a quick view into a Frozen Dream

The igloo that I inhabit is purely built out of ice. Blocks of ice stacked on top of one another until they create a dome that only raises about 3 feet off the ground. Before I assembled the dome, I had dug a pit that was about 3 feet deep into the frozen crust, under where I would eventually build my icy dome.

I had finished my igloo project, filling it with a deer and bear skin bed along with a small, vintage wood stove. Although the wood stove did little for me on the treeless coast of Greenland, I got creative and burned the oil collected from the fish I caught. I also brought with me a huge collection of Dura-logs which would sustain me for my stay in Greenland.

Every night I clung to the skins that entrapped my body in a cocoon of unsatisfactory temperatures, not cold enough to freeze but not warm enough to not question why in hell I would leave the Southern Californian bliss to come to the frozen tundra of despair.

But what made it all worth it was my constant adventure of navigating extreme winter conditions and the amazing art that lives and breathes in this magical place. My mornings consisted of sitting up and rotating 90 degrees to my heater where I boil coffee. The warm liquid slipped down my throat, heating my insides. My usual days consisted of taking an extremely long time to slip myself into the thick snow gear. Fur lined my hood and tickled my windburned cheeks as I crawled through the tunnel of ice that leads in and out of my igloo. From there I set off on the deserted icy planes, passing the occasional seal, with the intention of continuing my photography collection on the yearly migrating walruses.

image found on Pinterest


my real fears

scary movies don’t scare me

for me it’s the psychological mine field that our minds lay out for us

the empty houses that feel a little too empty

emptiness that slowly sets in as you try to navigate your new found awareness for sound, or lack of

the wood creaking wrong under your bare feet

or the toilet flushing, water swirling and filling the bathroom with normal sounds, then suddenly the water sitting still, soundless

back to navigating the defining silence

rushing

but not trying to scare yourself more

to turn on as many lights as possible

but you still feel the darkness lurking behind the walls

in the walls

under the floors

or in your head

sometimes you get a tingling in you spine as you pass by the unlit room

urging you to turn and peer into the darkness,

but you know if you do you have hit the mine

and it will explode

but its not only empty houses that trigger the fear

walking home

walking alone

walking as a woman, alone

gripping your purse as adrenaline grips your body

being followed, but not really

feeling followed, but realizing they were just going on their way to wherever they had to be

felling helpless

in ways you know you shouldn’t

a friend making you uncomfortable

do they know what their doing

or is it in my head

do I say something or is this normal

these things scare me

the mine field makes me aware

but awareness makes me scared

makes me terrified

Image found in Pinterest

Seaside

by the sea she sits

watching the waves crash over and over again

her blank stare collided with the violent ocean movements

her fragile body sank into the warmed sand as the water slinked up the beach

desperately trying to touch her

next to her a book that reads Gone With The Wind laid on a small quilt

the checkered baby pink and faded lime green quilt also held an old fashioned film camera and a what seemed to be a collection of shells

at that moment I knew nothing about her accept she may possibly be a romantic due to the book

she interested me because she looked so unbelievably in place

she seemed to simply exist, without disrupting any of the everyday inhabitants, very quietly and naturally

above her seagulls circled in a draft

their wings sat almost as still as she did

she wore a white silk dress and a large scarf that wrapped around her whole upper body

then I see her hand lift and point out into the wide plane of water

she soon retracted her hand, probably remembering that there was no one to show what she had spotted

the water stood still and glassy all the way out to the horizon

I followed in the general direction her finger pointed and saw a large explosion of water, soon after there was another much smaller spout

my best guess is a humpback whale and her calf because it was around the time for their migration

soon after seeing the whale I picked up my things and walked down the beach in the opposite direction of the mysterious woman

hopefully you enjoyed a short glimpse into my outside perspective on an interesting stranger

found on Adobe Stock

me and her or me… and her?

Her Ivory skin was compelling

Eyes a sea of green that yearned for me

Caught in her rip current

Fighting temptation

Fighting to maintain the person I was once thought to be

But her eyes, green specked with hazel flakes

Like the falling leaves of autumn

Warm drinks by warm fires as the world swirled with cold

She was warm

All my problems settled next to the flame that she lit in me

Seeming to melt away

As passion and understanding burned my mind

It still left me wondering where I go from here

After she leaves who will I be

Was it a blip?

A bug in the “perfect” system?

Honestly i’m not sure.

Image found on Dreamstime.com

The Chimp wants to be a Chemist

Have you ever met someone with an abundance of dreams and ambitions, with a passion to make a change and to make something out of themselves? Someone who wishes, and knows they can live outside of the box and innovate what they think to be a world in need of innovation? The next question, do you know someone who has these ambitions but is not given the means to complete their goals, or they get trapped in the everything-sucking whirlpool of society. So instead they have to sit at a desk, working a normal person job, stewing in their ideas.

I know someone like this, I live with someone like this. Although it makes for interesting conversation, these kind of people feel like they did not get to reach their full potential. And as time ticks away so does their opportunity to make something great out of themselves. This leaves them feeling angry, feeling like the world is pinned against them, and quite helpless all at the same time. But these people have responsibilities. And even though they feel all these feelings they have to repress them so that they can provide, in my case, for their family. The product is an incomplete and unsatisfied person.


I have been affected by this incompleteness because they have, unintentionally, pushed their need for greatness onto me. All the opportunities they did not take, they require I take. In hopes to save me from a “normal life”. All the ideas they have that have never taken off, they expect me to make them into a reality.

Well, that’s my experience!

image found on shutterstock

Barnacles on the Boat

On the bottom of my ship,

Clumped and clustered the stiff beasts lie,

If I face them all I might just die,

They hide in the safety of the sea,

So they are not visible to anyone but me,

The razored tipped bumps gather as time goes on,

And I must keep sailing,

Though they will never be gone,

And ship I am,

Though it’s not for all,

Some stand proud and tall,

They are whales instead,

And they wear their barnacles on their head,

Barnacles make it hard to be,

But that is life a great captain once said to me,

You must accept the barnacles if you are going to sail the sea.

Image found on dreamstime.com

Platter

Today I sat down and threw a platter on the wheel. In the end, it will be a chips and salsa platter once I attach another bowl I made to it. I was throwing with a larger amount of clay than I’m used to, and I was seriously struggling. I’m sitting there, sweating, in my stiff wooden chair, cursing and extremely angered at this lump of clay that won’t center for anything. Finally, it centers enough so I can continue. I get it into a nice shape and feel better about my ceramic abilities. Then I go to smooth it, can’t find my usual smoothing rib, and use this old one. Suddenly it slices my finger. I’m bleeding all over this platter, exhausted and mad. I finish the platter with thick clay water, bloody clay water all over my hands and the platter. And surprisingly I feel more accomplished than I have for a while (after finishing a thrown piece).

Moral of the story. Perseverance will not only end with a nice platter, but you will finish your task feeling satisfied and accomplished.

photo taken off of The Arts Center sight


Better to stand alone than in the standards of others

Skin sunk around bones in protruding starvation is beauty.

Normalized with eyes melted into pits of blackened seas. Salted water burned pain into a sickening sensation of emptiness.

Body twisted into a sensual blur. Collar bones puppeteering her breasts.

Blossoming from spirited youth into the world of never ending expectations and misdirections.

Bones expected to be filled with feathers, skin expected to be tightly pulled against every crevice, face expected to be whipped with unreal and unnatural smoothness.

She mustn’t let the words of broken societies control her body, though she’s tempting to hurl herself into the vortex of self deprivation, rising above will unleash her true beauty wrapped in a pleasant blanket of happiness.

knife painting done by Pino

the chipping paint of time

she sits atop the white picket fence

behind her sits the sturdy one story house with green grass cut in a perfect 90 degree angle

ahead of her lies the freshly poured concrete road

she does not see anything up the road, or nothing that she can see clearly

she’s drawn to the adventure of the clean and untouched road, but it’s intimidating

she’s even more scared to of what lies behind her

she’s afraid to fall into the tightly packed neighborhood and a life of plastered smiles

her hands grip the sun touched wood with the flaking white paint

the fence of youth will not hold her forever she must step down into her direction of life

Photo credit: Smalltown Stock-PhotoShelter

a moment in the life of a western screech owl

The Kenai National Forest tucked away on the twisting coast of Alaska is home to a tall Quaking Aspen tree. The mustard yellow bark plotted with dark-colored knots protrude out of the tree to form slender but sturdy branches. The blackened forest seemed to sleep, but 25 feet up the great aspen tree, curved claws wrap tightly around the bark. Built with a slim body rounded with slick feathers and two ears that spike out of its head like horns, the western screech owl sits still. Every root stopped growing, every leave stopped falling, and every gust of wind ceased to blow as the owls piercing yellow eyes stalked down upon the scavenging rodent below. Following its prey between the plots of rotting yellow leaves and moist forest soil the owl begins to pick up its clawed feet, one after another. Preparing itself. Finally, the creature tilts forward, letting itself be taken by gravity, and with a sharp and intentional swoop, the hunt was over.

Image found on Pinterest