The Taciturn Melon

So many new things!

2012-01-05T13:55:00.001-08:00

New projects, paintings, and companies are on the make. More soon.

I'm Back, baby.

2011-09-20T01:48:00.001-07:00

Nuff Said.

Thurlow - through your eyes

2011-05-12T11:34:00.000-07:00

Hey gang,

a music video I directed for local band Thurlow recently premiered! Check it out:

"The Catch" Takes First Place!

2010-11-15T10:33:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the long break in updates everyone - but I've been swamped. Work is good, but has this funny way of keeping you busy. Quick update - got word that the spot I wrote and directed for Johnsonville, "The Catch," took FIRST PLACE in the Johnsonville "Share Your Ville" contest. Awesome! This is made especially cooler since the contest is a huge national competition that had several thousand entries - and the icing on the cake is that it's client-juried.

Without further ado, check it out:

Many thanks to my very talented Cast and Crew, with special shout outs:

Dan Lynn, Cinematographer who, besides braving greasy sausages being hurled at him, made a great looking spot on a shoestring.

Chris Babers and Ryan Kirby, my amazing EP and Producer who made this all happen - it was a pleasure and privilege working with you.

I'm super excited about what the future hold professionally - I'm really looking forward to making more quality products in conjunction with quality people. Here's to making some Cool Ass Shit!

Onwards and upwards. Excelsior!

"Bootcamp" Takes Honorable Mention!

2010-09-07T16:05:00.000-07:00

Awesome! I recently got word that the TMZ spec I wrote & directed, "Bootcamp," was awarded honorable mention at the client-juried competition over at ZOOPPA!

My congratulations to my talented and wonderful cast and crew - many thanks - and as always, I am humbled by your generosity of time and talent. A special shout out to Fatima Carmena, my cinematographer, and the fellas over at Simple Complex Media, Christopher Babers (Executive Producer) and Ryan Kirby (Producer), who put forward the money and footwork to help make this happen.

full credits coming soon.

Keeping Busy

2010-08-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

Hey Internets,

Been keep super busy lately - the past month and a half has seen me direct four new specs, produced by the awesome people over at Simple Complex Media. It was a great experience, and really great to get some directing hours working with all-new people in what is, for me, a totally different workflow. The pieces themselves will all be re-cut for usages in reels, but the competition cuts can bee seen after the jump below.

I'm really thankful for the opportunity to have been directing/shooting nonstop for a few weeks, and think that these pieces, regardless of their individual quality and finish, will be and already have been important stepping stones for me. Super happy and thankful to have been involved. Here's to more work, more pieces, more art - more delving into the mysteries of the inner and outer universes through film. Excelsior!

Pepto - Eat, Drink and be Covered (I directed the first two; Thanksgiving and Halloween):

http://zooppa.com/ads/pepto-bismol/videos/pepto-bismo-2-eat-drink-be-covered

TMZ - Paparazzon Bootcamp:

http://zooppa.com/ads/tmz-on-tv/videos/paparazzo-bootcamp

TMZ - I Love Hollywood:

http://zooppa.com/ads/tmz-on-tv/videos/i-love-hollywood

Johnsonville - The Catch:

http://zooppa.com/ads/johnsonville-video-contest/videos/the-catch

Look for final cuts soon, I'll be posting links to my vimeo as they show up!

"In My Pants" Takes the 4th!

2010-06-25T15:21:00.000-07:00

We did it! "In My Pants" was awarded 4th place out of a "record breaking amount of entries" at the MOFILM 2010 Cannes Lion International Advertising Festival Video Contest! From here, it will be shown to a "who's who" of advertising industry big-wigs -- not to mention making it into one of the biggest events in the advertising calender! This is a tremendous achievement - and I am so thankful to all my team who worked so hard for it. Thank you to them, and CONGRATULATIONS!!! I am privileged and humbled by your generosity of time, passion, and talent - please know that this video would not have been possible without every single one of you helping make it happen.

Special shout out to Tal Unreich, my super-talented cinematographer, and Kyle Soehngen, a fellow-director and friend who turned me on to the competition in the first place.

The video is also currently viewable online at the MOFILM website, where you can see who else took home a prize:

Check out all the winners after the jump.

"Bud Light: In My Pants" Shot, Cut, Posted

2010-06-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

The Bud Light Spec went fantastically - can't wait to post it here for you all to see, but as it's been entered into a MOFILM contest, I can't post it online... yet. Look here for it soon... IN MY PANTS!

Sublimation

2010-05-15T13:04:00.000-07:00

Busy Summer plans

2010-05-15T12:59:00.001-07:00

I think this summer is going to be good. So long as I can make enough dough to support myself, I think there's going to be some real productions cooking.

Let's do it.

Working on set for "KILLDOZER!"

2010-05-08T12:02:00.000-07:00

Update

2010-04-01T11:01:00.001-07:00

Hey all,

long time no post; but in this case I think it's a good thing. Been super busy working (Directing, Production Design) on a few short films; uploaded some photos to face book about that, some will make it here soon. Social media is the first thing to go when time gets short, I'm afraid - at least for me. So sorry about that, more updates coming soon!

Other Doritos Spots I was involved in...

2010-01-08T11:27:00.000-08:00

Hey all,

my good friend and colleague Ryan Green just posted his two spots for the Doritos "Crash the Superbowl" contest; since neither he nor I were chosen for the finalist spots, we are free to do what we please with our videos - like post them online! I was lucky enough to be involved in both of these; enjoy!

Both the below spots are Directed by Ryan "Rynostevie" Green,
Cinematography by the superbly talented Lawson Deming.

You Deserve to be Happy on Vimeo

2010-01-08T11:15:00.000-08:00

Finally heard form Doritos; and though my spec didn't make the finalist list, I am still very proud of it and everyone who helped me make it happen. My wonderful crew, cast, and many friends who devoted their time and talent to this silly little thing; I owe you all many thanks. Film is a truly collaborative process, and as such the results of this, and almost any project, can never be credited to just one person. It's the result of many people all chipping in and making it happen - this was no different. To my friends, my crew, my cast - thank you.

mantra for the day

2009-11-04T08:56:00.000-08:00

Shooting today. Going to put all the uncertainty, fear, and not-good things on a boat, light it on fire and set it out to sea. We're doing this - and things are going to get better.

SHOWDOWN!!!

2009-11-03T17:56:00.000-08:00

Production Still from a Rad Commercial I PA'd on this past weekend, directed by my pal Ryan Green. The photo was "Antiqued" by the Rock-Awesome DP, a certain Mr. Lawson Deming. Pretty freakin' sweet, I'd say.

Sudden Movement

2009-11-03T17:51:00.000-08:00

I wonder if happiness is like a pair of shoes. Is it something you obtain and take good care of and put on every day, or is it more eastern? Is it something that finds you? Hell if I know. Is it possible for happiness to remain? Is it possible to "be happy" as opposed to experiencing fleeting joy? All other emotions are transitory; though I think we often make them seem permanent.

Perhaps it's a team effort. Perhaps there really is something to loving others and having them love you after all. No shit, Sherlock. I was thinking, the other day - that people like me, who try to do what's best to succeed in the long term all the time - miss out on a lot of good things that are happening now. A lot of good things that would busy you now but would be good in the long term. A lot of good things that would help you achieve perhaps something that really matters. The love and companionship of someone you love and who loves you. How painful these words have become to me; for all awards and applause in the world won't keep you warm at night, won't kiss you gently, won't hold you as you at last die.

If one man dies alone, surrounded by opulence, success and wealth; and another dies on a dirt floor in loving arms, which man was more successful? Which man sucked more marrow out of life, which man truly lived? Perhaps both - but it would seem that one way is more prone to joy than the other. One way is more fun than the other. One way seems to nestle snugly in the heart of what it is to be human, more so than the other.

What a terribly painful lesson to have learned.

yesterday I was superbly happy. I felt as if, for even just a moment, things were going to be OK. I knew that this was far from certain, perhaps almost to the point of being false -- but I felt that it was certain, in those moments. Absolutely certain. Feelings are uncontrollable, slippery to hold onto, difficult to describe, impossible to fully comprehend. The dichotomy between joy and depression, happiness and sadness is like that of life and death - one is growth, action - one is a vacuum, a lack. Things are going to be OK. I, for one, am choosing to live. To Grow. To seek out light and life and joy. I will. I will right now.

Shooting, Professionalism and Life Inside

2009-10-31T02:55:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't updated in a couple weeks; I've been keeping myself super busy with all sorts of projects; and AD gig here, a Production Design gig there - and I've been planning a shoot this coming Wednesday for a Spec Commercial for the Doritos "Crash the Superbowl" Contest. This has all been played over some really tough personal times... I'm trying to lose myself in my work, work hard and smart, and be successful... not to completely silence my internal dialogue, but just keep it from taking over my life entirely.

Hopefully good things will come of this.

More soon.

Crash the Superbowl

2009-10-12T13:12:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, I'm looking for a makeup designer. preferably someone with heavy makeup/horror experience. Know anyone? It would be for meals/credit only, I'm afraid, but hey, a copy of the DVD for your reel ain't bad. Of course, I'd be willing to pay kit fee as well.

Know anyone? I'm going to need their help to finish my Doritos "Crash the Superbowl" spec commercial.

Flickr update

2009-10-02T13:52:00.001-07:00

Hey everyone,

I just dumped a ton of sketches and artworks onto my flickr page. You can get there by clicking on the bar to the right, or just clicky here.

Emotional Air Raids

2009-10-02T12:02:00.000-07:00

Holy Moly, have I made a mess of things; if there was only some way to make money off the emotional mess I've made of my private life, I'd be rich. Rich I tell you!

Oh well. Onwards and Upwards, too much drama.

Thanks for sticking in there, whomever you are out there. I mean, all you have to do is click up to the page and read a bit -- but I still appreciate it.

"Real" things coming up soon.

Motivation?

2009-09-15T22:54:00.000-07:00

I was hurt to hear these words said to me mere minutes ago:

"Andrew, you like to waste too much time. Your life is passing you by, and at the end you'll have done nothing."

Good motivation, I suppose... well, I'm going to go edit, I guess.

ArtKid update

2009-09-13T11:21:00.000-07:00

What's going on with me? Well, I have as much going on as I am willing to acknowledge.

I do like to try and take a step back and look at my inner going-ons; in my line of work it is a must. This inner world of emotions and fears, desires and fantasies is of immense value to me - for that inner, personal world makes up the stuff of my professional life. I am a professional day-dreamer, and my wanderings of the mind provide the "raw materials" of my career; Ore which is smelted and alloyed with craft and turned into stories, drawings, paintings, music, and films. I sit with my musings and feelings and think about them, reveling in them and their multitudinous forms, trying to experience each to their fullest... I've become something of an imagination connoisseur.

So to answer the original question, I've got plenty going on both inside my head and outside. I'll spare you much of the granular detail, but here's a couple things on my plate:

Creative Mediocrity
a tv-length pilot for web-series development
Work is progressing forward on Creative Mediocrity; I've just finished the second cut and am addressing notes. I hope to have locked picture in a few weeks so I can begin color correction and ship it off to the composer.
The quality of the production varies, but I feel the script was strong, and our leads were very talented young folks; people I definitely want to work with again. Indeed, the plan is to use this "pilot" - either whole or cut into a sizzle-reel - to pitch with a prospectus to fund a short "season" of 5 or 6 webisodes. I am looking for producers to help in this process; if you know someone send along their info.
At this point I foresee it playing two roles for my career: An immense learning experience and also giving me some decent stuff to cut into my reel. It has been a really good experience, both personally and professionally. I feel I've learned immensely from the process - a real win-win. Like the archetypal 80's made-for-TV Disney movie, I'll stand behind the podium at my high-school graduation and announce: "we all learned a lot, and maybe, we all learned a little bit about ourselves too."
The process itself has been pretty indicative of film-making in general: overwhelming, stressful, fun, exciting, frustrating, expensive, and deeply satisfying. Here's to a strong finish and fun premiere party.

"Untitled Hot Girl Project" (sweating to the oldies)
a photo-book of beautiful women in 80's workout gear
The title pretty much explains it all; several months ago I was musing on what would be favorite way of photographing beautiful women for display in some sort of a collection, a sort of "photo-book." I decided to make it an 80's workout inspired design, and have had some very good feedback. My photographer, Ian Elston, and I had a test shoot a couple weeks ago and things are moving ahead for the final; I've gotten leads on community spaces (read: old jazzercize gyms and racquetball courts)that I might be able to get for free to shoot the thing -- the biggest problem is going to be costumes. Sure, some girls have tights and ankle warmers -- but very few do -- and I'd like to be able to design or at least have some say into what they wear; to leave it up to random chance is process itself. Regardless, it's moving forward and as soon as I get a grip on the costume situation (one way or the other), I'll be having casting calls. If you're a beautiful woman, let me know.

MicroFilm Mondays
90 second shorts release on a (mostly) weekly basis
Started as a way to help me get my "behind the camera" fix for the week, I'm four behind on this series. I actually have the films, but am sitting on them. they are indicative of the mood I was in the past month and as such are very emotionally "heavy;" I feel somewhat self-conscious posting them online, but I think I must. There is no justifiable reason in my mind for a personalized narrative project, for which the self-reflexive "journal" aspect is inherent, to self-censure.

ArtKid Art
drawings, paintings, design
A constant in my life, I am always drawing, painting, designing things for the sheer creative pleasure of it. I get a fair amount of free-lance work doing this, thankfully, that helps me justify and validate this crazy career path I've chosen. Regardless, these creative ventures are varied and change to reflect their largely self-reflexive nature; There are a couple organized bodies of work... I have a collection of luchador portraits cooking somewhere back here, a series of simple text sketches expressing intense emotional longing is kicking around, and also a hitherto untitled collection of design that seems enchanted with blue-neon grids and golden 80's nostalgia. I think that's still in the oven.

ArtKid Records
my self-styled musical wanderings
I've begun several EP's, but have yet to finish one. Something is keeping me back, I'm not sure what. I plan on rectifying this situation shortly.

The "Next Project"
many ideas, not sure which one to follow
As Creative Mediocrity starts to reach an end (regardless of the web-series production), I'm looking for another short to direct. I have some very talented director and screen-writer friends, and we've been tossing ideas back and forth... I've been writing some treatments as well. Hopefully, a clear leader is found soon so that I can hammer it down, get a good script, and pre-production can start. I am eager to continue and hone my craft; A film-maker must make films and an artist must make art. Onwards.

That's a brief update. Talk to me, my friends. Call me, meet me for coffee, get a drink with me. I need you more deeply than you may realize; you are the pilings to which I moor when I'm lost in the currents. Let's hang out.

"...Damaged Goods."

2009-09-12T11:55:00.000-07:00

Apparently, my dreams are coming true. I highly suspect that, all other things being equal, we all get what we want in the end. Make sure you know what that is before you go any further.

A billion years of detritus

2009-09-01T13:04:00.001-07:00

It must be difficult, being a glacier.

You are pushed slowly and eternally forward by your own massive bulk; the detritus of a hundred thousand years. Immortal Refuse that has interrupted the cycle of death, it passes on through you. It has made its immortality and has chosen you to be it's chauffeur, and for your labors the parasite will repay you with Charon's kindness. You will travel together. You will be hurt, tattered, dirtied as you go; you would not have recognized yourself at the end, from the beginning. Pieces of you calve into the sea and are lost forever. Your relentless progress cannot be slowed. It cannot be stopped. You slowly inch forward in a tiresome march to your complete and absolute destruction. You know this. This never leaves your mind. You cannot change course. You are pushed forward by the weight of a million years. You mustn't look back. You cannot look back. Forward, forward evermore forward.

At the end, you will reach fields that are cold but not cold enough for you to survive. You will at last melt away, depositing the dust of a a hundred billion years where you die. In the end, you were only a vehicle. Only a convenience, only a conveyance. Your purpose met, you are no longer necessary.

It must be difficult, being a glacier.

Life seems to be a series of one-way doors.

2009-09-01T05:03:00.001-07:00

Please disregard this post if you are disinterested in emotional blog venting.

Yesterday afternoon I felt something I think I'll remember for the rest of my life.

A friend called me and in the course of the discussion they mentioned something that caught me completely unprepared. there was nothing wrong with what they said. there was nothing rude or disrespectful. nothing out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. coming from that specific person, however - it was lethal. A hardened bolt aimed at my heart; I felt pierced. crushed. I was racked with this horrible, debilitating pain; I don't think I've ever felt that kind of intense emotional reaction. I started shaking from the sheer weight of it. I couldn't even lift myself out of the couch... I felt pinned. I haven't been able to sleep because of it. I haven't been able to think because of it. I feel like a part of me has been torn off. I feel like a part of me is gone and it will never, ever come back.

I think this is going to be a big turning point for me. I remember some of the last ones. I thought I had found someone which doesn't exist.

Life seems to be a series of one-way doors.

ArtKid Film Presents: MicroFilm 005

2009-08-26T23:45:00.000-07:00

ArtKid Film Presents: MicroFilm 005 from leslie andrew ridings on Vimeo.

"...Please please find me"

Written, shot, cut & scored by Leslie Andrew Ridings
© Leslie Andrew Ridings | ArtKid.us

August 25th?!

2009-08-26T16:41:00.001-07:00

I've been busy since my birthday - many thanks to Cassandra and Colleen for putting together that kick-butt party on the 15th. It was seriously rock. Since then: Editing Creative Mediocrity. Freelance artwork, design, directing work. I'll post the fruits of my labors soon, my pretties. I also owe two micro-films. Those are coming as well! Seriously, they are.

Los Angeles

2009-08-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

I love this city. It is my beautiful, cracked, dirty, grey and desperately human world. Rushed, cluttered with people, rattling cars, broken pay phones. Islands of cheerfully glowing late-night taco trucks that invite you into a fluorescent pool of humanity; an outpost against the dark where people come to break bread. Even looking up, we are replete with ourselves; a mat of kudzu power lines, loud birds shooting down their search-light gaze.

Chatsworth

2009-08-14T10:24:00.000-07:00

I was out far too late last night, and now I'm headed out the door to shoot on some random student film that I know very little about but (perhaps foolishly) volunteered to work on. I had a grip of people help me for free on Creative Mediocrity, so I feel like it's fair that I give a penny to the karmic penny-jar.

Slight Layout Changes

2009-08-13T14:39:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone,

i just added a couple things / moved some stuff around on the side bar, mostly to emphasize my presence on other site and try to get more all that stuff centralized.

Let me know what you think, comments, criticisms. I'm hoping the page is informed, but not too cluttered or crazy.

ArtKid Film Presents: MicroFilm 004

2009-08-12T19:46:00.000-07:00

ArtKid Film Presents: MicroFilm 004 from leslie andrew ridings on Vimeo.

"...you just seem really sad."

Written, shot, cut & scored by Leslie Andrew Ridings

© Leslie Andrew Ridings | ArtKid.us

My Birthday

2009-08-05T23:06:00.001-07:00

It's my birthday in like two weeks and I want a party. Who loves me enough to let me have it at your place cause I don't have home at the moment?

Awesomelicious

2009-08-05T22:42:00.000-07:00

So we need a music video, he said. I told him that'd be alright, we could do that.

So I said to him that there are days, and there are awesomelicious days. There are days when you're a man, and days when you're a legend. There are days when you think about things rationally and weigh pros and cons, and then there are days when you're content to be a simple two-dimensional stereotype and parrot whatever you think consensus culture has determined to be your role. There are days when you just want to be the most bad-ass son of a bitch that ever walked. There are days when your bad, 3-day stubbled self wants to ride a motorcycle through plate glass and shoot some pansies with your sawed off and then have a bunch of stuff blow up and then maybe some totally hot chicks will be fighting you with some wicked kung-fu moves wearing next to nothing, so they come out doing all this fancy crap and then you just punch them straight in the face and then you realize they're not women but robot women cyborgs, so you blast em with your gun, take the money, and walk out the door. Fuck the alarms, you're a bad ass -- but you're also a gentleman.

Then you'll be clean-shaven and sitting in a red velvet armchair wearing a fez and smoking a curve-stemmed pipe. Then, you can tap out your pipe, chuckle a bit, walk over to your globe/bar and pour yourself a glass of vermouth - on the rocks, of course. After that you can pull a secret book on your bookcase and then sit down on your chair which will spin around a bunch of times and shoot you down to your secret lab where you'll doff your smoking jacket in favor of a white lab coat, comically over-sized yellow rubber gloves and round goggles. You'll pour one vial of brightly-glowing liquid into another and the resulting explosion will cross-dissolve to women on motorcycles wearing USA flag jumpsuits flying towards and over camera.

Then the smoke will clear and you'll be wearing plaid pants with a pastel-colored polo and cardinal-red cardigan whilst driving a large, technicolor bus down the highway full of happy, beautiful women singing. The bus will drive past camera, and for a second we'll crash-zoom on your face wearing a big, toothy grin as you clamp down on your cigarette holder. We'll see the bus drive away, then cut to the obligatory beach party, where some monster comes out of the water and freaks out all the ladies in eensy-weensy polka dot bikinis -- but just for a minute before he laughs and then everything will be alright and before long everyone's playing volleyball and eating Popsicle and lathering each other with sun-tan lotion again. You stand on the life-guard tower, overseeing this great-gatsby-esque festival of fun of your creation, you hoist one leg onto the lower railing and laugh.

We cross-dissolve to you playing a lonesome guitar high in the Rockies wearing an over-sized split-grain leather jacket with sheep-wool collar, cuffs, and lining whilst sporting a John-Denver hair-cut and looking long fully at the jagged peaks in the distance - slow zoom on your face as we do a real slow cross-dissolve of your face and the setting Rocky Mountain Sun. A Harmonica solo rises up and we cross-dissolve to you with a beautiful blonde leaning against your shoulder -- but you're still looking yearningly into the distance. As we crane up and out slowly, the camera pans over the magnificence of the Rocky Mountains, and you're glimmering logo appears: "Awesomelicious." we hold on logo, then fade to black with logo remaining just a little longer. Then we get some beer and we win. What do you think?

sys admin humor.

2009-08-05T22:36:00.000-07:00

I want to be paid to be creative. I want to make things that people enjoy and seek out. I want them to get something good out of it. I want to change the world and do good, I want to help. I want to be wanted, and I want to be available to be.

/personal life

Not Fun.

2009-08-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

My life imploded in an exciting new way today; somewhere between missing Tina, air balling on commissions, sending my car to the mechanics (again) and not being called back by potential employers, my house hunt died -- just dropped dead. I think it may have been some sort of aneurysm, or something -- sad really, it was far too young.

Ah, life: so wonderful, so frustrating.

ArtKid Films Presents: MicroFilm #003; like asphalt on a hot day

2009-08-05T19:45:00.001-07:00

ArtKid Film Presents: MicroFilm 003 from leslie andrew ridings on Vimeo.

ArtKid™ - Abstract #001

2009-08-05T15:15:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - Abstract #001, originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

Pretty Colors. I think it'd be a pretty kick-butt poster.

ArtKid Films Presents: MicroFilm #002; Percussive

2009-07-29T19:40:00.000-07:00

ArtKid Film Presents: MicroFilm 002 from leslie andrew ridings on Vimeo.

Every Monday I'll post a new 90 second short. For more info or to suggest a movie topic, please post to my comments!
Written, shot, cut & scored by Leslie Andrew Ridings

© Leslie Andrew Ridings | ArtKid.us

CONCEPT: The use of image percussively. A considering of life in terms of it's small, rhythmic movements; The constant movement and percussive nature of biology. The plodding of feet, the beating of a heart, the swelling and emptying of lungs. All seem to share the binary language of yes/no, full/empty, stop/go, always/never.

What is the purpose of pain?

2009-07-29T02:20:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting conversation the other day regarding torture, the death penalty, and in general the utilization of pain. I think that in recent history, at least in the West, we have moved away from pain as a tool, generally speaking. As a culture we seem to be slowly gaining an empathy that was hereto before lacking; in many ways today, pain to the punished causes pain to the punisher; take for example the sense of national guilt and disgust over the endorsement and utilization of torture. Foucault thought it was part of the "enlightenment" of man, and that as a species we were moving forward towards a more empathic state. I think that may be a little optimistic; but generally, I agree.

What is the purpose of pain? I've heard it said that pain serves to teach, to help us learn. Biologically and developmentally this would seem to be true. A baby reaches out and touches the flame atop a candle; he learns that doing so causes him pain, and so he learns to not put his fingers - or any part of him, for that matter - near flame. Perhaps, more behaviorally, the same could be said of learned physical/emotional behavior; if a social-emotional act causes us pain, we avoid it. If we've been embarrassed during moments of intimacy; we learn to loathe and avoid said moments. This would seem to suggest a link between the emotional realm and the physical, behavioral realm. Where is this line drawn, if at all? Perhaps they are one and the same, a sort of "unified field" theory for people.

What is the source of pain when it is purely emotional? Does it stay emotional, or does it manifest itself in physical ways? What does emotional pain teach us? What if the source of the pain is an intangible? Regret over poor decisions; potential squandered; love ignored and left to die. What then? What do we learn from heartbreak? What do we learn from discovering the vanity of life? What do we learn from realizing that no one is watching?

What purpose does it serve? Merely to teach us what not to touch, what we can or cannot be near? If so, that suggests that the goal of our organism is to be comfortable - or rather, free from pain; if stimulus affects us negatively, we avoid that stimulus. If stimulus affects us pleasurably, we seek out that stimulus.

When the body is sick, we does pain cripple us? Is it to let us know something is wrong, or is it to force us to lay down and heal?

What is the purpose of pain? Perhaps if we can divine it, we can be rid of it. Perhaps.

Short Stack

2009-07-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

I try to look at things in perspective; and in the Truck Stop of Life, the past few months have been like sitting at a counter drinking coffee, when all of sudden, despite there being plenty of other open seats, a heavy-set man smelling of Ozium and Cigarette Butts sets himself down next to you with a groan, orders a short stack, and sucks on his teeth. You can shift uncomfortably in the orange vinyl seats with the red tubing, but it won't make any difference. He is immune to your awkwardness, indifferent to your plight; He's going to go ahead and just keep sitting there and eating his breakfast, thank you very much. It's a free country, after all -- you just wish he'd go be free somewhere else.

For a moment, you're tempted to get up and move... but let's be honest. To get up and move would brand you a city-slicker. An up-tight, high-horse, yuppie snob. And you're not. And if you were, you're far too proud to admit it; especially to these people.

At least he seems taciturn.

ArtKid™ - Love Tears Us Apart

2009-07-26T00:24:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - Love Tears Us Apart, originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

something to think about:

2009-07-25T11:35:00.000-07:00

By the sweat of your brow shall you get bread to eat, until you return to the ground from which you are taken.

--Genesis 3:19

Does this apply to Paris Hilton? Cause I swear it doesn't. Lucky.

ArtKid™ - The Scent of Gold

2009-07-24T14:37:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - The Scent of Gold, originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

I think I may have the cover art for my EP... now I need to finish the EP. Check it out at my Flickr page; I have a version sized for Mobile wallpapers as well, for all you trendy kids with the fancy phones.

ArtKid™ - I-Phone wallpapers on Flickr.

2009-07-22T16:59:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - I-Phone wallpaper; "ArtKid Spectrum", originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

I just posted a grip of my designs and a couple new ones over at Flickr in the form of I-Phone wallpapers, for all you stylish kids. Check em out and let me know what you think. Clicky Clicky Here to see the photo-stream.

ArtKid Presents: MICROFILM MONDAYS, with MICROFILM 001

2009-07-20T18:13:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody, check this out:

I'm happy to announce a new Leslie Andrew Ridings/ArtKid ongoing project: MICROFILM MONDAYS! ...Every Monday I'll post a new 90 second short Here on the Taciturn Melon; The subject matter will vary; the execution will vary, but they will all be the genuine ArtKid article.

There's more to it than that; you see, ArtKid -- that's me -- wants to get poeple interested and involved: I want to get suggestions for stories/plots/gags for the MicroFilms from my readers and friends -- that's You. Post whatever you think would make for an awesome ArtKid MicroFilm here via comments or on on my Facebook Fan page. Perhaps a short drama? Or maybe Humor is more your style? Get creative and get involved: lay your best ideas on me and I'll take some of what you give me and run with it.

To get notified about future MicroFilms or in general keep track of what I'm doing, please Follow my Blog or Fan me on Facebook - both easily accomplished via widgets on the right side of this blog. Alternately, click here to go to my fan page on facebook and fan/follow me there.

So, without further ado, I present:
ArtKid MicroFilm 001: "I want to be thick as air."

ArtKid Films presents: MicroFilm 001 from leslie andrew ridings on Vimeo.

Written, shot, cut & scored by Leslie Andrew Ridings

© Leslie Andrew Ridings | www.ArtKid.us

CONCEPT: The concept started off with my thoughts and recent experience of emotional "Atmospheres" that envelope us in almost-tangible ways, often resulting in very tangible, physical action and reactions. So many spaces in my life are shrouded in these emotional fogs (atmospheres), it's almost impossible to enter them (be they physical spaces or emotional) without being so affected by them I become almost a part, a thrall, and in a way, a host to them. From that idea sprang this MicroFilm; the process of my journey through space, the oppressiveness of emotional "atmospheres", my personal resistance to said space, and my eventual submission to and assimilation by it.

ArtKid™ - Extra Awesome

2009-07-19T18:49:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - Extra Awesome, originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

I'm working on some illustrations for a fictional burger chain I've dubbed "Burger Prince." I put this together 'cause I thought it was funny. And awesome.

Someone to talk to? LOLWUT?

2009-07-17T15:52:00.000-07:00

The other day Tina says to me, "Andrew, just find some people to talk to." To which I thought to myself... Self, who do I have to talk to? No-one really came to mind.

This afternoon Charlie called me and I talked to him. It was nice. I smiled and thought of what Tina said and it felt alright.

ArtKid™ - United MC's

2009-07-17T00:49:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - United MC's, originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

Rhymin' and Stealin'. And design'n' as well.

I've gotten a few commissions in the past week. Neither for much pay, but It's good to have some work. Besides free-lance design, I've taken advantage of my off-work-ness to try and chalk up on my digital art making skills; the results of which you see before you below. Besides that I've been working on, as usual, far too many things and generally trying to keep my mind busy so I don't have time to think about this big lump of hurt I seem to have in me lately. Sorry. It is a blog after all. These things happen. It's not you, it's me. You see, I just can't really see myself being completely professional all the time. It's just not me, honey. I need to break out. I need room to breathe. To be a little dramatic sometimes.

ah, shit.

That's that. Anyway, I've been keeping busy and trying to find work, even at the job I love to hate -- production. At the end of the day, I need to pay certain fixed costs. You know. Gas, Rent, Food... But fear not! I still plan to make my living in art, film, and music, retire from the 9-5 workforce by 27, make millions, and buy a pink yacht. Looking forward to that pink yacht.

The heart feels free

2009-07-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

It's a lie. Late night sketch.

Some Dance to Remember

2009-07-12T16:44:00.001-07:00

ArtKid™ - Dancing to Forget, originally uploaded by Leslie Andrew Ridings.

I posted this straight from Flickr. Ah, technology. How sweet you are. To see this image fullsize, click on it, and then click on the "all sizes" icon above the image. I know you probably already know that... but... just saying.

Too Young to Remember, Too Old to Care.

2009-07-09T01:53:00.000-07:00

ArtKid is Proud to present two new Designs for your viewing and consumption. Clicky on the pictures to go to my hot new Flickr Account and see them full-size. I wanted to design a diptych of sorts. Please let me know what you think via comments!

Too Young to Remember...

Too Old to Care.

Looking for a Motion-Graphic Designer

2009-07-06T12:17:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone -- do any of you do motion-graphic design, or know someone who does? I need to get an animated logo for Creative Mediocrity and future projects. Please let me know if you know someone!

ArtKid needs some Munneh.

2009-07-05T12:13:00.000-07:00

I've been out of work for about three weeks now, and I've failed to find any sort of gainful employ. I mean, I've got tons of things going on... but none of them are making money for me. Not yet, anyways. I've been looking online through job postings, but it's the same old bag - you send resumes, you call them back, you get nothing. I'm far from the only person experiencing this, but for me, it really brings home this idea of a "global economic crunch," regardless of whether or not that is to blame for my seeming inability to acquire work.

That being said, things are mighty busy here at ArtKid Industries; there simply aren't enough hours in the day! At the moment, I've given priority to "Creative Mediocrity", a web-series pilot I shot with a friend and am trying to get cut, scored, etc with the goal of pitching it as a series under the new-media agreements. It's looking good so-far, I'm about half-way through the rough-cut. Here's hoping.

Also in the works are a photo project, updating my website (ArtKid.us), drawing/designing/painting new things all the time, trying to write new content (both for this blog and in terms of narrative stories and screen-plays), working on some EP's, and shooting new video constantly. It's a little intimidating... but I seem to have a fascination with taking on seemingly impossible tasks -- especially when they make me no money whatsoever, it would seem.

What I need to do is find a way to make money doing what it is I do naturally; churn out creative content non-stop. I think I may have to build a market for myself; that is, put my name out there, sell what I can do, and hope that someone wants it. All I need is one person to want it enough to pay... if I could just find that one person!

I think social networking might be the way to go with this -- sites like twitter and facebook. They exist to connect people and keep us all up on what we're all doing - sometimes in granular detail. I'm going to have to try and work that angle a little more, and see if I can get my stuff in front of more eyes.

How can one survive in a house of quartz?

2009-07-02T19:50:00.001-07:00

I've day-dreamt of a world made entirely of polished, shiny white quartz. infinite expanses of white; mountains, seas, deserts, forests of crystalline trees over looking frozen rivers of pale rock. Every last thing would have long since become the white perfection, save me. I would go on. Every day I would walk to work and speak to my quartz friends, frozen where they stood. I would walk down the street where people stood frozen mid-stride. Cars. Planes. Pigeons. Dogs. All glowing under a white sky and a pure, white light. I would go home to my house of quartz.

The walls, the doors, the beds, the chairs and tables and televisions, all made of polished, glittering, beautiful, perfect white quartz. I would open the fridge and find quartz milk and bread inside. I would walk past my quartz dog and kiss my quartz wife on her cold, glimmering cheek. There would be no dust, no difference, not a single speck of anything that should not be, since everything should be and would be of quartz. Late at night I could stay up and stare at the monochromatic world I had created; lose myself in the infinite complexities of semi-opaque iridescence... And perhaps, one day, I would become quartz as well; at last the clock will have struck, the last piece will have fallen into place and I will have become what I should have always and from that point on would always be; cold, beautiful, perfect quartz. The world would be motionless, cold, perfect. not a thing would move or stir or breathe or live or die or want or need or be or not be Everything would be the way it should. Everything would be the way it have always been, and would be forever more. Heaven. Paradise. Immutability at last. Eternity in Perfect, opalescent white stone.

Beringer Wine Ad, Fall 2007

2009-06-30T17:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not certain I ever posted this on here, but below is a commercial for Beringer I worked on in Fall, 2007 as an animator. Took me and two other animators the better part of a week to animate that thing -- lots and lots of very tiny, very white and very easily dirtied pieces of white paper.

And yes, I most definitely got a papercut - several in fact. We animated a good part of it backwards, so when you see the house and fields grow up out of the ground, we were actually destroying our precious plants and house (which we and a small army of PA's had labored on for almost a week prior to the shoot), snipping off piece by piece, tearing and ripping our creation to shreds. It was an interesting feeling; cathartic... and freaking scary.

New ArtKid Window Logos

2009-06-27T14:07:00.000-07:00

So i've been on the fence for a long time about signing my works I post online. When said work is a painting or drawing, my signature is often part of the image; but with digital works or other random creative ephemera, a little signature in the corner just won't cut it.

I've talked with/been talked at by several people about the importance of leaving some sort of digital watermark on all my creative output I place online; some of you fellow artists have probably given this some thought as well, especially when posting to a format such a blog where images are ripe for the plucking... not that I'd mind so much if my work got disseminated all about the interwebs -- so long as people can know that it was me that did them, I don't mind if they get right-click-saved all the live-long day.

That being said, I think I've decided on a small water stamp logo I can drop on the corner of images where it'd work stylistically. Let me know what you'd think. It's a "windowed" design so that it can allow whatever is behind it to show through if need be... I also imagine placing my web-address on there as well in some little, unobtrusive font. I don't know... maybe I'm thinking about it too much. What do all you creative types do?

The King of Pop is dead.

2009-06-25T15:38:00.001-07:00

Michael Jackson Dead at 50.

When it Rains, It Pours

2009-06-25T14:02:00.001-07:00

So I looked up exactly what "pithy wisdom" meant in a dictionary, and I found out that pithy means short and to the point. A quick design for fun; enjoy!

Centruy Old Color Photography.

2009-06-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

Ok, this is really cool; beautiful, vibrant color photographs of people and vistas from Czarist Russia taken from 1909-1915.

from the Flickr Profile:

Sergey Mikhaylovich Prokudin-Gorsky was a Russian photographer. Prokudin-Gorsky was born in Russian Empire in 1863 and educated as a chemist. He developed early techniques for taking color photographs.

Outfitted with a specially equipped railroad car darkroom provided by Tsar Nicholas II, and in possession of two permits that granted him access to restricted areas and cooperation from the empire's bureaucracy, Prokudin-Gorsky documented the Russian Empire around 1909 through 1915.

This really blew my mind. One hundred years ago. That's a good bit of years, but in these photos we can see the blush of young cheeks, deep eyes storied with a difficult life, and really as things were... All here, now -- in color. It's amazing to think of, really.

Click here to see what I mean.

Bending Space

2009-06-17T16:02:00.000-07:00

via: Design Flux on Vimeo. Check it out; there's some really great stuff there. Take a minute and soak some up!

TTM 2.0

2009-06-16T18:49:00.001-07:00

After five years I thought it was about time to give the old girl a bit of a make-over. Let me know what you think of the new look.

Tiramisu is Eye-Talin for Pick-Me-Up (Caramelldansen).

2009-06-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

OK. So, those of you who know me decently know that I love and am a huge proponent of the internet, the free flow of information, and -- for lack of a better term -- the internet sub-culture. This morning I was editing and took a break to watch a couple good videos, and turned towards one which has entertained me countless times over the past couple years. To those of you with a knowledge of internet / 4-chan culture, this meme is ancient -- but I have to expect that to some of the folks who read this, it's totally new.

It's perhaps the most perfect synthesis of Japanese/euro dance/shot of caffeine in the eye you'll find on the interwebs. Pointless, hilarious, and totally awesome, made of win, and entirely deserving of pie.

I present to you, caramelldansen.

thanks for asking!

2009-06-13T00:58:00.000-07:00

Every single time I get on here I start writing and then I stop suddenly.

My short film is coming along great, thanks for asking. We're almost done shooting, I've started editing, and hopefully the composer I've talked to (pip) will do a kick-butt job. So far, so good -- from the looks of the footage, we're all going to have a lot to be proud of at the end.

My other projects are moving forward, slowly. If you've talked to me lately, you know about the photo books, tentatively titled "Sweating to the Oldies" and the others. I'll be posting stuff about that as it comes.

I'm trying to buy a house. It seems somehow right. It seems to be a way to heal for me at the moment. I don't know how, I don't know why. I guess in my own strange side-ways manner of doing things, It's my beginning to accept the fact that I've made a decision and I'm going to have to live with it. I'm not settling. I just hope saying that isn't like people who say "I'm not drunk." I don't want to talk about it. I do, but I just don't, really.

I need a job. Bad. See prior paragraph.

I wanted to post a photo, but for some reason my little memory card from my camera won't load up right now. Hmph. Maybe next time.

I actually log onto this blog and start right stuff very often; probably four or five times a week... but for some reason, I always stop what I'm writing, think about it, and then just close firefox. I don't even save it.

cold hard facts

2009-06-08T16:48:00.001-07:00

first what we do is we pull it out, then we chop it up.

Of lols and lollercopters.

2009-05-05T16:50:00.000-07:00

So this one time I was sitting in this room and this one guy walks in and is all like, "lol" and I was all like "lolwut?" and he was all like "hahahahahahaha" and I was like, "lol ok" and he laughed and I laughed and then we rode the lollercopter into the sunset.

Life was good then.

This was too much for me.

2009-04-29T07:38:00.000-07:00

I feel I should preface the following by saying it was a moment of chance; I was cleaning out my room this morning, looking for things I could give to charity, and reached for a copy of the great gatsby; some old edition I had gotten from a school-library sale. The way I grabbed it, it opened at some random page (22), and I stopped for a moment to read it. I thought it was really interesting because I felt the exact way that paragraph felt, I think. Because of this, I will go to work and tell my co-workers that F. Scott Fitzgerald is now my hero, and that we share an indelible (if not dubious) bond. Anyway, here's what's on the page, in entirety:

...guished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been at the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was a lone again in the unquiet darkness.

This was all complicated, of course, by breaking up with Tina. Sorry, not sure how else to say it besides just dropping it out on the table like that. Please don't mistake my candor for insensitivity; I love her very, very much.

Kitty

2009-04-04T04:48:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine died on the 31st of March, 2009: Kitty. He was a cat, but his passing really hurts me, in all honesty. An instance of sadness and removal that has far-reaching implications; far more than one may expect from the passing of a cat.

This is also my 200th post.

Children's Television Workshop

2009-03-17T10:01:00.000-07:00

RUBBER TOY MEAT PRODUCT

2009-02-18T02:27:00.001-08:00

A poem recited to me by a lonely corpse

2009-02-10T01:29:00.000-08:00

I enjoy going for walks at night, especially after storms. The cold air blends perfectly with the scent of fallen rain; the worms come up, and the smell of freshly turned earth dances in the arms of vegetation's sweet, subtle bouquet. Life can be beautiful and full of unexpected surprises, such as the one I encountered recently in just such a night-time stroll.

It was late. The moon was high and bright; it's was a full, pale glow -- the kind which suffuses the darkness with a soft, velvety light that makes things look as if they're glowing from within. The rain-slick stones of the church were dark and beautiful; but the graveyard just yonder provided the true spectacle. The marble head-stones, wet in the moonlight, shone like great, oddly shaped teeth jutting out of the earth. The jaw of some long-dead behemoth; the cairns of some ancient race. The graves are on a raised piece of earth, maybe two or three feet above the sidewalk, which meant that over the retaining wall the headstones were just around eye-level. I am so used to seeing grave-stones from above, it shocked me to be face to face with them -- looking at them, in some cases, almost from below. I slowed my pace -- and as I passed the stones -- I heard a sickening, wet *slish-squish*.

I stopped.

I looked at the source of the noise - just up ahead, the retaining wall had earlier crumbled under the recent, heavy rains -- large sandstone blocks had rolled into the street, while roots and wet earth as black as pitch spilled out of the gaping wound in the side of the wall like entrails onto the side-walk. I remember the blackness of the soil because it served to ideally frame a strange form which was laying in the mound of spilled earth -- it caught the moonlight -- and against the dark soil and pavement it seemed to shine from within with a blinding, pale light.

The sudden smell of wet earth; I looked over my shoulder -- nothing. The streets were empty -- but up ahead was the hole and that glowing white form. I walked toward it slowly and as I neared I realized it was a man -- or rather -- it had been a man. What lay before me now was a shrunken, pale corpse -- it's skin white as the moon, wet, glistening like that of an amphibian. My first instinct was to run, lest someone think I was somehow responsible; but I was enthralled by the thing. My heart was racing; a sickening mixture of excitement, fear, and nausea settled in my belly as I looked at it. I could see it's eyes were slightly open -- in the sunken orbits through a narrow slit of eyelid I could make out watery eyes, glistening -- like water in a moon-lit well. It's lips, drawn in an eternal snarl, bared it's clenched, long and yellowed teeth. It's arms were slightly bent at it's side; hands stiff, bared nails, bony fingers bent into awkward, crooked talons. It's torso looked like a wet sheet had been draped over it's bones, which protruded in every conceivable manner.

It was horrifying -- but it was a man. I took a step closer -- I don't know why -- I can't explain the fascination of it, in that moment -- the macabre joy of seeing it there; we we're intimately related -- I was it's past, and it was my future. I craned toward the thing; I could see stubble emerging from the wet, drawn leather of it's face. This is my fate, I thought; and I recall being deeply moved by it in that moment. As I studied it, my gaze softened as a deep sadness rose in me - tears formed in my eyes as I looked at it, that broken form; and i cried. I choked a sob; but I didn't stop the tears. I somehow wanted to cry for this poor, miserable thing. I suppose I somehow... needed to mourn the cruelty of it, of its fate. This thing that had so shortly past felt warmth, and joy -- it had loved and had been loved. It got angry, it made jokes, had beers with friends, admired beautiful women as they strolled by -- it did everything we all do -- and now, to look at it... it all seemed so very, very cruel.

Then, the near-silent sound of it moving in the mud - the slight sucking of air in the muck and squishing of wet earth as it slightly shifted it's weight -- I froze, and it looked at me. Those eyes! I could not move -- they say that when you are afraid -- when you are truly terrified -- you cannot react. Your heart stops, your breathing stops, your moving and feeling -- stops. For that moment, you can do nothing but be witness. I imagine this usually only lasts a split second - an instant - but I could feel the seconds tick by -- I could sense the time passing; still I could not move -- I could not breath, I could not live, I could not be so long as that wretched thing held me in it's gaze. It was then it's pitiable figure spoke; it spoke! That thing, it spoke to me! It's clenched jaws opened, and dried muscle strained to live once more; the sound of it! There is no word for the terror I felt upon hearing it speak, the hoarse rasps -- it's voice a thousand needles in my heart!

In crypts we sleep,
the peaceful dead -
in long, cold halls we dream;
of distant days,
far memory,
in dark and cold
we wait.

Out of life,
and out of time-
and now we lie,
forever -
in cold
and timeless dark;
our prostrate forms
are turned to dust -
we are eternity.

Alone.

Forever.

plenty of chance
to sit and think;
to finally stop and pause-
in timeless thought
to realize...

it it better - far better - to be alive.

And as we lie
in dank and doom,
we know that truth too well.

For unlike life,
Death has no end;
we peaceful dead still wait.

The thing at last released me; I ran. I ran as far as I could until I had to stop to be sick; I looked back, expecting it to be shuffling along after me, glad to have an audience for his long-silenced prose. There was nothing there! Nothing! I looked around me - was it lurking nearby, waiting to pounce? Oh, for the warm safety of my little apartment! I ran home as fast as I could -- all the while looked to all sides, expecting it to lurk in every shadow...

I finally made it home, dripping in sweat I leapt through the front door after fumbling through my keys and ran to my room -- my sweet, warm room. I closed the door behind me and threw the latch, locked the bolt, and stood there, back to the door, observing my surroundings. Had the poet followed me? Had it somehow crawled into my room, my bed? I immediately did a thorough search and found -- nothing! I latched all the windows and drew the shades -- I lit the lamps and backed into bed slowly. I sat there most the night trying to busy my mind; it was not until well into the morning I was able to find sleep; comforted by the warm rays of the sun.

Perhaps it was all a dream? I think not, friends -- for my trousers and shoes still bear the marks of my race home through muddy streets and paths. It was real. It held me, somehow, and made me listen. Every day, I think of that cursed creature's prose... and every time I smell wet, turned earth -- I feel a spike of fear and nausea shoot through me as it did that night. Perhaps the creature was issuing some sort of warning; some sort of cautionary yarn... Perhaps he was simply lonely. I don't know -- however, it's visit to me, horrifying as it was, has been something of a blessing in disguise. It has made me think of time. Our time, our lives -- our lifetime -- and that we must utilize it wisely. I don't know what that thing wanted, what it intended, or very much at all. However, I do know one thing, friends -- that corpse, that... thing... was us. Is us. When will we leave to join him? That's just a matter of time. If the poet taught me anything, it is this: do well with what time you have left; life is so short -- and death is so long.

We all create art together

2009-01-29T13:39:00.001-08:00

I haven't posted images on the Taciturn Melon in a long time. Not sure why; just got into the habit of writing... and I liked the look of all text. Nice clean design is all, I suppose. The little image there is a recent painting of a good friend of mine, Mike Escoto. Last I heard from him he was out working hard for the McCain campaign. I should really call him and offer my condolences.

Last Sunday I had a small show of paintings and an installation at a cafe space in Eagle Rock. The show was called "You are Beautiful," and the main thrust of the installation was to confront people with that statement, and everything it entailed.

What if -- you are beautiful? What if -- you are enough? If you are capable of doing everything you dream of? That's a big what if. The statement was projected onto and through the wall of a small room defined by white sheets; the viewers effectively entered the pieced and stepping into it, having it cast upon them literally. As an artist, you always hope that people will "get it," and just in case I did provide a short statement of intent. That being said, I heard a few other interpretations that I really liked -- and that I hadn't thought about. I really liked that -- the give and take between my idea and vision and that of the viewers who approached me to talk about it. It really makes the piece a collaboration between everyone; an idea I enjoy immensely and shared with those who talked with me Sunday night. So, my sincerest thanks to all my fellow artists that came on out and participated.

If you're interested in seeing it yourself, It'll be back on the 15th of February. Come on out and talk to me.

Got any Tithe lying around?

2009-01-04T21:35:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone,

happy new year!

What's that you say? Resolutions?

Well, since you asked -- I've decided to do something really challenging. Something that will hopefully contribute to a great cause and also make me a better person for it. On top of all that, It's a heck of a challenge -- and I love me some challenges. What, you say? What could this thing be? Why, nothing less than a 500 some-odd mile journey from Los Angeles to San Francisco by my favorite mode of transport -- bicycle! That's right; old Andrew has decided to sign up for the AIDS Life-Cycle.

Wewt!

Of course, you know where this is going. I need to raise some cash. Serious Cash. Don't worry, it's not for me -- it's all going to helping fight aids and providing crucial AIDS research and services to those coping with the disease, and those in risk of contracting it. That being said, here's hoping you have some tithe money lying around or feel moved to help with this great cause. I can't do it by myself -- seriously, I need to raise $3000 and I can't do that by myself -- if you could give anything I'd appreciate it immensely, and you would be contributing to one great cause.

If you're interested go ahead and click on the big link on top of my page -- It'll live there until the ride.

Thanks, everyone.

Thinking Time!

2008-11-20T20:48:00.000-08:00

I am young, for the time being. I am new. It is my turn to grow and change and do what I would... Then I will grow old -- and like everyone before me I will die to make room for the young, the new. It won't end. It has been happening. It will keep happening.

It's daunting. What will I do? I want to live free from the oppression of ideals based on exclusivity and dogma. I want to help people, I want to do something.

I want to change the world. The tell-tale cry of any idealist, I suppose. Without that idea I become cynical, jaded -- certain of the inability of the world to change and convinced that it doesn't matter either way. It's not an appeal to some higher being, not me doing the work of God or fulfilling some intrinsic call -- if anything is intrinsic about it, it's proabably more closely tied to my ego... I think It's motivated by something in me that deeply wants poeple to be treated fairly; to be able to live their lives as they would. Perhape the latter reasons are closer to the former than I might at first think. Perhaps they are all simply the learned behavior of Western Culture. Perhaps - but if so, then tens of thousands of generations of great thinkers and doers have brought Western culture to this point - and I like the way they think. The empancipation of the body and the mind; ideals of liberty, equality, and freedom to do what one will.

I suppose my life -- like many before me and currently, I'm sure -- is really a big question mark. It's so open, so free and full of opportunity. It's wonderful, a dream -- and all I have to do is decide what it is I'd like to do with this dream, this youth, this health, this mind. It's a difficult question -- but difficult in the way that choosing between two kinds of pie is difficult -- not to delegitimize my wandering. Certainty is a cursory, elusory thing; very few are the things that have "stuck" with me -- and one of the strongest is that afore-mentioned desire: I want to change the world. I don't know how, I don't know that I ever really could -- but for the time I'm around, I want to act -- for myself and others.

In a world where God watches and loves us, I could feel a sense of legitimized mission - some sort of divine purpose. I could step forward in confidence that God loves me and there is a reason behind all the madness in the world; behind the rampant beauty and horror. I would feel protected, in some way, by this God who grants eternal reward for obediance. I could move forward certain of a cosmic structure, some sort of order -- albeit in western traditions a currently flawed one. I'm not sure I feel that certainty. I'm not always sure I feel that structure. However, even in a world unencumbered by the concept of a loving god who demands obediance, I think I would choose to help even more so. Perhaps the lack of such a god makes it all the more important to help each other - to try and propagate peace and tolerance. Understanding. Equality. Hope.

I don't know. That's the problem right? Or maybe it's just -- that I don't. Period. I don't. Perhaps I just need less "don't"s and more "do"s.

Here's an attempt to normalize and also at audience participation: Anyone else feel this way? At all?

Story: Sunday Morning

2008-11-19T00:19:00.000-08:00

Thomas was it. The last of them. Now that he's dead, there'll be no one left who knew that place. He's dead. Dead as a doornail -- and so we make a mark here for him. We mark the end of time. The death of the last person who ever knew the world that was. The world before. The world before the death, before the dust, before the dry. The world that was green, that was living with the cool that flowed from the earth so clear and clean -- liquid! We know what was because we have the old books and tapes; the records of it. The truth of it. We know what was and we're sure of it. ... Think of it! A world that was green and growing; a world that was blue and cool, that was wet and moving and full-up with life. Look at the old discs. It cannot be that such a place ever was, but it was. That is our hope. That it was and it will be.

There were animals everywhere then. Men kept creatures in his homes as company; he kept and grew greens not just for eating, but for pleasure – the pleasure of watching life unfold. The world was so covered in life he couldn't help but surround himself with it; swim in the gluttonous abundance of it. Rivers of moving water – huge amounts of it, more than we can imagine. Millions and millions and millions of gallons. There were Rivers so big that you could stand on one side and not see the other. And deep too – hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of feet. All clean and the wet – full of the plants and living things -- all in the cool, the wet, the River. That must have been a sight to see! That is our hope. That it was and it will be.

Today we see no Rivers. We have deep channels filled with rocks and dust – empty now, but then – then they would have been filled with the life-giving cool. The same precious fluid we now so desperately seek to fill our veins, to fill our bellies, to fill our bodies with the wet, the precious cool of life. Without it we die. Without it we all die. Our veins turn to wood, our flesh to leather, our eyes to stone and our bodies to dust. Then it was free. Let loose like some great creature, slithering around the world and in the world, even in the deep and hidden places of the earth. The River. The River that surrounded and filled man. The River who was the path of the wet. That is our hope. That it was and it will be.

Men never thinking of having to work for the River – for the water. It was just there. The same way we don't think about the dust, the rock, the dry – we don't think about it because it's just there. It's always been there, and so far as we can tell, it'll always be there. The same was true of those men then – but instead of this dead dust, they couldn't think of a world without water. Every home had wet that flowed into it through little pipes. No one was ever without water. There was so much of it. More than any man could ever want, more than ten million men could ever use in their lifetimes – hundreds of times more than that, even. It was everywhere. Not a dry spot in the world. Men then would never think of having to dig so deep to find mud to drink – of scraping in rock and dirt and dust and dry all day for a couple cups of the precious life, the precious cool, the precious wet, the River. That is our hope. That it was and it will be.

Thomas is dead; the world died a long time ago – the world is dead too. The River is dead. The cool wet -- the water is dead. We dig now for it's bones -- for the dust it has become ... so that we ourselves may not turn to the death, the dust, the dirt, the dry. But it was not always that way. Not always. It was different once. That is our hope. That it was and it will be.

Super Obama World

2008-11-18T00:03:00.000-08:00

I think my favorite part is the "For everything else there's the RNC" stage, where there are ladies pushing racks of clothing past Neiman Marcus and Macy's -- jumping on them yields a whopping 150,000 points.

wewt. Check it out.

I will remember this moment until my dying day.

2008-11-04T22:31:00.001-08:00

We did it; I can't believe I'm seeing what I'm seeing -- tonight, America won the election -- not just Democrats -- all of us.

I have to apologize for getting upset in regards to the election -- but the time's come to stop the divisiveness and start the inclusion - we're all in this together. Not Rep or Dem, just Americans; and to quote the president-elect: Yes we can. We can make things better. We can do it. we can make a change for good. We did it tonight, and I think millions of Americans tonight found their power in this country; found the fact that they can make change. We Can. The triumph, as president-elect Obama said, of "...hope over cynicism."

I thinkI realized something really important in this elections, things that'll I'll have to think about over the next few days -- such as the massive cultural shift this signifies. One thing I know for certain, democracy is not a spectator sport. Barack Obama isn't going to ride into every city in America on a white horse and fix things -- but he has given us the hope that we can change things -- that the old paradigms no longer need define us. Now, the hard part: changing this nation into the most honest, honorable, fair, just, and best country it can possibly be. We can do it. Tonight is proof that the thing that defines us most as a nation -- our founding on an enlightment-era ideal of Liberty for all -- is still possible and getting closer every day we work hard for it. We'll all have to give something up, we'll all have to sacrifice, we'll all have to get up from the couch and lace up our boots -- but we can make change here. It's up to us; to get our hands dirty and get to work making this country better. WE CAN make positive change -- the first step was tonight - we worked together and voiced our opinion. The first step of many, many steps.

So get on out there. Volunteer. Make phone calls, talk to people, shake hands and engage in discussion with folks whose opinions are totally different from yours.

This is our moon landing, our armistice, our call to change and that it can be done. Barack Obama and all of us have shown that; every single person that believed in his message of hope and personal empowerment, of the ability of the one man to change things for the better has been validated tonight. Keep talking, America. Keep discussing and engaging and hoping. There is sno much momentum out there for change -- Grab hold of it, make it work for the good of the country. Lets start to work together now. Let's make America great. Democrat, Republican, black , white, red, yellow, whatever. Together, we can.

How I learned to stop caring and love conservatism

2008-11-02T20:53:00.000-08:00

There's so much racist shit going around about this election and real and fake americans it's enough to drive a man crazy. I'm so far from being objective in this matter it's not even funny; but even mild-mannered, even-keeled people have got to be driven nuts by some of the stuff going on: Eight hour waits at polls – predominantly in urban, minority areas. Sounds like the return of the poll tax if you ask me. False Rumors and threats, again, seemingly designed to keep blue-collar and mostly minority voters from voicing their opinions. Electronic voting machines are plagued with issues -- dropping votes, miscounting votes, and changing them from a democratic vote – to republican. All this coming from a company with some fun and long-standing ties to the Republican party.

For all the accusations, for all the doubt and xenophobic fear spread by his nay-sayers -- Barack Obama seems to be the only candidate in this election aware of the just, fair-tempered, humanitarian, altruistic and truly great nation that America could have been -- and may yet be -- if we could only keep it out of the hands of greedy, self-righteous bastards. I'll be voting for him, and in him, I'm voting for a change. Maybe I'm idealistic and maybe he'll turn out just like all the other politicians – but I know one thing – his message is strong, he speaks of ideals and hope, and belief not in him but in our own ability to take ownership of this nation and make it better, make it change. As far as I'm concerned, if he can deliver on half the things he talks about he's a hero.

PS: to all those people who will plead ignorance or wash their hands of responsibility: I'm afraid indifference is not an excuse. Get involved, and lets stop living behind excuses. Make your one life count for something good, something that'll help others. And for all my Christian friends – please don't hide behind Jesus. Please don't justify apathy with God. Please don't let your focus on eternity blind you from the immense good you can do here. Get involved. To whom much is given, much is expected -- right? Lets see that love and grace we talk about all the time.

Poem for a beautiful day

2008-10-30T12:35:00.000-07:00

It is a beautiful day, so I think I'm going to go get a cup a coffee and sit outside and draw and write a bit and indulge in the effulgence of prosperity, beauty, charm, food, happiness and love -- completely unjustifiable in the face of any idea of a fair or upright creator and especially so if taken in context to the rest of my species -- that is my life.

Dear future, sad, lonely, anti-depresant addicted, heavily drinking and smoking in the hopes of a young death, emotionally distant and estranged self: you wish you had it so good.

Artist seeking unique job - wants to change world.

2008-09-15T10:50:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone, as the title says I'm looking for a job.

This post is a question for anyone who might know about an opportunity and can help me. I am an artist. I have a BA in Fine Art from The University of Southern California, and since my graduation in '05 I've kept busy with a number of jobs, all excellent in showing me what I don't want to spend my life doing.

My main body of experience is in art and art-making; I do writing on the side, I've done production work for money (entertainment production), and I've done some photography as well. Art has been going "alright," I get shows now and again, and I've sold a few pieces -- my main source of income is commission work in portraits, murals and graphic design. Here's the sticker, though -- I want more. I want more than working hard to get into an “art scene.” I want more than getting recognized and making money so I can buy a house in Los Angeles. I want so, so much more.

I want to travel. I want to see and learn about everything, everyone – tell the stories of other people, other cultures. I want art to be more than just something people decorate their bathrooms with – more than a luxurious commodity bought and sold by the wealthy; I want it to change the directions of lives and the way people see, learn, and communicate with each other.

Really what I want, if you'll excuse the exhausted term, is to change the world. I want the world to be a place where people have a global interest in the well-being of others; where tolerance and empathy is the status quo and dogmatic, idealogical statements are replaced with a willingness to hear the concerns and interests of others in a fair, open discussion. This is what I want, and what I hope to help achieve with like-minded people; but for now I need a starting point, and I think that starting point is education. Education of myself, and the people who make up this fine city/region/country. Art can show people the ways of others – I want to help open people's eyes (especially american eyes) towards the rest of the world. How people live, what they do -- humanizing others ("them") and getting people here ("us") interested in those people, cultures and problems -- to want to travel, to want to send humanitarian aid, to want to care and give more than a passing glance when they hear of genocide or horrendous tales of suffering on the opposite side of the globe. I think art can do this -- and I want to help it get done.

In my mind this job could take many different forms. It could be as a writer, documenting the ways people live, celebrate or mourn around the globe. As a photographer, capturing poignant moments that all the world can share. As an artist, trying to use the creative process to bring people together to experience, create, and share joy. The world needs a meeting place, and I think art – be it photography, writing, video, music or anything – is that place.

Long post, sorry. Guess I got kind of carried away. Please let me know if you know of any opportunities to travel and make art with others / change the world, or if you have any questions, comments, concerns.

Thank you so much for your time.

Location: Pasadena, but very willing to travel
it's ok to contact this poster if you are a potential employer or other principal
Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job seeker.
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

ArtKid 2.0

2008-09-08T11:14:00.000-07:00

My new website is up, kind of. Not all the pages are finished -- but check it out @ artkid.us.

OR click on the link on my toolbar to the right.

have fun.

Dust

2008-08-31T13:49:00.000-07:00

I wrote this in my myspace blog almost a year ago, but I doubt if anyone read it. I really liked it, so I decided to re-post it here.

=========

This morning I woke up with a start.

I settled back down and noticed that the sun was shooting through a window- illuminating countless particles of dust swirling through the air; they moved quickly, but with a lilting calmness that seemed to suggest they were part of some grand, orchestrated cosmic ballet.

Besides realizing I really had to vacuum, I sat there at rapt attention for a good minute or two.

Now, off-handedly a minute or two might not seem like much- but go ahead and stare at a pencil or a nail in the wall for a minute or two- and you'll understand what I mean. The dust was moving at different speeds, schools of pieces diving in and out of each other, through and around invisible swirls of air. It seemed to be going in every direction at once- though as I watched it I could see that there were subtle currents in the flaky white cloud... I slowly reached up my hand to try and grab a speck, but as anyone who has tried this before knows, it's really freakin' hard to grab dust. The miniscule amount of movement in the air caused by my hand blew the dust away from me in whirling torrents. As I sat there watching the dust float around my room (disgusting for some, I'm sure), It reminded my of an image of deep space.

Out there, countless little flecks of dust called stars and planets swirl in a great celestial dance, influencing each other's movement, going this way and that... and if we could take a step back from the whole universe and take it all in at once-- so as to see creation in its entirety set before us-- I realized that it would most likely look like a luminous cloud of dust. Some of the dust congealed into the countless shining stars that pepper the cosmos; Some of the dust formed planets- rocky bodies which where even more specks in the un-hygenic cloud of creation. Some of the dust had done something different, though-- some of the dust achieved a very special state - what we call life - and some of that dust... became us. Dust that had risen to become Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; dust that became Newton and Hippocrates, Plato and Mozart, Einstein and Hitler. Dust that had become you and me-- only to be folded back into the dust from which it came.

I mused that God must sometimes sit in his workshop and look at all the dust he's created- but one can hardly hope to create so much as a sandwich, let alone a universe, without kicking up all sorts of dust everywhere.

Let's hope God is the type to look at clouds of dust and muse the deepness of creation, and not the type to go fetch a vacuum.

Mr. Vain

2008-08-05T14:30:00.000-07:00

So I have to admit, I just love myself. I really do think I'm just about one of the coolest people I know -- case in point, I was just writing an e-mail to someone about potentially working for them in a fun creative capacity, and I included a snippet of text that was so overwhelmingly pleasing to me that I've decided to post it here for all the world to see.

Yes, I was joking; and yes, I really am deeply satisfied with myself.

...so there you have it. Please, pay no heed to anyone who might call me "overqualified," or perhaps worry that I'm "on a whole different level," ...and you wouldn't believe how often people think "unto us, he is ... as a god; Resplendent is his glory; ... Divine form -- beautiful -- instilling both desire and fear into our hearts, yea, our very souls...".

Former Self

2008-04-27T17:03:00.000-07:00

I feel at times as though my self is slipping away. My past, who I was -- it’s leaving me behind and going… somewhere. I’m losing myself slowly to the passing of time… that person I was is gone and he will never come back. He exists now only in my somewhat skewed memories, and I feel as if those are silently leaving me. In the night, while I sleep -- a couple former self’s slip out of my mind and tip-toe across the floor… in the lead is me in third grade, wanting so desperately to win the Halloween costume parade. I’m dressed as “Shredder” from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, my costume lovingly crafted by my mother in the great tradition of American mothers who moonlight as everything from scientists to clothing designers, following the needs of their children throughout the school year. I’m upset - I didn’t win. Maybe that’s why I’m leaving. Maybe I just see greener pastures, or maybe I’m just bored. I slink across the room, my purple cape making slight sounds as it rubs against my card-board greaves… I turn around and motion for the others to follow with a stern and bothered look on my soft, boyish face.

My sixth grade self is next, awkwardly climbing out of my head and trying to be quiet about it. I’m troubled and unsure - my crush just got together with another boy, and I was devastated for having lost my one-sided love affair. As goes un-requited love, this was a classic case. I can feel the heat in my body from the physical exertion of lifting myself out of me - the school uniform complete with matching navy-blue sweatshirt to aid in my low self-esteem doesn’t help. I daintily place my feet on the ground and tip-toe away. We leave the room of this strange man who says he is us - we look around for a moment at the things he surrounds himself with… paints, clothing, liquor -- the trappings of a man we never thought to become. We look around and look upon all this as one might go into a stranger’s room and see their most treasured possessions, perhaps to try and figure out what they could possibly see in the seemingly random assorted objects. We turn towards each other and then walk outside.

It’s a beautiful night… the air is warm and thick with the smell of night-blooming flowers… I breathe in deeply, feel the sweet air fill my lungs. Were are we going? I don’t know. How will we get there? I don’t know that either. But perhaps it is a beautiful place far away in my past -- a green day in spring with the shades of my parents then, the shades of my brother -- and maybe there will be a great tree and a green, cool field with tall grass swaying in the sweet-smelling breeze. Maybe we can find that place, with all the things that are so utterly lost to me … maybe we can get there. Maybe we can find that tree and mom and dad and gabriel will be waiting there for us, happy to see that we finally made it -- they’ll ask where we’ve been and my father will laugh, my mother will scold us lovingly for taking so long and we can sit there under the tree with them and eat breakfast and just be so happy to be near one another again… I don’t know if I believe in heaven but if there is one I so desperately long for it to be my family waiting for me. I don’t really care about Jesus being there, or god smiling or clouds or angels. I’ve never really cared about a new Jerusalem or anything like that. I think we just want to be there again. With them. There -- that place that can never be touched or felt or seen in this world again. Even in my mind my selves are leaving me slowly, going away to a place I cannot follow.

I sleep in my bed, unaware of what is going on. I live, change, and my selves keep leaving me, surprised at where I’m going. Maybe they understand. Maybe they don’t. I can only tell that they’ve left when I try to return to that space, that time -- and I find a void. The traces of who I once was linger, but the moment, the self, the thing itself -- is gone. I miss them so terribly -- I feel as if I am losing myself. I wish I could go with them. Maybe I can someday, when the person I am now slips away in the night and leaves whomever I’ve become at that point alone.

I must move forward. I have no choice. All I want to do is stay still. All I want to do is go back and forth in myself and feel those embraces again, feel that warmth again, feel that touch, that gaze, that laugh, that moment, that passion, that pain.

Losing myself is confusing.

what is a "hot button" anyways?

2008-04-27T16:24:00.000-07:00

I can't help but laught at life sometimes. It seems indefinable in it's utter complexity, and so simple at the same time.

Tell me what more there is to life than simple pleasures with loved ones while it lasts? laughter and love, honesty and frankness. There is evil in the world, or rather, in men.

It has always been this way. One moment we're desperate for survival, backs against the wall, death at our door... the next we laugh and drink, we smile and we keep living until we don't anymore.

Then what? That's a silly question.

That qualifies, I think, as a "hot-button" issue - If you catch my drift.

Rhymin' and Stealin'

2008-04-27T15:43:00.000-07:00

I realize that I have no idea who reads this. I have an inkling that certain people do with some regularity -- and must be troubled by my fantastic lack of regularity -- but in all honesty I have no idea. Maybe many people, probably very few. I'd like your feedback, though, on this subject. Talk to me about it in person, or leave a comment. But please, engage my thoughts and let them dialogue with yours.

I've been thinking about God and truth quite a bit lately -- especially in the light of mortality and suffering; but that is hardly noteworthy or unusual for myself or anyone, I'd imagine. Today, I was thinking about this idea of truth. I am not educated in philosophy, I do not know much about what great men of the past have thought regarding God and truth and objectivity; although I am interested in finding out -- it would seem to me that men far greater than myself spent thier lives tackling those issues. Did they come up with something, or die still searching? If you know of an account of these men, please send it along. I am desperately under-educated and I would learn more if I may.

Anyway, most of these thoughts were motivated by my art and my interactions with others regarding it, I welcome thoughts and comments in person if and when you see me next.

At times I am sure we inhabit a world with a complete lack of objectivity. We are afloat. Adrift. Lost at sea. We make the rules, we break them. We create structure, construct order and reason, build frameworks within which to operate. Like a spider, spinning it’s web. We are entered into this world and begin by drawing a line from one point to another. Then we draw another line, and another. Lines within lines, frameworks within frames -- all of which we created. Funny metaphor here - I have worked in animation. To make a cartoon, you need to create everything that exists within the reality of that cartoon world. You create backgrounds, locations, props… you create the characters that inhabit that space. You create their motivations, their fears, their beings in entirety. You construct and create a complex and complete world out of nothing. Where you did not elaborate others do. The voids are filled, the gaps are bridged. Before long you have constructed an elaborate if chaotic world of realities, beliefs, schemas and objectivity. From the lack of something we enter and create. We create our own objectivity from our subjectivity. The only thing that we can draw on besides ourselves is the creation around us. The objectivity of this world, this earth. The warmth of the sun, the cool of the water. The green of the fields and the earth. From this pre-existing creation we base our own. Whose objectivity crafted this world around us? Did the same objectivity create us? Are we casual mistakes in the impossibly long chain of consequences of one progenitive creative force? Are we the result of an act of purposeful creation? Is there any sapient force behind this at all, if so, is he still involved?

I do not know.

I do not think I can ever know. I feel as if People make or let themselves know. They find the answers to their questions, they come upon them. In faith of some greater force guiding. But what of that troublesome question? What of that vexing mystery of all creation - why and what for? Where should we go? What guidance do we have other than that which we create for ourselves -- and what good is objective truth of our own creation? Like men casting idols from gold and worshipping them, setting them up as forces beyond comprehension, masks for their intentions, scapegoats for their desires that they condemn yet seek. Tricks they perform for themselves and others to feel self-satisfied, to not be seen for what they truly are.

I go to church. I call myself a Christian. Jesus lived so long ago, and we accept so much of who he was through supposedly divinely-inspired texts that were assembled into a supposedly divinely-inspired cannon long after the fact. Then there is always that irksome idea of faith; the spiritual discipline of accepting things without proof as true, and finding evidence for that supposed truth in just about everything. Of course, I speak of the faith I have witnessed in practice, perhaps not in principle. What use to us now is an unknowable man that lived so long ago? I say unknowable despite the fact I feel He has inserted himself into my life --regardless of his veracity -- because I find it difficult to remove Him from me, at times -- how much of Him in my life was me trying to be like Him and how much of those feelings are His actual presence? Are those two ideas the same thing? That alone is assuming a great many things as truth that are effectively un-provable. His supposed teachings live-on and guide people to an ideal of love and grace for all -- yet so many things happen in his name -- spiritually justified carte blanche. Again, I speak of religion I have seen in practice, perhaps not in principal. So far as I know, the same is true of all religions -- all “truths.” Men will always utilize any tool they have for their own gain and I have come to believe that given the opportunity, man will always worship something and work to appease it, to endear himself to it, to entreat it -- perhaps in the rejection of religion we are learning to worship ourselves.

Another ball of proverbial wax. What of the prior question? What of creation? We stand on a constantly shifting sand of supposed objectivity -- it would appear the only footholds we have are those we create for ourselves. Liberation? The resolution that the height of religion is no religion at all? The great freedom from the chains of oppressive dogma, from the constraints of history? The terrifying idea that we can and must create a new world that cannot help but be built upon the past? A brave new world of new exciting dogma and objectivity, no more objective than the last save for it’s hold in the mind’s of men -- and, those realities are self- imposed -- for these abstract concepts exist nowhere. They have no corporal form. They have no bone or sinew with which to inflict themselves upon the world. They seem to be created by and enter into the minds of men. It is in the seat of the mind, the throne of man’s flesh that these ideologies sit. Created by men they spread throughout our tribes and enter into our minds and find action and place in this world through us and our bodies, our minds, our lives. We are the avatars of these ideas. We are possessed by these revenants that never truly lived -- we define ourselves through these self-created masters. Slavery is too strong a term; it stinks of Marxism and liberated theologies - but perhaps to say we create schemas and fall in line behind them. We draw our lines and stand within them; we find or create truth and become evangelists for it. That created, believed and therefore experienced truth lives through us. At the risk of sounding overly pejorative, the metaphor of a parasite that lives in us, through us, is bred by and maintained in the minds and live of men. It aids in our self- definition, it is the driving force behind the work of our hands, the marching of our feet, and the words of our mouth. It nests deeply in the very heart of men, in the core of his being and idea of self. Has there ever been a man free from that parasite? Perhaps a symbiant would be more palatable, or close to the truth of it, anyhow -- but, what happens if a man somehow were to free himself from that symbiant? Indeed could he? What would he be like, floating in a world of constant flux and intrinsic lack of definition besides the corporal, material world we inhabit? Savages in the forest obeying their base instincts and urges? Surely even that is a created self.

Perhaps it is impossible. Perhaps we are somehow programmed to seek and find something outside ourselves to guide us. But who programmed us? This is circular at best.

Is the search for truth reserved for those brave enough or those who are willing to find it? Certainly not. All find truth, eventually - be it in religion they accept, uncertainty they’re comfortable with or the resolution that it is, for the time, unknowable. Perhaps we will find, at the end, that there is no such thing as “truth“; it is a substance excreted by man in response to himself. A feeling. A hunch. Perhaps it is “truth” that guides birds to migrate every winter, or the salmon to leap upstream. Perhaps this same truth causes the leaves to unfurl every spring and the dogs in the street to form a pack. The bears to hibernate and the birds to sing. Perhaps this “truth” drives all creation - a cyclical force of creation, creating itself over and over again into perpetuity.

Just then I had to stop mid-sentence to clean up a mess Grandma made. She dropped a can of soda all over the kitchen floor. Sticky. All this thought. For what? I still need to pay my rent somehow. I still need to eat. De-natured as the term may be in this context, we must all “survive” and this seeking a truth does not seem to fulfill any physical need. If anything it seems to vex us - we are troubled by it’s presence. It’s no surprise that many people find it easier to just accept their views and live day to day. But we cannot afford to walk with blinders on - we have seen something. We know something of this truth. A metaphor: all creation is watching a stage play -- but we, humanity, are seated to the far right and left of the stage (we arrive late) so that we view the stage at an extreme angle. The rest of creation sees the production front on - a thoroughly constructed and elaborate world presented to them in it’s entirety. We however, can see behind the curtains just enough to see that there is more there. A stagehand holding a script is there for but a moment -- actors appear from behind the curtain -- what is behind that curtain? We have been given just enough insight, it seems, to deduce and perhaps observe that there is something more. But the vexing part is we know not what. We cannot go behind the stage, we cannot move seats. Perhaps some people see a little more, some a little less. Perhaps some people ignore the side-stage and try to focus on the play, whilst others miss large segments of the play entirely because they are so fascinated and curious and troubled by that unknown that they feel they must know. It may vary in degrees but we all have a desire for the truth. For knowing what truly is. Some people find it, or settle for their version of it. Some people never find it at all. Where do we fall?

Grippage

2008-04-03T14:12:00.000-07:00

I was thumbing through an office depot catalogue at work today and came across high-lighters with "rubberized non-slip grip" to help you keep a "firm grip" and avoid accidently high-lighting the wrong sentance, I assume.

Seriously, though -- who's ever been using a high-lighter and lost their grip on it? Has anyone ever lost their grip on a high-lighter? Ever?

2008-02-26T10:05:00.001-08:00

I figured out why I have such a tough time at the end of the month. Bills.

There's just too much on my mind - it leaps from one thing to the other, then I see something that makes me want to go somewhere completely different. It's maddening. It's like I can't sit still. I have to be moving, whirling around in circles until I get depressed about accomplishing nothing and then fall onto the ground and lay there, staring at the cieling wondering what could ever be possible with a person like this and how am i ever going to be like sir richard branson or even moderately successful at anything if I'm such a flop?

from nothing comes nothing. This is tough.

Life is one big lesson.

2008-01-28T03:07:00.000-08:00

I'm having a hard time, right now.

I'm worried over such a seemingly little thing - but it's got me on edge. I can't sleep. I'm trying to regulate my breathing- I'm typing to help myself calm down.

I'm having a hard time. The unexpected happens- one moment we're fine, the next we're put a in a spot that makes us re-evaluate. One moment we're going along, the next we're on the edge of a knife - a slight bump and we'll topple.

Don't panic.

It's ok. It's just a little bump - no, seriously - It's not a big deal. It'll work itself out. Remember what the bible says about money and birds of the field and all that.

It's going to be ok. It's really not that big a deal- I'll just make a few phone calls and try to scrape a few things together.

Ha, I feel like the hens have come home to roost. But it will be ok. God, it's going to be ok -- don't panic, jesus -- you can handle this. No - seriously - it'll be ok. sorry, i just need to type and calm down. type to remember. type to somehow hold this desperate moment of silliness, of poor planning and small mistakes - to hold it, to see it.

I feel better already.

the dust of humanity had settled upon the cold metallic carcass.

2008-01-23T00:17:00.000-08:00

It took all I had not to run away in fright- I'm not sure why I didn't. I struggle for words to describe the eeriness of it, friends- the gripping affect of fear chilling one's body - the overwhelming sense of something being completely alien; completely and totally unknown. All at once, the distinct feeling that I was never meant to look upon such a thing; the revelation of something that could not be real - but must be so. The stench of animalistic fear reached my nostrils, and i reacted suddenly - my body weakened; it quavered and I found myself backing away slowly- crouching.

It looked as it it had been there a very, very long time.

As i looked upon it I was slowly able to discern a vaguely man-like form. could this be the remains of a man? An ancient citizen of this long-dead place? The form was somewhat skeletal in it's appearance; and through the tattered, soiled rags that hung from it's limbs like flesh I could see the patina surface of some metal. Patina would be too euphemistic a term, for the limbs showed a mottled, cratered surface pocked with the centuries- though at rare spots a faded golden skin shone through in the dim light.

I Froze.

It's head lifted slowly- the whispered clicking of whatever worn force within it that motivated the movement punctuated the silence. Terror shot into me like an arrow. It's eyes, though I hesitate to call them that, looked at me -- or rather I felt their gaze, as the thing's focus was indiscernable behind those black wells sunken into it's face. I felt a shrill shriek of electricity shoot down my spine and I stood still, looking at its bulk laying against the wall in a shallow puddle. I was terrirfied but I could not turn away; it was as if I had no time to think, no time to react- only time to stay frozen in my place... I was suddenly conscious of sweat rolling down my temple.

It's movement was so minor and so precise I at first thought I had imagined it- but there was no denying the pierce of it's gaze. Nothing else in it moved- only the quick, calculated turn of the head. The angle of what I can only describe as it's cheek caught a glint of light - a point of white in the dim, grimy hallway. It's gaze held - the silence deafening to the point where I could hear my body's internal response to it - the swirling groans of entrails and organs in response to adrenaline; the quickening of my heart; the sudden and whispered gasping of my breath.

I felt my body weakening, my knees softening- I slowly reached back and found the wall behind me- I slid down to the floor quietly - as if to not draw it's attention, bracing my descent with my arm, careful to never loose my eyes from the thing. I sat in a small puddle that ran the length of the soiled, grey wall - and could feel my grimy fingers run along the collected grit and sediment in this ancient space, the cold wall through the back of my sweaty shirt. My mind wanted to return to whatever long-past age spawned this creature- I studied it and tried to vizualize it as it once was, but it was no use -- that... thing was too much for me - I could never leave the prison of it's gaze.

I sat perfectly still.

I looked upon it's broken form with a sense of urgent fascination- as a boy might, upon finding a creature dead by the side of the road; disgusted, afraid and completely enthralled by it's grotesquely captivating beauty.

then it spoke.

It was so unexpected, so completely shocking-- it was barely audible, yet in the silence of that long-forgotten vault it was like screaming in my terrified ears-- and that voice! The grinding of ancient gears against each other, as if the clicking and whirring of clockwork had been imbued with the tongue's intonations, with a man's living soul! It was cold - distant - as if it was coming across a vast and frigid gulf - the sound of life without life.

"...please..."

self-worth and work are intimately related, it seems.

2008-01-20T23:41:00.000-08:00

For about a year now I've been working with a production company - for about 8 months I've been being paid for said work- the rate and schedule have not changed: meager and two days a week. Every couple months we come "this close" to a big project, or the company is "talking to" some makor studio regarding a big deal that will result in better pay, a steady job, etc.

I find myself again in the middle of that cycle- again the big studio is interested in using our company. Again talks have been ongoing, again there was a delay, again there was a new script they wanted to review, again I'm stuck in the same holding pattern. I don't even like desk jobs- but working two days a week and supplementing that by scraping by on unemployment doesn't do a man justice. Last thing in the world I want is to be working as I did on the Simpson's- but I would like to at least make enough to get off unemployment and have my days consist of something besides helping my boss clean out her garage, tweak web-designs and organize file-systems in eight-hour intervals.

I don't think this is for me; and if the past year is any indicator- I don't think "it" think's I'm for it either.

It may be time to explore other options- perhaps seemingly more humble if need be, but new doors none the less.

Catch up

2008-01-15T22:33:00.001-08:00

I haven't been posting here very often in the past few months.

For a while it was because I just wasn't writing at all. I'm not sure what I was doing- and I don't think I'll ever know now because I didn't write any of it down. Those days are lost, gone forever. They may reside in my mind, somewhere- but without the ability to see them for what they where, even through the filter of opinion and context-- they are gone.

Hardly an ideal state of affairs.

The past few weeks I've begun writing again- but in a journal. All sorts of things- things about family, about God, about art and music. Those sorts of things. I realized, though, that for some people, this is an important way fo keeping in touch with me-- and I with them. I've decided to return to my old habits.

Life is strange. God is there, but not really at all sometimes - it seems. I don't know what it is I want to do but I know it's not what I'm doing now. That's got to count for something. Family is so deeply important, and so deeply binding -- in some ways they define us, they love us and support us -- and in some ways they are a prison which we can never fully escape. Does the convict attempt to flee, risking death and harm? Or does he simply learn to live within the four walls of the prison and build a world within worth living in? So many questions.

To celebrate our third Anniversay Tina and I went to Sequoia and did a bit of cross-country skiing and playing in the snow for a couple of days. She was relaxed and having a good time- she seemed happy. She's been back to school for two days now, and even though I have only talked to her on the phone, the Tina from Sequoia is gone. It's another Tina now- the school Tina. She's different, you know. She feels different. She's the same, I suppose. Just different.

Pip is having a hard time becuase he's had his heart broken. It happens to us all-- it never feels good. It never feels good at all.

Faith is tested, faith is stretched. Faith is pushed- and sometimes, I think faith breaks in two. Like a tree that bent slightly too far, it lays broken. Then we look up and beyond, and see what visions we will of a life past it -- a life without it. For some it may be just a fleeting vision, terrifying to behold. Perhaps for some it is intriguing - they can't turn away from it - but frightening in it's vastness and certainty. I'd imagine others flourish in the immediacy of it, the feeling of liberation from everything as they are re-born into an unsympathetic world.

God keep us moving, don't let us linger.

this is going to be revised.

2007-11-14T11:38:00.000-08:00

just thinking out loud-

how can we love and listen to music of the doors, whatever random rock band-- to a point we even raise it as an icon of free vision, of unadulterated artistic creativity, yet, these songs are the product of a drug-addled fast-paced life full of wanton sex and drinking. To a point we live this life vicariously through the music, yet as a culture we decry the very values and lifestyles that created the music we idolize. Funny.

update

2007-11-12T22:04:00.000-08:00

I just moved into Ryan Green's old place last week.

It's a nice set-up... big, wood-panelled room with a nice bathroom and plenty of closet space; a little studio space downstairs where I can paint and do miscellaneous art activities; and a quiet house mostly to myself, for the most part.

I get lonely, at times. I miss my old roomate and our constant bantering and joking. I miss the centrality of our old place- of being able to walk to paseo and trader joes. Pro's and Con's I guess.

This weekend I'm going camping with AGO out to our Initiation weekend-- I'm really excited about it. If it's anything like the one's I've experience in the past, it'll be a great time.

Tina is invaluable to me as a friend and colleague. I really appreciate her intelligence and her immense knowledge of empathy and the psyche. I hope I can be as much of a resource to her as she is to me.

God is good. Change is good. Though I lose some things with the move, I gain others- one of which being alone time if I choose to... If I can brave and conquer being lonely. It's all in the frame of mind--- all context. All a chance to create.

Lord please lead me in this time.

alter ego

2007-10-11T09:51:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up, clambered down out of bed, sat on the floor for a moment and then lay on the ground.

I do that pretty often, actually.

See, I'm a deep sleeper-- deep to the point that I have something of a split personality- a doppleganger, if you will. So complete is my slumber that my body has developed some sort of low-level cognitive functionality during sleep as some sort of means to self-preservation. It's almost like my sleeping body is another sentient aware that it needs me to keep sleeping for him to remain in control and has developed all sorts devious mechanisms to ensure just that. I'll talk to people, I'll walk across the room, I'll answer the phone-- all while asleep so that I have no memory of the aforementioned things happeneing. Needless to say, my alarm in the morning is no exception: I'll reach out, stop my alarm, then go back to bed-- all while asleep. This was something of an issue back in school- so I started placing my alarm across the room. That worked for a little while- but then I started getting up, shutting off the alarm and then going back to bed... again, I had no recollection of that ever happening. It was then I devised my finest plan to keep my alternate self at bay - the lofted bed. Now, I have to get down out of an elevated bed, go across the room, and then shut off my alarm. The cognitive power necessary to safely travel down and ladder proves too much for my somnambulant alter-ego, and sensing death that would destroy us both, he decides to return control to me- the waking self- at which point I'm free to live out the rest of my day.

Anyway, there I was-- laying on the floor in my underwear.

It was there, on the monochromatic beige carpet floor, that I started to think about what I would do with my day- and why I would do it. I knew I had a lunch meeting, then an art opening later on... what could I possibly do in the interim? I could paint some, draw... read...

It's of concern to me that I actually considered just "hanging around;" roughly translated, that means puttering around-- floating from pastime to pastime. No one's ever changed the world like that.

Maybe the hardest part of making change is to start doing that in yourself. To stop floating and commit to something. If that be completing a painting, so be it. If that be reading a book, so be it. History does not remember those who began, but those who finished. Our time is so dearly limited-- how much more important, then, that our lives consist of completions; of impacts in our lives and the lives of others.

ideas are nothing without execution. Nothing. Ideas come and in a moment they are gone- they need to be fished out of the air and tended to- otherwise they remain transparent whisps in the wind- seen, but never felt. Transitory- vapors as are our lives.

heck, so many people probably live their lives floating from responsibility to responsibility. They don't have the luxury, oportunity, or the calling to do something. We cannot be that way- we need to do something.

going away

2007-10-07T01:05:00.000-07:00

What does this life constitue, at the end of the day? After waiting around, after a breakfast with a friend, after painting? After sitting, after thinking, after trying to take a nap on the floor? After thinking about who you should be spending more time with, after thinking about who you should spend less time with, after sitting and wasting time?

A day. A single unit, a single moment in time. Came and went. Passed me by. How am i changed by it? Am I better or worse for it? Now, at the end of it-- looking back-- what should i have done differently? What could i have done, and why did i do what i did? Will I do it again? how many more days will slip so quietly, so quickly away like this one? when i turn towards my past in thirty years, how will all these little days --all these little decisions-- have irrecoverably changed me? What will i regret? What will i wish i had done differently? what can i possibly do?

on the day i die, when i fade into nothing- what will i be thinking? what will i be fearing? what will i so desperately wish i could return and change, re-live? Where would i go to flee death and judgement- where would i long for? whose smile, whose arms, whose laugh and whose voice? whose kiss, whose words? Will i long for youth, for idyllic days in the timeless haze of childhood? How can i know until i am there?

we had no idea how swiftly this would all pass away; how dearly we would long for it years later.

What's Up

2007-07-21T09:04:00.000-07:00

These past few weeks, I've only worked two or three days a week- yet I have been incredibly busy.

Poor time management? Perhaps. Lack of focus? Likely.

I have gotten some artwork done, however- and made some important steps in the self-realization department of my life, ie, "what are you going to do with the little time you have left."

Lord willing I'm going to Cancun and the Yucatan penninsula with Tina this Monday for 10 days. I'm excited to see new things, do new things. It should be good.

I apologize for the lag lately... I'll try to be better. I'm (slowly) learning the importance of focusing on the tasks at hand-- quite an acheivement for me, the man who has historically floated from project to project for days, weeks. I'm finally (slowly) learning to sit down and "do it," and for that I am very thankful.

God, as always, is amazing. I get depressed, I get lost, I get down and worried... then I remember to pray and then He sends the light. A friendly conversation, a comment, a feeling, a story... something happens that sets me up again... that reminds me of His majesty again.

Read and pray everyday. That's the way I need to operate. It keeps me running smoothly.

Busy!

2007-06-25T11:29:00.000-07:00

Been a while since I posted- here's some of what has happened.

Beginning of June: Simpson's job ends. I recuperate for a week, doing little more than trying to catch up with life.

Beach Camping with Tina: Much fun. Went to McGrath State beach just south of Ventura, saw the marina, chilled at the beach... walked along a rugged shore. It was really nice. A blessing.

Weekend in San Fran with Pip: San Francisco- not really that impressive. To be quite honest, I was underwhelmed. Nice enough city- but Los Angeles just feels like it has so much... well, so much more to it. Best part was coming back and stopping at Big Basin State Park and seeing some big redwoods-- now that was impressive! Ancient trees, groves aswim in the patchy shadows of tree-filtered sunlight. I recommend it highly.

Yosemite: Went with my perennial camping friends, Dave and Daniel. First afternoon went swimming in an isolated portion of the Merced river down in the valley- we literally saw no-one for the three or four hours we were there. Next day was filled with the sixteen mile day-hike to Half Dome- great view from up there. Loved it.

Those have been my weekends so far- the weeks have been filled mostly with Tina, intense self-scrutiny and deprecation, art, and looking for a job. Things are alright... but I miss writing- I suppose that's why I'm typing this now. As I've said so many time before and I'm sure any writer can tell you, it just helps sort out my mind. I feel like I've got to get all those thoughts out on the table and look at them-- see them on a page for what they really are.

Life is rolling along, I have nothing to complain about- in fact, I have so, so much to be thankful for. For this day, for the sun, for the breath in my lungs. For the pleasure of walking quietly in the woods and listening to the tree's whispering in the breeze. For the joy of walking hand in hand with Tina on a wild shore, the deafening crash of the waves and the constant wind carrying away my petty concerns. For the jolt of adrenaline at climbing a mountain, at looking over the edge and being awed and afraid at the same time-- an unbearable attraction and undeniable danger. For living life one moment, one instant at a time.

Dear God... help me to live this life one moment at a time. Help me to take it in with passion, with purpose. Like a friend recently told me- live your life as if Christ was coming back tomorrow. Is that perhaps too fanciful? The stuff of self-help books and inspirational daily calenders? At first utterance it seems that way. At first thought, it has a beautiful ring to it- like a clear silver bell- to live one's life in complete comfort and knowledge of the love, promise, and immiment return of Christ.

It's beauty fades quickly as it is forgotten, tossed on the pile of colloquial wisdom and axioms we hear on a daily basis; are briefly inspired by and then immediately forget. However, something about this wisdome is different. It's not just a inspirational energy-drink meant to get you through one more long night of the soul.

It's truth. Isn't it? Isn't this what we are called to live? To love as if our Lord returned with the new sun? To be sure, somehow, that Christ is as real as you or me. That his promise made two-thousand years ago will hold true, that his lessons lead us still, and that we must live for Him, love one another, and somehow, somehow, somehow in this beautifully wretched world find a way to make things better? To give when the only promise is to be ignored. To love when the only promise is to be hated. To act when the only promise seems to be indifference.

We must live a life apart. I must live this life, a life free of fear.

We must remember the lessons our own lives have taught us in the past- listen to our lives, what we have seen, what we have heard- look through the pain and anger, get past the heavy, musty curtain of fear and see what is. See what pearls we've built around our wounds, see how God has shown himself to us in so many different ways at so many different times. I need to look, and never forget.

Lord help me not forget again. Help me live free in You. Free in You.

I am still alive.

2007-05-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

In spite of myself. I live and love still.

Time runs

2007-04-11T07:57:00.000-07:00

As a child growing up I heard one thing consistently from adults whenever the subject came up- time flies. They always said the same thing: "enjoy your youth," "I don't know where all the time goes," or the classic "it seems like just yesterday."

This struck me as strange- particurlarly because as a child the days, weeks, months, even time itself it sometime seemed, dragged on. Six months? That was a whole half year- ages! Four years of highschool? by sophemore year it seemed like I had been there forever, and by graduation an innumerable number of overcast days, sunny afternoons and bright blue mornings had passed. An eternity's worth of store trips with my mom, an epoch of homework assignments and reports, a millenium of going out with friends and playing video games... I had been doing it forever it seemed. If anything, time wasn't flying- it was slowing down; which fascinates me, as the past six months have flown by. It barely seems like Novemeber in my mind, yet it's already April. I try to grasp the days, claw at them and make them slow... but for some reason it would seem that as life goes on it picks up speed.

My theory is that work makes it this way- in the past every day was distinct, after my class or job I had time to spend on things at my own, slow pace... but not lately. Lately, I'm rushed along all day long severn days a week- and there isn't much time left to be slowed at the end of a long day of work. I hate it. I want more bang for my buck, more living for this life. Money can't buy that. Nothing can. I can only use what little I have left.

Don't sell your time so cheaply. Find what you're good at, what you love- do it. Make a living off it, then spend as much time as possible living your life, not selling it for a wage.

Lord help me.