What is art?

Does it have to have meaning, or even a purpose? Yes and no. There could be a massive mural downtown in the city that the creator or group of creators designed to have this incredibly metaphoric criticism of the political views of the baby boomer generation that they painted and showcased specifically on a Thursday afternoon after a rain shower, but that does not guarantee that any other passersby will understand it to that extent, or at all. Then again, that very same mural could have been created just because it looks nice, and it makes the dingy party of town feel brighter and more welcoming. Meaning and purpose does not define art, nor does it take away from it. 

While realism in art is a beautiful thing that is incredibly telling of an artist’s personal taste, style, talent, and skill, it is just another style of work. It is not the only style of work, which is what matters. A piece does not have to have a realistic style to be successful, and in some art mediums, realism the way we imagine it is unattainable (take some aspects of 2D digital media for example). If realism is unattainable, does that devalue the piece of work? Take Picasso, for instance, and then compare his work to that of da Vinci’s. Both are well known artist’s and pioneers of their styles with work worth more money than imaginable now. One has a very stylistic way of crafting, while the other was an expert at life drawing. Then take them and compare them to digital masterminds like Shepard Fairey and Henri Cartier-Bresson. Do you see what I mean?

When it comes to trained professionals versus hobbyists and even children, there is no argument that art is still art. What a surprise! Each of these groups of creators are making things deliberately for money, for fun, or just to learn and get better. People without formal training can be brilliant crafters, and children can even have prodigal concepts and methods of execution. Even if they don’t, who is really going to tell a child or untrained person that their piece of artwork doesn’t count because of their age or lack of education?

So, “what is art?”

Well, the easy answer is “subjective.” Art is very subjective because it is very different. From period differences to differences in style, age, creator, location, and medium among many other methods and criteria used to “define” art, there is no other way to call it, but “different.” Actually, that’s not true. Art is creative, visual, physical, watchable, taste-able, deliberate, and accidental. Art is what the maker chooses, and what the viewer reinforces. 

( The above was written for an Art History II assignment for university that was to define art in your own personal way while meeting a few criteria points. I mentioned meaning/purpose, realism, and the being who created the piece out of several topic points provided. While the writing does make a bit more sense in the context of the assignment, I did like the way it sounded as a standalone sort of blog post, too. )

I'm the luckiest girl in the world

No, really. I am.

Why?

Because, despite all the negative things I've been through or dealt with or merely just thought, I'm still standing with a smile.

Why?

I have the best friends anyone could ever ask for.

Yup. This is going to be that kind of post.

It's not every day you meet your platonic soulmate(s), and the ones you think you had when you were a kid usually don't stick around. (More power to those who have held tightly together since they were tiny children, though!) I've had my fair share of friends and acquaintances that come and go, but only a few have lasted long enough to predict "forever."

When I was in junior high, I went through a small emotional hell. Those who know me well are more than familiar with this period of my life, and it was an act of God, I swear, that I made friends with a girl who would eventually become someone I lovingly call my "sister."

I remember our first interaction. It was so dumb, but also so perfect. I was sitting with another girl on the bleachers on the first day of gym class in the seventh grade; Jo was sitting behind me. I was showing this other girl some of my artwork when Jo leaned over and asked, "How do you draw the eyes like that?" She laughed and explained that she wasn't very good at drawing anime-style eyes. From then on, we stayed close together and became really good friends surprisingly fast. We had experienced similar things, we dealt through similar hard times, we shared coping mechanisms both healthy and dangerous, and we ultimately helped each other out of our own messes. We were shoulders to cry on, ears to listen, tickling fingers, laughing faces, and just two of the same person. We clicked. Even though she had to change schools for the entire next year, we clicked.

It was through her that I was first introduced to the other two of my best friends. First, there was Kassi.

It's funny because we were in junior high, too, when we first met. That's not the funny part. You see, we legitimately thought we hated each other. I thought she didn't like me, and apparently she thought the same! I always thought her artwork was really cool, though, and that's what brought us back together in high school. We shared an art class and hit it off like those old times were nothing. We have so much in common that just blows my mind, and we both look up to each other in the same way regarding our skills. It's an interesting relationship. We attended the same university for a while, so we got to live together, and that only brought us closer (much to the surprise of many people!). 

Brianna was the second person I met and became close to because of Jo. What's weird about our relationship is that I don't really remember how we met! She was one of those friends that just kind of merged with our little group and was too cool to let escape. Haha ~ I'm very sad that I either don't have or can't find any selfies of just Brianna and I. I will make a point to change that the next time we're out doing whatever! Brianna and I do a bunch of dumb stuff together, though, the way all good friends should, from creating and especially destroying in Minecraft to catching lunch and awesome movies, or even just playing silly card games on the floor of her apartment. She's a great asset and this post just wouldn't be the same if I didn't mention her, too!

Outside of my close-knit chosen family of friends that I've already mentioned, I do have several beautiful, amazing, and wholly supportive friends who come from all walks of life that I would be nothing without. Anastacia, Caitlin, Musi, Sam, Tracy, Rachel, Angel, Dominik, Nina (even though it's still weird to address her in that manner!), Brandon, Madeline, among other unnamed acquaintances that have done nothing else but give kind words, advice, compliments, and just their love and presence and everything. 

I don't know how anyone could live happily without people that love them outside of their family. Sitting here and thinking about everything all of these people have done for me and with me, it just makes me smile. It's things like this I'm guilty of taking for granted. I have so many beautiful people around me constantly in flesh or spirit via social media. I need to think of you more often, I think. You all make me happier than I think you know.

I really am the luckiest girl in the world, and if you don't believe me, I'm sorry. 

c:

Death by nostalgia: a small Rooster Teeth recollection

You know the "Watch This Again" tab on YouTube? Well, the RT 10 Year Retrospective video popped up, and I couldn't resist not clicking this "watch this again" video. Thanks YouTube. 

Naturally, as I watched it, I grew more and more nostalgic by the minute. 

I was just a kid (I think I was 9 years old!) when I found Rooster Teeth. I remember it was the summer of 2004. School was let out, and that meant my brother and I could visit our cousins and play Spyro and Halo all day (even though I sucked and it was horribly frustrating!). 

Scouring the internet, one day in June, we happened across the second season of Red vs Blue. It was towards the end of the season. We finished it up, and, while my brother wasn't impressed, I thought it was pretty great. So I went back to season one and watched it up until the end of season two, and I still continue to watch it. 

Like, it's just so great to look back and to have been a part of this community for so long, and to watch this company grow the way it has, and with Lazer Team coming out eventually and RvB in season 13 and RWBY and RTX and Funhaus and just.. There's so much growth that has happened in the past couple of years alone! 

Despite only having been able to actually join their website in 2013, I've been watching from the Internet shadows and enjoying everything, communicating every now and again. I really wish I knew how to talk more and make more friends within this wonderful little world—though "little" is hardly a good word to use. I keep saying that maybe I will, and I have, a little. I dunno, I'll figure it out someday. Maybe I should just make more art haha.

It's just so surreal to watch that video and take everything in again, or to go back and rewatch the Blood Gulch Chronicles, or the old shorts and videos and Let's Plays and just all of the things that evolved into the Rooster Teeth that we all know and love. 

Here's to many more years.

Live and let live: a jumble of thoughts about religion and humanity

It's just past 1 am, right now, so I'm not sure how well any of this will read to a well-rested mind.

It is no secret that I am incredibly fascinated by bits of ancient history, most notably the era of the Vikings. A part of that fascination heavily involves old paganism and Heathenry and its presence in modern day religion, as well, from Christianity to Neopaganism. It's just really cool to read about, fact or fiction.

Now, this post of mine is about to diverge into what could be seen as a pretty "controversial" opinion, to say the least, but it's something I've been thinking for a long time. Well, at least since my freshman year in high school. You see, I took an advanced placement human geography course that year instead of the normal physical geography that many other people took. I was capable and had always taken advanced courses, so I thought, "why not?" Anyway, our first major project involved the religions of the world. It was in this class that I learned that Christianity, historically, was not the first religion, nor would it be the last.

I chose to study the Shinto religion of ancient Japan. Shintoism came about in approximately 1,000 B.C.E.; and that's even after the Babylonian religion, drawn from Hammurabi's stele around 1,800 B.C.E., originated, not to mention in a whole other section of the world. Now, Christianity didn't originate until the first century, or so, before common era, some sources estimate between 4 B.C.E. and 1 B.C.E.

See, this is where the controversial stuff comes in, so, please, if you choose to continue reading, understand that this is just a massive web of a theory that's been sitting within my head for years.

If all of these religions existed before and continue to exist after Christianity (as what it was and what it is now), then how can we really consider the Christian god to be the one and only god?

It's universally accepted that something created the universe as we know it. Since the dawn of time, some form of life has inhabited the Earth, and since the dawn of humanity, there has always been a desire for inner peace. Now, people can't have one thing without something that opposes it, so with peace came fear, and a being's greatest fear, I like to think, is death. The greatest way to quell the fear of death is to find a way to believe in a comfortable afterlife. Now, that entity that created this world stuck around and helped the beings of the world to find that afterlife. Thus, religion was born—or something like that.

Every religion and belief has its stories of creation from the Garden of Eden to the regions of Yggdrasil to even the Big Bang, and I really like to think that the cosmic entity that created the universe had its role in all of it for the same reason: to appeal to the people in a way that helped them understand and to best find their comfort. (Does that make sense?) Many monotheistic religions, Christianity included, believe that their god is totally omnipotent, as in all-seeing and all-powerful. I think that this is very true because that one, single god is the entirety of the cosmic entity that created the world and everything within it. Polytheistic religions that have multiple gods with and for multiple purposes, like the pagan beliefs of Vikings and the Indigenous people of the Americas and even the idol worshippers in several Eastern religions, can find that cosmic entity splitting itself to meet the needs of its people.

It's hard to get a jumble of thoughts to settle into coherent sentences, so I know this is all probably jumpy as ever, but it's a beehive in my mind.

Basically, I think that my god is my god because I was raised to believe in him the way that I do. He came to me in a way that was easiest for me, personally, to understand and believe in considering my surroundings. The majority of my friends and family are of some denomination of the Christian faith, so it only makes sense to experience and worship a god through that mirror. However, in other parts of the world, and even other parts of this very country, there are people who worship their god(s) and goddess(es) and idol(s) and science(s) because whatever's out there chose to present itself in whatever fashion was best for these individuals to understand. If you really get down to it, all of these beliefs are in place to do the following: provide a comfort in life and death, provide an understanding of the world, and to provide a sense of peace whenever necessary. All of these religions and sciences and whatever do that for everyone who partakes.

"Why is there so much fighting and arguing and whatever and whatever about and between these religions?"

"Why do some people think it's right and wrong and this and that?"

"Why do some people change religions, or not believe at all?"

I can't answer these questions, you know. No one can. Why? Because I'm only human. We're all only human. Humans took the words of their gods and interpreted and reinterpreted and reinterpreted and reinterpreted until we have what's left today and what's used to practice in our time. Granted, there are many aspects of many religions that are bent to suit our modern era, but, for the most part, the beliefs are still intact. All of these religions that are still alive and well today are the leftovers of the interpretation of some ancient human a long time ago. There really is no reason why they can't coincide since the foundations are similar, if not the same in many aspects. If you really want to get down to it, the only reason so many people despise those of different faiths is because of that basic humanity within us. Like I said before, the god(s) came to people in ways that made sense to them, but what makes sense to one person doesn't always makes sense to another. These differences are what keep so many people separated, it's what kills and what prohibits and burns and disowns and the list of negative verbs could go on.

Living with a closed mind disables and inhibits understanding, I think, and it will only worsen as the world constantly changes.

I don't know how much sense any of this made to any of you. It works for me, but they are my thoughts. If you've ever wondered what the inside of my head looks like, this is the closest you'll get. Educated thoughts and theories lost in a web of confusion; it's like a puzzle. Piecing everything together is incredibly difficult.

At the end of the day, though, that old phrase "live and let live" is the greatest mantra to live by, religious or not. Why can't we just let people be happy being happy? Why does a differing opinion in religion or politics or value have to suddenly turn into a war on pleasure? Someone's always got to be right, regardless of what happens. It's like no one cares about how other people feel anymore.

Just let people live their lives.

Last Breath { songfic }

Let me preface this by explaining what a songfic is. A songfic is a work of fiction that is interspersed with the lyrics of a relevant song. In this case, I used the song Last Breath by Ensiferum. It has been one of my most-listened-to songs for the past couple of weeks. There's just something about the sound and the story that has inspired me to make something, so I decided to write this. It's been a while since I've written anything fictitious for fun.

When it came to war, there was no other choice than to leave home and fight. All of the men went; some of the younger men, and even some of the women went. In this age, the majority of us were honed for battle, anyway. I don't really remember why we were fighting this time. I think it was a rival clan coming to take our lands again, take our women and our fortifications again as they have done for decades. Like always, though, we would just knock some sense into them. Despite thinking this, there was a little more blood on the ground than usual. The last few skirmishes were quick, a few hours tops, but this one had already lasted nearly a day. I don't recognize the arms of the men we clash with. Perhaps they were Saxons still angry that we raided earlier in the season? Perhaps they think that we were relaxing and not on our toes? We were always ready. Well, mostly.

I wasn't ready for this aspect of battle. See, I had been involved many times, and I had done well to defend what was ours. There was even that one time I nearly claimed a Saxon's head! In my stories, though, I did claim it. My son really admires my tales from battle. He's still just a farmboy, but he's eagerly awaiting his time to earn his seat in Valhall. Regardless of all that story-spinning and glory, I had never experienced what many men had experienced in battle: being seriously wounded.

I was laid on the ground, my hands going numb at my sides and my vision beginning to blur as battle raged on all around me. I could feel a sharp pain in my side, and I could feel the strange heat of blood as it stained my weathered skin red. As I looked around at my brethren continuing to brawl, yell, slash, and kill, I could see just how much warm blood covered this cold, harsh land of our fathers. Warm, fresh blood from both sides was quick to rain down upon the earth as metal met flesh on the battlefield.

There was a moment where I just closed my eyes and exhaled, the sounds of war fading. I imagined my family back home. My hardworking, determined son and my beautiful, plump wife. I imagined that I was still there, instead of here; that I was maintaining the fire in our humble home while she cooked, probably whale. It was a desirable daydream. I was not ready to not go back. I was not ready for Valhall. Then I imagined their reactions when I returned, a corpse. Don't cry for me, my son, and don't cry for me, my love, because I'm not the only one lying in my own blood. Save your sorrow for something more, put it into your love and determination. Where I go from here, you can't follow. This journey through death I must make on my own.

When the fantasies of my homestead subsided, the sounds of shouts and surrenders returned. Through a blurry stare, I watched on as man after man, boy after boy, and woman after woman were felled. This time it seemed that we were on the losing end. Did the opposing warriors have more men? Turning my gaze towards the sky, I prayed to whoever would listen. Odin. Tyr. Hell, even Loki. Let not my people live on like this. Let them escape the fear of oppression and loss. I continued to think and mumble and do whatever I needed to with these thoughts and prayers, hoping any of them would hear.

I suddenly recalled something my father's father used to say, used to live by. Every time something went wrong, he would shrug and tell us, or himself, "The darker the night, the more beautiful is morning's light." It had to have been a sign from the gods, that they had heard me. That was the only explanation why the thought was so suddenly brought forth in my mind. I must keep telling myself that, and I must remember that the darker the night, the more beautiful would be morning's light. It was a good philosophy, and I was certain that many of the others still fighting on against those fiends or themselves held something similar in mind. I tried to smile, I tried to thank those who listened and those who still fought when the distant sounds of battle faded away once again, this time into a more permanent nothingness.

Silence had to be the worst part of the whole experience. Was I finally dying? I could hear nothing, I could feel nothing, I could barely think anymore. Finally, I felt ready for Odin's hall. Whatever was holding me back before–my pain, my fear, my home–was no longer tied to me, leaving me one last place to go. I had fought well, I had thought well, and now I would die well. I’ve bled so many times for this land, and, as I laid there in silence, there was no uncertainty in my mind that this wound would claim my life. It was then that I knew Death was coming, and he commanded me to give my hand. As my vision blackened, I could hear a mixture of new sounds. It seemed as if rain had suddenly begun to fall, soaking the world and its warriors, the blood melting into the mud. The most foreign sound, however, was singing. "Fear no more." I heard.

"Just let go." From another direction, a new voice rang.

"Adore this world,"

"once more." Many voices were melting together, their words running into each other. The vocals were that of women; or were they angels?

"The truth unfolds,"

"in the Ancient Halls." These were no angels. They were Valkyries. Forcing my eyes open, I could see the light of the lady warriors of the slain picking and choosing those who would accompany them for an afterlife of well-earned glory. Would they come for me? Had I earned my place as I thought I had?

“Fear no more.”

“Just let go.”

Darkness swallowed me once more. Left alone in my dying silence in the rain, I could only wait for my Valkyrie to fly me away, but there was no other shimmer of light in that pouring rain. I finally closed my eyes, and I couldn't help but to wonder if it everything had been in vain. With that final, unsatisfying thought, I took my last breath.

Honestly

Honestly, I should probably cry,

but I’ve wasted enough tears on you.

Honestly, I should be surprised,

but this has happened too many times before.

Honestly, I should be angry and upset,

but I’m only indifferent and disappointed.

I suppose that once you’re estranged,

it’ll never change,

and I don’t know why

I honestly thought that

one day could make up for twenty years.

Art is Anarchy (to Me)

It's been a while. With this semester nearing its end, I've had to devote plenty of time to my classes and artwork. In fact, some of my artwork, as in some of my out of school personal work, is what brought me back to this blog. As you may have noticed, I have changed the color scheme and header of my blog.

I have been wanting to redesign my own personal logo for a long time, but I was unable to redesign the logo in a way that really stuck with me. In the end, I just liked the original too much. However, despite that, I have been wanting something a little different and a little better, so instead of changing it altogether, I merely maintained the shapes and altered a few lines and colors.

The image on top is my original design from about three years ago, and the image beneath it is the alteration that I created yesterday. As you can see, the differences are subtle, but I also feel like the new design is a little more successful. It's thicker and a bit simpler, so I think it's a bit easier to read.

Some of you looking at the image may recognize it from somewhere, and you should. Sure, it's easily the letter "A" inside the letter "O" to represent my initials, but there is also some other familiar iconography present. Some may place it immediately, and some may not. Here, I'll make it simpler:

The symbol I have posted above is the most recognizable anarchist symbol, I think. The "Circl-A" has been in use by anarchists since the mid-1800s. The "A" stands for "anarchy," and the "O" stands for "order." The whole symbol is supposed to read as "the mother of order," or something like that. (I think it's interesting, really, that the symbol reads as the origin of order when anarchy is usually defined as disorder.) Regardless of the history of the symbol, I like it because of the dictionary definition of what it represents.

Google defines anarchy as "a state of disorder due to absence or nonrecognition of authority; absolute freedom of the individual" and accompanies the definition with a few synonyms. My favorite of the synonyms is the first one: "lawlessness." You see, at the end of the day, art is anarchy to me. Why?

Well, when you think about it, is there really one true, solid definition of "art?" Is there ever honestly one straight answer to "What is art?" Everyone views art differently and in a way that pertains to them. Sure, there are definitely principles, elements, and guidelines to art that are taught in educational settings in the hopes that they may stick in the back of an artist's mind to maybe be heeded and used in their later work. Some famous examples would be like comparing Michelangelo to Pollock, or even Picasso to Warhol, or Banksy to Duchamp. It's all art, and it's all renowned art by respected artists, however whether or not their work conforms to what you think art really is, is exactly what proves my point.

Art is lawless. Art is anarchy. It is this simple belief of mine, plus the convenience of the letters required in the Circle-A matching the letters of my initials, that make my logo so outstanding to me. It's so simple, yet so personally meaningful, and I really love it. It will likely stick around for several more years longer and, hopefully, even longer than that.