Anchors Painting

So here is a painting I did for an art project in school. But I was able to also do something that had some meaning for me. This is supposed to be Hope from my short story Anchors (Part 1, Part 2). We were supposed to use a specific color scheme, I choose the complementary colors blue and orange. I still don't know how I feel about the cloud reflections in the water.

On Death and Violence

I apologize, through a combination of circumstances I haven't posted on here for a couple of weeks. Opps. Here is a longish post.
Hmm. The title of this post sounds a little depressing but I don't think it will be too bad. My friends and I have recently been watching some western TV shows and movies, especially The Young Riders (which you can view for free on Hulu). They are all wearing guns, and always shooting them, and calling each other out. We thought it would be fun to buy ourselves some fake guns to play around with, keep them holstered on our hips and call each other out. That kind of good stuff. We did. It's been pretty entertaining.
Last night I watched The Amazing Spider-Man, complete with gun holstered on my hip sticking into me. Uncle Ben was killed with a gun. I felt overly conscious, maybe even dirty, for having such a play item. After all pistols are primarily for killing people.
A month or two ago I went with the same friends to go crawdad fishing. We waded through a shallow river and grabbed these little crustaceans right behind their claws (so they can't pinch you), throw them in a bucket of water, and then bring them home. Where we twisted off their tails and pulled out the guts and then threw them in a pot of boiling water where they then were cooked to death.
I am from the east coast. Where guns, hunting, and fishing are all uncommon. So I'm pretty sure this was the first time I had ever killed anything before. What was interesting though was that I really enjoyed splashing through the water grabbing these quick little creatures without getting pinched. The gutting and killing was a little unsavory, but I figured if I hunted them, it was my duty to follow through with the rest of it.
So to connect these two... why is it fun to pretend violence, that part that is energy intensive but not harmful to others, but when it actually hurts it is disturbing? And thus, is it okay, morally okay, to enjoy the hunting, aiming, adrenaline highs? Or should all of that be avoided because real violence is really not a good thing.
Tentatively, I will say, in moderation the energy highs are alright, as long as you know that they are a game, and you don't do them so often that the violence itself is the only time the adrenaline comes. 

Ornaments

 Recently I was invited to a Bridal Shower. Each guest was supposed to bring a gift that started with a designated letter. Mine was "O." I chose to give them ornaments (I also thought about doing an Octopus or Oats but settled on the Christmas Ornaments). I know both the bride and bridegroom and they both like the TV show Dr. Who so I really wanted to make a Tartis (aka. a blue British police box from the show). So, to fulfill this desire I decided to make them out of clay. But not real clay, just the kids modeling clay that you bake, Sculpey. I have worked with it quite a bit in the past, and have enjoyed it. The problem is sometimes I make things too realistic, so it's kind of a lot of work. I enjoyed it though. I ended up making six.

Imperfect Canvas

As Halloween approaches Pumpkin carving is a typical activity. I had two opportunities to try it out. I did a meta pumpkin and an owl (that one I kind of used a pattern for). It was fun. The pumpkin one I wasn't super excited about, but it's grown on me. All this pumpkin carving led to some conversations about them, which is not too surprising. I have always enjoyed making Jack-o-lanterns but not everyone does. Some people understandably don't like the clinging gook that makes your arms itch. But my sister told me that she didn't like carving them because it just isn't a very good medium. Which is true. They bruise, break, and rot. Not to mention that they are really thick so it's hard to show detail and they are not forgiving! And yet, I still like them. After carving my second pumpkin I started thinking about why I like it. I get perverse pleasure when I create something I'm proud of out of a distinctly limited medium. It makes me happy. Case in point are the pictures I made out of a Mr. Potatohead computer program when I was in middle school and high school. Here is a link to a website I made for them http://www.virtualkingdoms.net/spud/museum.html.

Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic Education

Not long ago I heard someone speaking about education. The man said that in the past scholars took on individual disciples or students based upon their merits. In general education was about becoming enlightened  rather then obtaining a good job. In our society of online college degrees and increased pay for higher education this was a rather startling realization. It was kind of depressing. In general I try to look at my education as an opportunity to learn, and become a better individual, but I still often fall into the trap of calculating my grades and doing less then what I expect of myself because my professor doesn't require as much as I could do. Sometimes it feels like the whole educational system is based on extrinsic motivation or forces on the outside encouraging you to learn. I hope that at least some of my personal education is based on intrinsic values.

Homesick

It's Fall.

I have lived in three states in my life, Massachusetts, Indiana, and Utah. 18 years, 18 months, and 4 years. Indiana, (the 18 month stint) I don't really miss the actual state, although I certainly miss the people and the experiences. I still live in Utah so I can't miss that. But, I was thinking about Massachusetts the other day. Fall always reminds me of New England and makes me wistful for it, the stunning leaves, the crisp air, and the anticipation of the season. Utah and Indiana just do not compare, especially with the leaves. Some friends and I drove around looking at leaves the other day, but it just is not the same. The leaves here are just not as vivid, numerous or varied. It's kind of disappointing and looking at the leaves here ends up with me feeling quietly sad. Not the harsh poignant pain of recent injury but the rounded longing of the past. Strangely, (or maybe not) Fall is generally the only time I think much about being homesick for New England. At other times, when I think of Massachusetts it is more like the way that I miss Indiana. Meaning I miss the past, with its people, experiences, and foreignness.

The Frost Ball

My Mama was invited to dress the Garden for the Frost
She said I might come too if I would not be cross.

The air was crisp and new, the ground was hard and cold.
She carried sheets and blankets. The clothespins I could hold.

The Strawberries we covered, so they might go to bed.
The Peppers and Tomatoes were goin' to the Ball instead.

We wrapped up branching shoulder and peeping leafy toe,
They seemed to be a modest bunch, nothing they would show.

Same dressed alone while others, shared their trains with those nearby.
Such veils, and shawls, and scarves I saw. I gave a little sigh.

I wished that me and Mama could go to their fair Ball.
But Mama said "Twas only for the Garden Plants each Fall."

We had to go inside then, and let them go their way.
But later I did watch them out the window as I lay.

I saw them dance and shiver in the darkness of the yard.
Mama said I couldn't go, but that I could be their guard.

So now I warn you, "You can look, but don't go nigh!"
The Garden likes their Frost Ball but they are very shy.