Venting

Sorry, I don't have a picture again this week.

Most people I think have vented about something in their life, and most people have listened to someone else vent. And when I say vent, I mean complaining a lot about a specific thing/person for an entire conversation. Sometimes people apologize for venting, other times I've heard things like "I just have to get it off my chest." This has made me wonder about whether venting is healthy or not. I've come to the conclusion that it can be both, it just depends on how it's done. 

For example one time when I was on my mission me and my companion ate at someone's house. The father of the house came home and complained about who we were working with and told us he didn't like the program that we were now working through. Needless to say we were miffed. As we drove away we had some plans to go stop by some other peoples homes but we were both so angry we didn't think that would be a good idea, so for a few minutes we vented to each other. I think it was healthy, in a way we were justifying ourselves and our work and discovering again that we were doing what we thought was right. Then we prayed, and I wanted to leave it at that. Be done. But my companion, was apparently not ready to let it go and she kept venting. That is when I think it becomes unhealthy. Instead of letting the frustration out, I think when we keep on venting about the same thing (whether it's to the same person or not) then it is just building up negative feelings instead of releasing them. 

Thus I think venting is good to a certain point. It can relieve frustration, but if it continues for too long it just builds up the frustration all over again. 

Alcatraz versus the Evil Librarians

This is going to be one of those few reviews I write and there aren't any spoilers. For Christmas I was given Alcatraz versus the Evil Librarians by Brandon Sanderson. I have read several of Sanderson's books, but this is a difference genre. And it is bizarre! I don't even know how to express how annoying, frustrating, intelligent, captivating, original, and clever it was. I still don't know how I feel about it.
It is a preteen adventure book, Harry Potter started out as the same genre. I would also include the Percy Jackson series as well as the Septimus Heap books. They are all about 12 year old boys (who all act older) who find out something amazing about themselves aka they have some magical ability and then they go out and save the world.
The thing about Alcatraz though is that Sanderson breaks all the rules. It's in first person and it's filled with foreshadowing and fake foreshadowing like "Little did I know that I was going to get attacked by sharks next." and then he goes and doesn't get attacked by sharks. But he does get attacked. And at the beginning or sometimes the middle of each chapter he embarks on random tangents about the correct way of reading books (from the beginning), and how thought provoking books are all about boys and their dead dogs. Which are genuinely intelligent and funny. Those asides definitely remind me of older authors like Dickens or Louisa May Alcott except their asides were usually moralistic.
But I think what might have been most frustrating is that throughout the whole book Alcatraz is trying to convince us that he's not a nice person. But he's not. And it gets annoying.
But the characters are interesting and well developed. The magic is original and complex. The plot is clever, and the voice is brilliant. I'm not surprised Sanderson wrote it. But I don't think I've ever read a book that was so purposefully irritating.
And I apologize, if you haven't read the book, this will probably not really make sense.

Self-Potrait

This is a painting that I did for a class assignment. The point was to focus on texture whether implied or real. This is mostly implied. Also, it was supposed to be a self-portrait and I have done enough of those. Almost every art class I have ever taken, except ceramics, has required at least one self-portrait if not more. And strangely enough I don't find myself the most interesting subject but I suppose it is art-sy. My teacher said that we could draw something that represented us instead of ourselves. That's when the problem started. What objects represent me? Of course I could have painted an archaeolgy trowel, or a scripture case, or a book. But I felt like things like that do not really represent who I am but just one hobby or one aspect of myself, but not me. I also toyed with the idea of drawing a picture of me as a character from a book (Vin from Mistborn, or Umbridge from Harry Potter as a joke). That didn't feel right either though. So this is the best analogy I could feel comfortable with. It's a path, but there are many paths that are available but they also cuts yourself off from the other paths. I'm not sure I am completely happy with the result but it's alright, I guess.

Changes in Candy Land

My first expedition into Candy Land was several years ago now. More then several in fact. I went there first as a child. I had been asked specifically to search for the missing King Kandy and was helped on my way by the cuddly Mr. Plumpy and Mr. Mint. I passed a disturbing looking gumdrop man and neglected Gramma Nutty's Peanut Brittle. There were several sticky sections where I was caught indefinitely but with the wisdom of the King's daughter, Lolly, and his wife Frostine I made it through. And finally by passing the friendly Gloppy I discovered the missing, plump King. The landscape was simple, and easily understood and my mission was clear.

Recently I was invited back to Candy Land by King Kandy for a party in my honor (perhaps he remembered my former rescue attempts). Things had changed since my last visit. Mr Plumpy's gingerbread plum trees had gone extinct and were replaced by a Cupcake delivery service. Global climate change had also been hard on Mr. Mint's peppermint forest, it was now an ice cream slope perfect for snowboarding. Gumdrop pass was taken over by gummy bears, and Gramma Nutty's home had been remodeled into a gingerbread house. Lord Licorice was still up to his old tricks though, but his power had diminished, he could now only halt you for a moment on his sticky paths. I was sad to discover though, that King Kandy must have lost his wife to over eating, but before she passed away she left another daughter. Princess Frostine and Princess Lolly urged me onto the palace for the party. Right before I  got to the castle I climbed over a chocolate mountain (where there used to be a swamp, there must have been an earthquake) passing an older Gloppy and Gramma Nutty's sister. The King, looking strangely fit welcomed me to the party. It was a relief to get there, because the landscape had seemed remarkably busy, but seeing as parties are not my favorite thing I wondered why I went there to begin with.

Now maybe I just hate to see change, but I admit I was a little disappointed. Mostly because I felt like my mission was important the first time, I mean a King was missing! I was also very surprised by the impressive weight loss by the King and some of the others in a world where only candy is available. However, I rather liked the gingerbread remodeling and the gummy bears new train station.
Who knew Candy Land would change so  much, almost like it was more connected to our world then I thought. Single parents, busier lives, more parties, and apparently more diets.

Nativities

The past couple of days have been filled with looking at the lights. Yesterday some friends and I went to Salt Lake City, Temple Square, to look at the lights. The day before we drove around our town looking at the lights. It snowed some both nights. One of my favorite things about snow is driving while it is snowing at night, (granted, I am usually a passenger). The snowflakes coming straight at you spiraling towards you, their vivid whiteness against the darkness. It feels  like entering a time warp. At least the time warps shown in media, I haven't actually been in a time warp before.
As we were driving along admiring the lights I noticed a lot of outdoor nativity sets, mostly because I recently made the one above. I sketched the outline on plywood, a neighbor with a table saw cut it out, and then with some help from family I sanded the edges, glued them (to add another layer of protection) and painted it. If I ever made another one I think I would change a few things, but overall I think it turned out nicely.
So of course, as I saw all the other sets I judged them. Some I really didn't like, but most of them were really nice, they are just so different I don't think I can compare them. There were plastic and wood, lighted and unlighted, colored and plain, boughten and homemade, sets including sheep and angels, shepherds and wisemen, and simpler ones like mine. My mother also collects nativity sets, and she has quite a few. They are all so different and fun. I guess that is the best thing about art, and people in general. Even though there are things in common there is such variety and interest that we don't have to just pick one.
Nativities are especially meaningful in this regard, because they are a representation of Christ, who is everyone's Redeemer, but because we are different, he means something a little different to all of us. He saved us individually, so that we can become the best individuals we can be.

Consuming and Creating: Part 2: Consuming begets Creation

I have previously written some about Consuming and Creating and this is a continuation of those thoughts. Yesterday I watched the movie Prince Caspian. It was one of those rare moments of consumption that motivated me to create. Sometimes I think that media can be so well created that it inspires you to be better, stronger, braver, and more creative. I had a similar experience in high school and I have since documented that experience in the following snapshot.

 Quietly I turned the last page and closed the book before me. I ran my hands down the worn binding of The Killer Angels and gently returned it to the second pocket of my backpack. Barely hearing the noisy chatter all around me I gazed out the bus window. The familiar trees and roads went by, but I saw only the bloody fields of Gettysburg. We turned down Shawsheen Road and in a daze I got off at my stop, distancing myself even more from the loud chaos.

I practically tiptoed home as I contemplated the death and the sadness, the absolute majesty of the book. In the very midst of Union victory Shaara had reverted to the view of the Confederate leader, Longstreet. The triumph I had experienced just pages before turned to the futileness of defeat. Every war has two such sides, and yet rarely are both sides portrayed so well.

I set each foot down carefully, avoiding crackling leaves, as I walked up the wooden steps of our porch and opened the door slowly. I carefully took off my shoes and inched the door shut. I moved in a sort of personal memorial for the men who had died and the writer who had brought them to life.

“Why are you being so quiet?” My Mom called from the next room, jarring my thoughts.

“I just feel like it” I said, hating to break my silence.

Happy December

There is something about December that is partly Christmas that I love. As soon as the calendar says December (if not before) out comes the nativity sets, and the advent calendars and the trees. I think part of why I love it so much is the sweet nostalgia that it is based on. The Christmas Tree Ornaments from past years made with friends, or cheerfully given by them. The same with the books, and the nativity sets and many other things. It just feels like the whole month is filled with expectations. It's lovely. So happy December to all of you.