Tag Archives: Arts

Distentio

The time it will take will be years.
Years and years, a thousand years.
Every
day
is
a
year
And if time is cyclical
as the ancients would say
Tell me where to find
someone
strong enough to break the chain.
And if Time is a swallower
as Homer believed
Then I need to find
a savior
who will give up his life for me.
But for now,
by the words of St. Augustine,
time is distentio
each moment stretched—
ages in hours.
Until I can find the way
to purge this fear
that the time it will take will be years—
Years and years, a thousand years.
“The stretches of time
are not for you to know,
trust in the One
who made time go.”
But, Dear God,
Every
Day
is
a
year
And the time it will take
to let you go
will be years—
Years and years, a thousand years.


Poem: Shell necklace

I hope you still have the shell necklace I made you.
I thought of you when I heard a song about St. Augustine —
I thought of you out in the ocean,
When I went surfing.

I look through all of our pictures
Over and Over again, to smile and cry —
Looking at your eyes.

I wish I was wearing your warm plaid shirt
Blue and black, your scent around me —
The best smell in the world.

I remember when we went to the park together –
You read Herodotus and I read Plato.
Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry
And I hope you kept the shell necklace I made you.


As I Lay Dying. I think you should read it.

“Sometimes I aint so sho who’s got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he aint. Sometimes I think it aint none of us pure crazy and aint none of us pure sane until the balance of us talks him that-a-way. It’s like it aint so much what a fellow does, but it’s the way the majority of folks is looking at him when he does it.” –Cash

I, as a writer, kind of salivate at Faulkner’s narrative style.

Cover of "As I Lay Dying: The Corrected T...

Cover of As I Lay Dying: The Corrected Text

The quote is from a character in Faulkner‘s novel As I Lay Dying, which I just finished reading for my American Lit class this weekend. Basically, it’s a mock epic about the very dysfunctional Bundren familythat takes up a treacherous journey to bury wife/mother Addie Bundren in her hometown.

The novel is divided up into short narrations by various characters–giving several obscure perspectives to see the plot through: the intense eye of the eldest brother Cash, the intuitive and insanely observant Darl, the horse-loving mystery son Jewel, the pregnant-at-sixteen Dewey Dell, the innocent and confused eye of little brother Vardaman, the shell-of-a-man weak patriarch Anse, the corpulent doctor Peabody, the over-religious Cora Tull, her practical husband Vernon Tull, and others.

Each unique character portrayal will make you stare in fascination. From the first image of Cash building Addie’s coffin in her view (before she dies), to Jewel rescuing the coffin from the barn Darl set on fire, even those with a good grasp of understanding will probably be asking “Seriously, what’s going on here?”–and it’s perfectly human to take a peek at Sparknotes for some assistance.

I mean…take the classic quoted chapter of the whole novel:

Vardaman

My mother is a fish.

P.S. I hope you realize this has nothing to do with the metalcore band As I Lay Dying. Faulkner made the name first.


3D Design projects

This semester I’m taking a 3D design class, which has been exciting for this little art minor here. This is the first time I’ve really concentrated on creating sculptures, so this class has pushed my skills beyond the familiarity of drawing and collage. Though sometimes uncomfortable, I feel like I’ve been growing artistically and figuring out how to express myself in sculpture. I’m pleased with my results thus far, so I wanted to share some of my favorites with you. Let me know what you think.

Clay sculptures (from a 50-sculpture project)


Deconstruction: Print on foamcore

Reconstruction: Sticks.

Manufractured: Record, guitar strings, drumsticks, guitar pick, and bandanna.

“Dream On”


Why I am so proud my brother won a rock…

My brother brought home a rock Saturday night. And I am so proud.

…Okay, it wasn’t just any rock, of course.

The Slick Rock Film Festival takes place at the Fox Theater in Visalia, one of the most highly anticipated film festival for junior high and high school students in California’s Central Valley. Hundreds of short films are entered into specific categories, and the winners are awarded with a plaque, certificates, filming gadgets (like microphones), bragging rights, and the highly prized rock, which is polished and engraved.

My brother collaborated with some high school youth group friends and made a music video over the summer, called “Welcome Freshman,” an original composition meant to be shown at the youth group over the summer to welcome the new freshman kids. After its completion, my brother figured he could enter it in the Slick Rock competition as well.

So on Saturday night, we (which included my brother and his crew, some parents, and me) sat patiently for the Music Video category to be announced, which was listed as the last category on the program.

The screen showed the nominees. Tension radiated from our section of the theater. I was probably squeezing my hands intensely.

The winner of the Music Video category went to a group from University High. I sighed in disappointment. Well, it was nice being here.

But there was one rock left on the award table. Oh, there’s a Best of Show category? That’s not in the program…

I figured the Best of Show would be the top film out of the ones that had won in the separate categories. But the screen didn’t list nominees, just simply:

Adrenaline rushed through me, and my mom was totally screaming. We forgot we weren’t the ones that actually won.

Best part? The music video was a rap, and after it was played and the host handed the guys their awards, this is what he said:

“You guys are so WHITE.”

So, my brother took home a rock that night. A slick rock, that is. And I went to bed grinning my face off.

In fact, I was so proud, I decided to write a blog about it and post the video right here so you could watch it! (You may want to watch it twice. It gets funnier every time).

The Fresno Bee gives the full listing of the festival’s winners here.

All photos credited to Lisa Ramsey. Thanks! :)


The Hangover (or The Really Really Bad Headache)

It’s always nice when your teachers give you extra credit just because they saw you somewhere. It makes the college student feel that there is indeed light in this world.

I hadn’t heard of Billy Collins until my Literature and Writing professors started talking about him–and how we could get extra credit for watching him read his poetry for a campus event.

Now, I have literally heard Billy Collins, and he gave me way more than the benefit of extra credit; first, I found out that poetry lives when it’s read aloud by the poet. Any of you who have studied poetry in the classroom know how very painful it can be to sit through a read-aloud session with a group of unenthusiastic students. But when the actual poet reads–it’s like seeing a Van Gogh in person for the first time; you can actually see the thickness of the paint and the beauty in the colors as they truly are instead of the sucked-dry version that the printer created.

Second, I learned that poetry can hurt your face because it’s so hilarious. Most of Billy Collins’ poems had some sort of humor in them, even the more serious ones. A particular poem with a particularly dry sense of humor made me laugh so hard I had to fight to control myself from being that one person in the crowd who takes laughter to that shutup-and-listen-you’re-annoying-now level.

“This poem is called ‘The Hangover,’” he said. “Now, I know I’m at a Christian college, so none of you know what that is–” he grinned– “so just think of it as ‘The Really Really Bad Headache.’”

“If I were crowned emperor this morning,
every child who is playing Marco Polo
in the swimming pool of this motel,
shouting the name Marco Polo back and forth

Marco Polo Marco Polo

would be required to read a biography
of Marco Polo-a long one with fine print-
as well as a history of China and of Venice,
the birthplace of the venerated explorer

Marco Polo Marco Polo

after which each child would be quizzed
by me then executed by drowning
regardless how much they managed
to retain about the glorious life and times of

Marco Polo Marco Polo”


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