspired by Julia Stone’s “The line that ties me” song:
Are there football fans in the room? Anyone who supports Real Madrid? My condolences… Ha, not really! Here’s to every Real Madrid supporter that in the past few weeks had taken the time to email me, message me on facebook or write me on whatsapp to remind me that Atlético de Madrid stood no chance in winning the Copa del Rey Championship! Pay attention:
You know what they say; the one who laughs the last, laughs the loudest (or however you translate that saying to English) So this past week I had to avoid any football conversation that might had ended up with me bitch slapping someone. In all honesty, my faith was actually crumbling. 14 years without winning a derby were too many years, and we were playing in their field, their territory. Everything started like it usually did, with Real Madrid scoring in the first 30 minutes. But, oh, wasn’t it so sweet when Falcao passed the ball to my admired Diego Costa so he could put that beautiful little thing where it belonged? I felt embarrassed for even doubting my team…
So yeah, Atlético de Madrid won the only match that was worth winning. A final. In the Santiago Bernabeu stadium, with all the Real Madrid supporters’ smug faces and grins fading away during the second half of the extra time. I do not believe in God, but for those who do believe, God is not “white” after all, is him?
“The revenge you want will be yours in time” ( does anyone recognize this quote?)
I wanted to celebrate our victory by cooking something special… well, I wanted to bake something because the cream that I bought to make the NY Cheesecake was going to expire in the first place, but Atlético de Madrid’s victory gave me a better excuse to do so. I found an interesting recipe for Banana & Oatmeal cookies on this website, and I decided to give it a go. The result… could definitely have been better, but I am going to blame it on the fact that I didn’t have an appropiate blender. Also, my oven was a pain and decided to heat only half of the surface, leaving half of my precious cookies a bit more tanned than they were supposed to be. Still… they were delicious!
Apart from baking, shamefully watching Eurovision (my ears needed Metallica afterwards to recover from the experience), re-reading an amazing story that I stumbled upon nearly 4 years ago ( I’ll probably talk about it in another post), and studying for tomorrow’s exam, my weekend has been very uneventful. I still have the itch to paint, but I’d lose myself in the creation process forgetting the rest of the world and obligations. I know me well enough by now to know that I should avoid the temptation in order to fulfil my responsible student role…
I am dreading this week, by the way. 3 exams in 5 days… So:
While I love music and I am always listening to some new band that I’ve recently discovered, I am very picky when choosing my real favourites. A song may become a favourite because the rythm just makes me feel a bit more positive, because it helps me channel whatever I am actually feeling. Other times, I fall in love with a song because its lyrics speak directly to me, assuring me that I am not insane, or because it reminds me of past times. Or of someone.
The song that I’m about to show you automatically got a place in my heart because of the ambience that surrounded me while it made its way through my eclectic Iphone playlist. Sometimes I download loads of band’s records only because I enjoyed one of their songs so I’m usually not familiar with the rest of them. Today I was walking back home from my university. It was raining and it was freezing -I was very smart and only got a jacket with me thinking that, being May, I hardly was going to be cold- but I was craving the exercise and walking under the rain is something I’ve learnt to love in the past few years. I was in a weird, depressing, sad, emo mood, and the cloudy sky was not helping… not that I really wanted it to. Once in a while it’s nice to let yourself feel sad; to embrace the feeling without having to cover the apparent weakness in front of others. I believe there is a certain beauty in sadness. I think it’s healthy to be sad, from time to time.
And I didn’t feel it coming this morning. The sadness, I mean. The intense need to let myself go and enjoy the lack of resistance towards the emotion. It was liberating and I felt strangely comfortable in the loneliness and the anonymity that a big city provides in the early hours, when shops are still closed and coffee places are starting to serve the so much needed caffeine to the few early risers. I wasn’t able to put a finger on what was making me feel that way, but I welcomed it while this song said what my brain probably hadn’t been able to process by itself.
The brokenhearted voice made me smile. It was nice to be feeling something. Anything.
This is my new favourite:
I’m on the corner, waiting for a light to come on
That’s when I know that you’re alone
It’s cold in the desert, water never sees the ground
Special unspoken without sound
You told me you loved me, that I’d never die alone
Hand over your heart, let’s go home
Everyone noticed, everyone has seen the signs
I’ve always been known to cross lines
I’ve never ever cried when I was feeling down
I’ve always been scared of the sound
Jesus don’t love me, no one ever carried my load
I’m too young to feel this old
Here’s to you, here’s to me
On to us. Nobody knows, nobody sees.
Nobody but me.
I know, I’m nowhere to be found. I don’t update my blog like I used to and I haven’t painted anything in a while. Why? Life happened. I’ve been focusing more on my exams, and last weekend was also my favourite person’s birthday, so I was busy with family visits and gatherings. I wish I had something interesting to say, or some painting idea to share with all of you, but the truth is that I don’t. I could tell you about International Tax Law, or about Philosophy of Law, but I have a feeling that you might not find that thrilling at all! I can’t tease and embarrass my friends on my blog either, because they’re also struggling with real life obligations and the only time I had to actually go out a bit and enjoy myself was yesterday after the could-have-been-a-disaster-but-maybe-I-pulled-it-off International Tax Law exam.
So, as a way of compensation for my lack of eloquence right now, I am going to show you the song that has been in my head lately.
Like I said, last weekend was my brother’s birthday. I still owe him his present (I have NOT forgotten), but when I’m on my exam period I have very little time to do anything besides wallowing in my pain and actually studying, so the only thing I could do for him was to help him (or should I rather say make him help me?) bake a NY Cheesecake to celebrate his new year of wisdom. Here are some pictures of both the baking process and the celebration.
Last week I also received the Agnes Cecile’s artwork that I ordered on Society6! I can’t wait to put it up on my wall. I am IN LOVE with it.
Having said all this, I promise I will try to send little “I am still alive” signs every now and then while my exam period is still going on!
I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but I used to do ballet and contemporary dance when I was younger. I had to quit for a number of reasons that are not important right now, but I would lie if I said that I don’t miss it. I used to be able to do side leaps and grand jetés, and now I can barely achieve a plié and my flexibility is worse than my mom’s.
However, I still enjoy watching it, especially watching contemporary routines. I find them much more fun because they’re not so rigid and the movements allow you to express freely more emotions that the ballet in its perfection cannot obtain. So the other day I was watching my favorite routines on Youtube, and I saw the one that I’m about to show you.
I think this routine, with its roughness and merciless movements, shows perfectly the emotions and feelings that an addict or a sick person with a psicological disorder would experience. They perform the hopelessness and the struggle that the diseased person goes through, and the inevitable attraction that -in this case- she feels towards the object of her obsession, making her go back to her self-destructive old ways again. It’s the constant dichotomy between the sane and self preservation oriented half of the person who suffers the disorder, and the desperate and irrational need to satisfy the other sick and disrupted half.
Hope you liked it! I think in some way we all can relate to it.
Are you interested in purchasing some of my pieces? Now is the moment to do so! Art prints at Society6 are sent for free thru Sunday ! So if you get an art print, canvas, even Iphone or Ipod case with my artwork on it, you’d only be paying for it, not for the usually expensive shipping that comes with it.
Here are only a few samples, but if you want to see the real deal, go to my Society6 profile!
I didn’t know you then, but I sure as hell knew the signs of someone hurting and trying to put a brave face on. I’ve been there myself, you know that by now. I sat there beside you for a few minutes not saying a word, not wanting to disturb the apparent peace that you were obtaining from venting on that little notepad of yours. I pretended that I was looking at my own notes, and I couldn’t help but notice you sheepishly looking at what I was studying. I guess you got way too curious, because you actually sat there reading them without realizing I was watching you with a smile on my face, and by the time you did notice I was way too amused to pretend I didn’t catch you. I thought you were going to say that you were sorry, that you hadn’t meant to pry or something inbetween those lines, but what you said surprised me and made me want to kneel in front of you and ask you to marry me (yeah I know, gross, right?). You told me that I was wrong, that Plato had never said that quote, that I was mistaking it for Aritotle and that it was a huge error for someone who is apparently studying philosophy. I swear, that was the moment when I vowed to myself that I was never going to get into any arguments with you. Who the hell says something like that right after crying and being absolutely vulnerable to a total stranger, possibly offending that said stranger or alienating him?
I know you well enough by now to know that arguing is your way to run away from your own insecurities. It’s your defence mechanism, and it was in overdrive when I first met you. I’m incredibly proud for having survived your wrath those first few months; you were unbelievably tireless, picking retorical fights whenever and wherever I took you. You argued about things you afterwards confessed to not having any idea, and still you left the poor bastards feeling like they had been emasculated by your reasoning. It was quite a show you pulled off at the parties you went to with me, and by being quite the verbal enemy of nearly anyone who was willing to talk to you, you made me and all of my friends fall unconditionaly in love with you (in a platonic way, obviously).
Why am I telling you this? Well, first of all I know about your email fetishsm. You love long and deep emails (and by deep I mean meaningful, pervert!), so I thought about pleasing your ego – or the lack of it for that matter- a bit after the whatsapp conversation that we had against you a few nights ago. You know we were messing, and it was our own retalihation for having beaten our confidence with every statement you’ve made in the past few months. We were attacking you because we were defending what was left of our intelligence. Don’t flatter yourself, though. Some of us were taking it easy because of your… condition (I still feel weird every time I mention it to you) and now you’re going to start having real mature conversations with us people who tend to confuse Plato quotes. Secondly, I feel like you need a reminder of how special you are. You don’t say it out loud, you don’t trust us with such information. But we’re not fools, and although you enjoy locking yourself up to paint and read literature of questionable reputation (and study, of course), we do know you. You’re hurting. I don’t know why, we don’t know why. But I know there is something in that beautiful head of yours -and yes, I said beautiful just to spite you- that is making you a recluse. Our duty is to stop that from happening. You are well aware of that, that’s why you’re avoiding any whatsapp conversation we initiate. DO NOT DO THAT or we will be forced to invade your home and get you out of that artsy room of yours. You might not be hurting for the same reasons you were hurting the first time I talked to you (and if you are, I swear to god there will be hell to pay). I believe you’re having an identity crisis of sorts. You’re quite the existentialist, eventhough you try to convince yourself of being a nihilist. And I’m guessing that you loved that little philosophical reference and that you’re about to refute it by more philosophical stuff that you find on the internet and in the books that you have at home, but please that was not my intention! Don’t mold this email into your own battlefield.
You might not believe in it anymore. You might not aknowledge it to us, or even to yourself. You might be afraid of it. But you love us. And I (we) am (are) not afraid to tell you that I (we) love you, too.
Let the people who are capable and brave enough to love you take care of you. Being vulnerable does not mean being weak, and getting help does not make you dependent because “need” is something that you’ve mastered to control, and so you’ve made sure that you don’t need any of us. So, in order for you to understand where we’re coming from, I’m going to talk about loyalty. Loyalty is the feeling of allegiance. In feudal society, loyalty was materialized in the obligations of a vassal to his liege lord. And while you’re no master to any of us (you’re only the Mother of Notes), we certainly do have obligations to fulfill where you are concerned. You are the one who constantly talks about responsabilty and the need for people to commit to what they say by logical following actions. Well, the logical course of action here is to make this little interventation so you can come back to us loyal vassals and put us out of our misery with your sharp tongue. We’re getting bored to death here, Mother of Notes! See? This is just another evidence that shows that your Aristotelian thesis about selfishness and altruism is right! We’re being selfish here by pursuing you!
So… pick up the f*cking phone right now!
[And so it ended. Like I said, I’m speechless. Emails like this one make me commensurably happier and with the permission of the author, I posted it here to… honestly, to brag a bit about the friends I have and to nurture my own ego! Sometimes we all need people to remind us that we’re not alone in whatever stupid situation that has us feeling a bit out of it.]
When I first laid eyes on you you were boringly taking notes. It was a few years ago, 3 maybe, and you were all focused on whatever area of law you were studying, with your hair up in a messy bun, not caring at all if it was neat or if you looked like a crazy person in need of a serious make over. You had no make up on from what I could tell, you weren’t wearing heals like some of the girls surrounding you and you weren’t looking up from what you were doing, apparently unbothered by the stares that you were obtaining from me and my friends from the table right across yours. I wanted to talk to you then, but I didn’t. And you became my enigma.
But I forgot about you, until a few months ago when you walked in the library area, a lot thinner and a lot messier than I remembered you. But what took me by surprise and made me want to jump and hug you and tell you that whatever was bothering you was going to be ok, were your eyes. I remembered your eyes from the last time I saw you because no one would ever forget something so expressive and pure. So beautiful. I know now that you hate that word, but it’s the truth. When I saw you for the second time though your eyes were screaming death and sadness, and I wondered if you’d let me make whatever was making you mourn go away. But then again, the pull I was feeling towards you was broken when I could sense the barriers and walls that you were wearing as protection like they had materialised in front of me. Do not bother me. Your body was screaming. So I didn’t. I just looked at you, daydreaming of things to tell you, about how old you were, what were you doing here and what was making you so miserable. This time you didn’t seem focused, and for sure you didn’t seem bored. You stared at your notes like they were written in some foreing language and looked at your phone every 5 minutes to put it away a second later with anger and distress. And after an hour of a fight against your will, you got up and took off like the place was in flames.
It was a friday morning when I first talked to you. You were in the hallway, looking down and writing furiously on a small notepad. I stopped in my tracks because I honestly didn’t know what to do, and I was fighting against myself wondering if approaching you was a very lame thing to do. But then you looked up, directly at me. My expression must have given away what I thought the second I saw your mascara all over your face and your red eyes, because you tried to hide your face with your hair and pretend that you were invisible and that our eye encounter had never happened. I was not taking it this time. I sat beside you and felt you getting a few inches away from me. I asked if you were alright, and you said the biggest and fatest lie… and the only one I’ve heard you say since then:
[ All errors, spelling mistakes etc are entirely mine. I had to translate the email my friend sent me and I really tried my best, eventhough I still believe I didn’t capture the feelings and the ambience described by him on the original fragment that he emailed me. This is just the first part of the email. I thought it would be too much to put all in one post so I’m dividing it. He’s narrating how we met… and the reason behind the email is revealed in the second part. I’m just so extremely glad that I have the honor to be friends and be surrounded by amazing people like him… I’m so surprised by this, that for once, I’m actually speechless.]