Daily Art | 2018

As I mentioned in my New Year’s post, I’ll be working on Daily Art (again) this 2018 in an effort to draw and paint more. It’ll be hard, though. Year-long projects are hard. I started back in 2017–linked here–for about two and a half months before the pieces started becoming sporadic and hasty, midnight scribbles I’d do just to fulfill the quota. This year, though, I’m going to try and make a habit out of it.

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Like last year, I’ll aim to post a drawing a day, alongside the usual 2-3 posts per week.

Speaking of which, I’m never entirely sure how often I ought to blog. Sometimes I’ll want to write everyday, but then I won’t post it in fear of cluttering people’s feeds. Other times, I’ll go weeks or months without feeling inspired, and my blog’ll be largely untouched, aside from some old art or recycled prose. About half a year ago I decided on the 2-3 posts a week bare minimum, a buffer for times when I’m feeling lacklustery. (For those who blog–how often do you post/aim to post, and do you set schedules?)

Anyhow, I’ll start throwing up Daily Art posts this Sunday (January 7th, 2018). Here’s to hoping I don’t find too many excuses to quit the project before the end of the year, and that publicly posting the project will hold me accountable!

2017 Daily Drawing Posts

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Life Updates

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My boyfriend pointed out earlier today that I haven’t written much on my blog (“Well, sort of. I posted my art recently.” “No, I meant a journal entry.”) and for a moment I felt emotionally sweaty. Hm, well, why haven’t I? Because the thing is, I have been avidly writing, from midnight rants about psychology studies to utterly mundane journal entries– I just haven’t been publishing them. Think I’ve just been feeling self-conscious lately. So I’ve either distanced myself from the things I’ve written or felt nauseated about them, taken a step back from blogging to do other things instead, life things. But I might go ahead and publish some things I’ve written. Or maybe not.

Anyhow, I am… alive and kicking.

The past three weeks have been interesting. Well, maybe interesting’s too strong a word. Interesting connotes deviation, and I wouldn’t say they’ve been different or strange. They’ve been… pleasant. I spent the entire pre-Thanksgiving weekend at my best friend’s house, where I recorded her in slo-mo bellowing (she’s a really talented singer) to Christmas hits by Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande. I painted portraits; we cooked carbonara; the whole family went Thanksgiving dinner shopping. After this brief respite, I took yet another one, of Thanksgiving break, which felt like one big intake of fresh air. I hope you had a restful break! chirp emails. Well, I did have a restful break. Filled with family, food and sleep.

The week and a half since has been both mellow and fun. Lights are up, both in the city and in New York, so I’ve been visiting parks and spaces now glittery lit-up. Twinkling trees, glowing branches and whatnot. Over the weekend I went to New York City, which ended up being one wild adventure stuffed with dessert-y foods and rich pasta and spiked Korean watermelon and, of course, window displays and Christmas lights. Oh, and a missed bus and speed-walks down 50-60 blocks (this time through Times Sq. and Rockefeller Center and Saks 5th Avenue!) to catch the next bus. I’ve just finished going through the 300+ photos I took on the trip, and I’ll elaborate on it soon once I have more time. I’m also trying to use my camera more, too; I’ll start upchucking them onto here.

Time flies is one of those cliches you secretly hope will apply to you. And, well, it did for me. That we have one more week of classes left is appalling, that we’re nearly done is baffling, that it’s 20 days ’til Christmas is absurd, and insert-whatever-other-synonym-you’d-like. I haven’t honestly wrapped my mind around it, and I probably won’t until I have to, until I have to come with the wing-flapping nature of time. It feels like yesterday was September, the day before was August, and the day before that was February. The less you pay attention to time, the quicker it goes; I’ll try my best not to count down the next 15. And blog more while I’m at it.

Free to Be

The other day I sat in a hot car for too long, maybe five hours, and by the end of those five hours felt a sort of exhausted bitterness wash over me- like my body was drained and my arms were heavy and I was irritated, irritated, irritated. I wondered for a moment why it felt so familiar. And then I remembered that that was how HS had felt like. Every day, by 3:45 PM, when I was bored out of my mind, sedentary as a sequestered squirrel, I’d feel that same five-hour-long-trapped-in-a-car heaviness. But now I can let my hair down and sprint across fields and speed across highways and go to the bathroom without raising my goddamn hand. I feel free in the simplest of ways.

Good Ol’ Days Are Now

There is a moment in Bojack Horseman, an adult cartoon I recently finished, where one of the characters goes: I wish we knew when the good ol’ times were when they were happening so we could enjoy them then.

I have an odd little feeling that this might be one of the happier times in my life, and that I’ll miss it. I can’t say for certain–I can’t go into the future and look back to nostalgically decide how happy I was, but I am. Happy, I mean. Happy with the people in my life, happy with what I’m doing, happy to be where I am. I was pretty happy in… December, and then from February to April. Dipped into some weird existential haze come summer 2016, which would have been a sublime time to have watched Bojack Horseman. Instead I meandered aimlessly, sinking in sweaty bony skinniness and devouring Marukami, who made everything feel dreamlike.

Bojack would have been ideal to watch in the summertime. I’ve just finished all three seasons, rationing out episodes to one per night (generally around 2 in the morning). In terms of content, it’s deep, but doesn’t seem it at first glance. It’s little like treading into a pool that steepens from 3 ft to 6 ft: before you know it, the water’s up to your chin. The show is, to put lightly, dark, which is unsurprising given that Bojack’s depressed, mired in self-loathing, and manages to fuck up all his relationships. Yet it isn’t just a sad show: it’s funny, it’s clever, it’s deep and it’s strange. It’s whimsical. It’s meaningful. And it’s beautiful, in a weird funny way.

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Ironic to be watching such a sad show when I feel, in general, pretty upbeat. I guess it temper things, evens them out. At any rate, I’m grateful for the up’s in life, and if this does happen to be the ‘good ol’ times’, I’ll try my very best to savor the here and now. (This is my cheesy spiel)