digging deeper.

Well, today was a double critique day. Projects were due for both my Digital Imaging class and Illustration. I was proud of both pieces, but especially attached to my illustration piece. Both earned good reviews, which I was soooo thankful for.

It's becoming clearer and clearer to me that illustration will no doubt be a giant part of my future career. I have growing passion for many things, drawing, illustrating, baking, children's books...and there is still so much I have yet to try. But it is clear to me now that each of these particular callings that arrive as I keep learning, are all pointing in one direction.

Create. Use your voice.

The power of all that is visual is something that amazes me every day.

After our critiques in Illustration, our professor handed out a short story by Joyce Carol Oates called Where Are You Going? Where Have You Been? extremely unsettling story, with reference to a real life killer.

And our assignment? Create an image to accompany the story.

A little twisted don't you think, Prof? A few people in the class after reading it were begging for a new story. One girl especially had someone close to her with a story eerily familiar to the one of the young girl in Joyce Carol Oates's piece. It was completely understandable that she voiced her strong objections to it.

Our professor was a bit taken aback by the class reaction to the short story but offered up a second alternative. (A very drab one at that.) And I had to really think for a moment. Do I want to create an image representing this dark and sinister story? Or do I take the alternative?

I don't blame anyone in the class for wanting different subject matter. But I felt something shift in me as I made my decision. And maybe that shift comes at different times for different people. But my time came today.

I decided to go through with the original story. I realized as I sat there and thought about how sick and twisted this world can be, that my art has an entirely different dimension I have yet to explore - its darker side. I'm afraid of this assignment because it will ultimately challenge me to go to a darker place that I have not yet come in clear contact with. It will force me to confront the harsh and unsettling realities of the world.

And as frightening as that is, I can't turn it down. I'm terrified and curious at the same time in a way. This is wayyyyy out of my comfort zone. But what facets of my art could I lose by not stepping outside the box?

And these unsettling realities? The rapists, the murders, the wars, the terrorists, the starvation, the poverty, the genocide, the atomic bombs, the horrors of our history?

They. Are. Real.

Art is an examination of life, of humanity, of dream and color and space and emotion.

And as much as I as a person and as an artist, seek the good, the joy and the truth in this life....I cannot ignore the other side of the spectrum. Of the world, or of my own art and expression. There must be balance. I feel as though my life has been sheltered and there are moments when I feel like I've left my rose colored glasses on too long. And these kinds of horrifying stories are uncharted territory. They disturb me.

Well, Hayden...you can't hide forever. It's time to dig deeper.

Everybody's got a big red button.

I had a nightmare that I was flying on the Enola Gay, the B-29 bomber that dropped the atomic bomb over Hiroshima. I could feel the plane humming loudly around me and the knowledge that "Little Boy" was ready to be dropped underneath me made my heart seize in panic. Crew men moved around me like I was invisible and I could feel myself screaming at them to stop. Stop. Please, Stop. STOP!

No one even flinched. And suddenly, the bottom of the plane drops out and the air craft feels sickeningly lighter. And we just keep humming along. And in New York and Washington there are people cheering in the streets, "The War is Over," and Harry Truman cuts a celebratory cake in the shape of a mushroom cloud. Smiling, smiling. Smiling over the United States and "our greatest scientific accomplishment."

I woke up from that nap this afternoon only half rested. Earlier this morning in my Peace and Justice class, we watched a film inspired by Thomas Merton's poem entitled The Original Child. We were only shown about 45 minutes of it, but I'm still reeling. I'm heart broken and angry and afraid and angry again all at once. I feel almost traumatized. The film was incredibly intense and graphic and I understand the reasons why it wasn't shown in high school or even freshmen year in college. I sat in a dark room full of students watching this and was having a hard time trying to keep myself together.

Accounts of those who witnessed the chaos were enough to rip my heart out. "Both side of the street were on fire. A little girl was crying in the street, her leg trapped underneath a fallen tree. "I'm burning, I'm burning!" she was screaming. But no one could help her, everyone was running away. I looked to see a woman beside her saying, 'forgive me, forgive me...' as she turned her back on the girl and ran."

That was just one of thousands of stories. Some of which I heard today. Stories I don't think I will ever forget.

Five minutes before the end of class, the lights come up and Professor Bochen says, "So...reactions?"

Reactions? Reactions? Disgust. Pure disgust. Shame. Anger. Shock. Sorrow. Gut wrenching, mother fucking sorrow. And then, even more anger. Everybody knew the stories. We've all taken history class, we've all seen a few pictures. Those events, those atomic bombs are history right?

Wrong. Nuclear warfare is a reality. Its not just history, and its not just a possible future threat. We are not living in some kind of delusional, safe gap in between the past and the future. It is now. It is here. And this generation cannot ignore it. Because it seems to me, that everybody in the world has a big red nuclear button waiting to be pushed. It didn't just end after Nagasaki. There have been over 1024 nuclear tests within the United States. Some have even gone undocumented due to the loss of US military men exposed to the blasts.

Read a school history textbook and you will read a series of deceptions. United States government....Masters of disguise.

I walked back to my room from class, unable to really feel anything but depression and anger. The sound of a plane flying above had an eerie familiarity with the sound of a falling missile. And for a moment I was paranoid. What if this was it? What if this moment is all that is left? We breath, we live, and then suddenly we are dust. What's stopping them? Whoever THEY may be.

Like I said...everybody's got a big red button.

War is senseless. Media is manipulation. Love is the only truth.

Seek Truth. Know your Rights. Demand Peace.

Because Yes, this concerns you. Yes, this is our world. and Yes, it matters.

little things.

I thought about it when I woke up this morning and I rolled out of bed. Just these little things. After a night of dreaming I woke up and felt hyper aware of all of these little pieces of good in my life. Things that make me smile that I don't always take the time to stop and recognize. Like the way you find your pillow has left sleep lines all over your cheeks and nose after a good night's sleep. Its like a new piece of artwork every morning.

Or how the condensation from your mouth and nose leave designs on the top of your portable coffee mug. Damn that is pretty.

Yesterday - nope, scratch that - this week has been one of the most insane thus far. And it's not even close to being over. And as I pound my way through readings on Gandhi, King, Gibran and Day, memorize my way through nutritional values, and try to retain some of my creative thought...I keep forgetting to look upward.

Why are we always looking down? I catch myself doing it all the time. Looking down as I walk, or even when I talk to people, when I'm absorbed in a computer screen or trying to make myself disappear when a beautiful boy walks by. People in general I have noticed, have a hard time really looking at each other. No hello's in the hallways, or small gestures of greeting. Eye contact is a privilege these days it seems.

So today I am really trying to look up and around, to see people, to see things. To take notice. To be awake. I miss so much when I just let myself go through the motions of the everyday....when really, the everyday holds some of the most beautiful things I often forget to notice.

Like how awesome the post-it note can be when leaving yourself reminders. Or how various colored high lighters can make reading dry text wayyy too much fun. Or how people make the most insane faces when they yawn.

And what about people themselves? The curve of a lip or that dip right under their nose. Eye brows in general are curious things. Or how about the way they laugh or scowl or cry or curse?

and fuck, if it isn't fun to hear people curse. (Note: people with accents always make the word fuck interesting...sounds more like "fook" or "feck"...both excellent choices. )

Today I am looking at people, at world, at sky, and even myself. I put on my chuck taylors today after neglecting them for a summer of flip flops and they feel like home to me.

The color of the day is olive green.

(yesterday was eggplant purple.)

Be awake.

lately

College is all I could ever hope for it to be. I don't think I have ever appreciated education as much as I do right now. Middle School was dumb, High school was absolutely lame...

But college really is the best time of your life.

Every day I feel closer and closer to the woman I want to be. The artist I want to be, the free thinker I want to be.

This semester is definitely a challenging one but this far in, some of these classes are proving to my favorites.

The first is my illustration class. Illustration was my original, general direction. It was something that felt up in the clouds to me, but I was on my way up. And now, it feels like I've gotten a good hold on on it and I'm wrestling it back down to the ground with me, enjoying the view all the way back to earth. I'm working for my future and loving every single fucking second of it. There is nothing better than looking down at your desk, littered with the beginnings of ideas, paper and ink and color, images and stories and just having a moment. A moment where all you can think is....this is what I want my life to be.

I've never felt more sure or more excited about my art than I am right now. Knowing that I have miles to go doesn't make me feel discouraged at all. I'm welcoming the journey and I'm excited for every step.

It sounds lame but I feel like the other thing stirring my creativity pot is my Peace and Justice class. Things and ideals I am passionate about are becoming clearer to me and they fuel my direction. What do I want to say? What is my message to the world? How does my art become a tool for my voice as someone who is passionate about the works of peace?

So many questions. I don't know all the answers yet, but the search is really becoming one hell of a ride.

This life is beautiful. Never forget.