Category: journalism

Stuff having to do with the world of journalism.

Platter

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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

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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

Rain

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Cold winter days often seem to fall short of the media’s predictions. We scheduled an early departure from school in anticipation of dangerous storms, though we’re met with trickles of water creating small puddles in dry dirt.

I tend to dress dramatically for the cold. I wear two pears of socks, two jackets, and keep a spare pair of gloves in my backpack. I prefer to overheat than freeze from the brisk winds. My wardrobe has many jackets, though only one of them I have deemed warm enough for January weather.

Although the cold is difficult, I do hope for adventure’s sake that we experience more rain. I keep my prized umbrella tucked away in my backpack, waiting for the day when I can use it again. I enjoy the trek from classroom to classroom as I use my umbrella as a shield from the harsh sky. February is likely to bring more rain, and I won’t put my umbrella away until the sun is revealed.

Image Credit: Ali Berman

the chipping paint of time

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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

Falling in love with love

smalltownhumanbeingLeave a comment

Fall: To move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control

Why is it that we “fall” in love when falling is usually thought of negatively? Shouldn’t love be perceived as a positive thing?

I would like to say that most find falling in love to be terrifying and thrilling. In order for you to fall, you have to entrust someone with little insignificant details and life secrets that you store deep down. You have to lose control of your feelings and fears and hope that your person will catch them and keep them safe. You have to let go, take the jump, and fall…

You find yourself wondering if you are worthy of such affection and admiration from such an image of perfection once you’ve fallen. You’ll remember every little detail, how they like their coffee with the exact details, the name of the small country town they grew up in, or what movie comforts them in their darkest moments. All these little moments add up when you fall.

But falling in love is worth the momentary rush of fear and thrill that overcomes you. If one is lucky enough to find themselves falling, they should enjoy the fall, for it leads to a story of love for the ages. Even if that love fades or ends, you’ll never forget the rush of the fall.

So I guess you could say, in this case, falling isn’t such a bad thing. So let yourself go, jump, skip, leap. Enjoy the fall, take a chance because you’ll never know what you missed if you don’t take a take leap of faith and fall.

Photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/

On The Line

icaruswithwarmwingsLeave a comment

When I knocked on the kitchen door, I carried only clammy hands, a thin resume, and a fascination with a world that I had begged to be let into. Cory, my soon to be Chef, gave me the once over, pointed to a cashier, and continued violently tearing apart poultry.

A week later when I came to interview, he saw in me something from his teenage years. At least that’s what he told me as I signed the workman’s comp forms in the hospital after I rammed my thumb into the mean side of a mandoline.

I started small and assumed I would slowly be introduced to the kitchen, but Cory had other plans and a short staff, so one night I was thrown an apron and instantly I became a fixture of the frier. I played tetris with time, organizing chicken wings and okonomiyaki style tater-tots. 

What they don’t tell you is that short order cooks are prep cooks, janitors, singers, and comedians. 

When we ate cold food on milk crates, the cooks told stories of long nights in food service, they told me about forearm sized scars, crazy chefs, and what homelessness taught them. The dishy had a stutter and sometimes he needed a ride home, José wanted to teach art, Steven was overqualified, and I was hungrily learning everything I could.

Working on the line roaring with heavy metal and a hot range taught me that kitchens aren’t about food, they are about people. They are about stories.

a moment in the life of a western screech owl

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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

Starting Small

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I have begun selling jewelry to share my hobby with others. It was an arduous process, first creating unique designs, then waiting until the perfect moment in the day where the sun could accent my photographs. I propped my jewelry up against white satin and took four photos of each piece.

Now that I had the photographs, I had to list the jewelry and create titles for each one. My jewelry ranges from sleek, dainty earrings to pearl necklaces with crystal accents. I adjusted the price adequately for each listing, and my shop was up and running.

I created an Instagram account for my shop, @jewels.by.jocy, and now post not only the collection itself, but tips on styling and sneak peaks at new jewelry designs.

For a while I had no sales, though when I began to advertise online, I had received two orders. Now came the many ideas for packaging.

I invested in prettier packing supplies than the ones I had in my desk, and now my jewelry comes propped on custom cards, tucked neatly into a white lace bag with extra floral stickers, and packed away into a bubble mailer with pink crinkle cut paper. I seal it off with a golden sticker before driving it to the post office, ready to find its new home.

Shop my jewelry on Depop @jocyvgonz ❤

Handmade Golden Earrings ❤

A New Year

smalltownhumanbeingLeave a comment

2020 has come to an end and with that, we start a new year, but many of us end the new year with unrealistic resolutions for the upcoming three hundred sixty-five days of our lives. Many create these resolutions of bettering our self-image or collecting wealth, but they rarely ever have to do with internal and external happiness or satisfaction. We live in a materialistic world, where we so often forget the real importance of life.

In this upcoming year, I want to look for happiness, rather than setting an unachievable or unrealistic resolution. I want to set a goal of looking for things of beauty every day, finding my own self-worth, living out every day to the fullest, surrounding my life with good, positive people and things, because, most importantly, being content with yourself as you are will make life more enjoyable.

I do not only want to go into 2021 with this mindset, but every year following this one. To continue the search for happiness and self love, finding the beauty in little things, living life to the fullest, and finding the people that help fill those goals, because in the end you are in charge of how you live your own life.

Photo credit: pinterest.com

Fire

icaruswithwarmwingsLeave a comment

I

The leaves rustle gently at first,

barely moving in the otherwise stagnant air.

But the wind comes, and will come again. 

Every year.

II

It’s eerily warm when

the hearty Santa Ana winds,

the december gusts, come 

to breathe full of life

limbs of dry straw.

Shrubbery sings with that transient weight;

shrubbery that won’t be here tomorrow.

III

Before the door could be closed

a delicate leaf let itself in.

Frail, yellow, brittle.

Winter boots shatter it; 

the shards driven into

the green carpet.

IV

Autumn came when no one was looking, quiet and still, 

but Winter knocked on the door.

Warm winds; loose leaves;

oak and sycamore;

helpless faces;

unpacked clothes strewn, full of life,

on the floor.

V

Fires often blow through on winds like these,

—the threat, toothsome and tangible—

but even as the wind whips

and the sparse clouds hurry across the sky,

cruel circumstance sits suspended in hot heavy air.

VI

Heavy walls went like cardboard 

big weight bearing beams became matchsticks

that snap between fat flaming fingers

recollection ripped out of picture frames

folders full of ash

crumpled filing cabinets

and melted metal memories 

a world engulfed

in wind

in the night

in warm welling eyes

in the sweltering night.

VII

Gnawing on the bones

baying at the hunt

howling in the wind

a hound of three heads sicced 

uncontrollable 

delighting in the chaos 

in pandemonium’s wild embrace.

VIII

silence settled,

the land rested.

no fireman’s boots,

no tennis shoes,

no cars,

no buildings,

no birds.

Just cold black earth,

warm embers,

warm breeze.

IX

Green growth sparsely populates the scorched earth.

Grasses, gaining ground.

But deep in the center the blackness still sits.

Telling you things are not as they once were,

Succession is a process, aching and raw;

but nothing could be so delicate and pure

as the inkling of new life

among black expanse.

X

These winds will whip 

hearts to attention

for years to come.

From: KPCC