So too the leisure seeming
of a girl alone in her blue
bedroom late at night
who stares at the bitten
end of per pen
wondering how to write
so that what she writes
stays written...

-Katha Pollitt

I write, but it won't stay written. I paint, but the color won't keep. Messages I try to send, they refuse to go through; and so it seems that no matter how much I write, the words just bleed. Why do my sentences refuse to be born into actions? Why do I continuously write and repeat when I have proven the lack of closure it brings. I have written in not only words but in color as well, the paint repetitious in pigment and form, no matter which I use, no matter what stroke I produce. Have I not learned my lesson? Have I not proven this battle lost? This mask I wear, it must be bullet proof for nothing can come through. But outward, detrimental activity will always seep through, never to be reduced. Why is the pain filled the one I can hold and keep, why is the freedom so far, why is the pain free most frightful? Why is health the end of me? How is the current not my end?

Why will I not answer when my words call me?

How do I write so that it stays written?

What must I do that I have not already?

It seems unfair, somehow, that my body has to suffer

because I, by which I mean my mind, was saddled

with certain unfortunate high-minded notions

that made me tyrannize it and patronize it

like a cruel medieval baron.

-Katha Pollitt

"I don't think people read poetry because they're interested in the poet. I think they read poetry because they're interested in themselves." - Billy Collins

I find what Billy Collins stated to be very accurate, both in terms of poetry and painting. You see, the observer is allowed to relate to a given piece because the creator gave it room to resonate with the individual. In a sense they have completed a piece that is in its very nature, still incomplete. Even if the painter, for instance, had manifested and created based on a specific object, the turn out will vary in symbolic meaning dependent on the given individual. It may be filled with a multitude of literature, yet no one can deem it so; its outward projection left as a meaningless form until the eye of the beholder reads it closely and forms one's own identification with it.

How do painters paint the soul? How do they see the soul? Better yet, what does the soul look like?

You can't define feelings, you can't limit the ways to its expression or how one chooses to be express it. But what is the soul? Who termed the word soul? Does it exist? If so, what proof is there to its existence? And how do we differentiate it from the mind? The mind projects and the soul feels? Is that right? But if the mind is initiating and projecting, then how is it not the feelings of the mind? I feel it too is the soul who feels and yearns for the given or opposite things the mind projects, but I just can't help wonder how one "found" these items, how one gave these things names when they are invisible, without form and location. With that I then ask and wonder what the mind is. There is a brain, of course that one is obvious, but what are all these "extra" things?

Now curious..I just looked up the definition of the mind, and it is as follows:

Mind- is the aspect of intellect and consciousness experienced as combinations of thought, perception, memory, emotion,will and imagination, including all unconscious cognitive processes. The term is often used to refer, by implication, to the thought processes of reason. Mind manifests itself subjectively as a stream of consciousness.

Theories of mind and its function are numerous. Earliest recorded speculations are from the likes of Zoroaster, the Buddha, Plato, Aristotle, Adi Shankara and other ancient Greek, Indian and, later, Islamic philosophers. Pre-scientific theories grounded in theology concentrated on the supposed relationship between the mind and the soul, our supernatural, divine or god-given essence. Most contemporary theories, informed by scientific study of the brain, theorize that the mind is an epiphenomenon of the brain which has both conscious and unconscious aspects.

Which attributes make up the mind is much debated. Some argue that only the higher intellectual functions constitute mind, particularly reason and memory. In this view the emotions—love, hate, fear, joy—are more primitive or subjective in nature and should be seen as different from the mind as such. Others argue that various rational and emotional states cannot be so separated, that they are of the same nature and origin, and should therefore be considered all part of what we call the mind.

In popular usage mind is frequently synonymous with thought: the private conversation with ourselves that we carry on "inside our heads." Thus we "make up our minds," "change our minds" or are "of two minds" about something. One of the key attributes of the mind in this sense is that it is a private sphere to which no one but the owner has access. No one else can "know our mind." They can only interpret what we consciously or unconsciously communicate.

-"Mind- is the aspect of intellect and consciousness experienced as combinations of thought, perception, memory, emotion, will and imagination, including all cognitive processes." - If this is so then what is the function of the brain? Yes mind is said to be part of the brain, but how is this so? Is the brain not simply the term in itself, is it not enough to define all things? I mean with the brain all things are done, it is thought itself...so why make up the term mind, and further- soul. Higher intellectual functions- reason and memory are part of the mind? Huh? It just traces back to the brain, how confusing! Who found the mind?!Then some say emotions are part of the mind, others say they are not...well I think its all just one thing- the brain but of course.

Why am I thinking so much again. And now can I even use the term soul or mind without feelings its wrong?

It seems that no one knows and again this leads to the thought that nothing can be believed. No one knows anything, there is no source to any of it. "Mind and soul- our supernatural, divine, or god-given essence." Who said? Have you seen this supernatural, divine, or god person?

Regardless, I guess we can't limit the different and multiple ways in which each human sees the immaterial and material things. Perhaps this is what makes art so interesting in the first place, I mean if we all saw things in the same way then what would be the need for art? But I also think people see things differently because of what they have been influenced by, learned by way of the individuals they have come across on the given path they walk. And with that I fall back into this idea that teachings only differ because the information has been altered over time. Who was the first to possess all of life's information? Did this very first individual just create information out of what s/he personally believed, leaving it with no definite structure? No one knows... But if the information was valid, had it only been passed down without alteration, then we would probably all be the same. I guess in all, the alteration of beliefs is what creates diversity in life which translates into art.

I still cannot help feel bombarded by these thoughts, a swirl of confusion I paint.

Is art instinctual?

This cannot be.

When Eve Ensler asked a woman in Africa if she loved her body, she was faced with this response: "ooh, i love my body! my body.. my body- look at my hands, and my fingers! my fingernails- little crescent moons- look at my hands! and my arms, so strong! my arms, so strong, they carry me around! and my legs! OH my legs can wrap around a man, and HOLD HIM THERE!" when eve told this woman that she didn't know how to love her body, she responded, "do you like that tree? now look at that tree? do you say this tree isn't pretty because it doesn't look like that tree? you are a tree. i am a tree. love your tree. love. your. tree.

I painted a twig. Can the twig be loved, find love, love itself. Can the twig be painted without being blanketed by its surroundings? Will it simply be disregarded, kicked, and suffocated by natures soil? Will it crack and splinter under the pressure of a stone.

I feel like the tiny twig, discoloring and camouflaging against the back roads of the world. Invisible to others or simply to myself. I feel the stinging pain of my existence disintegrate, until all that is left is debris.

I see it in my painting, the tiny twig invisible among the monstrosity of darkness that surrounds it.

How can a twig become a tree? How can this be when it is already so rusted, thinned, and diced into shrivels? Mold- the living, no longer present on the tiny twig for IT even believed the twig to be worthless of its substance. Can the twig simply stay as it is and be centered with defining beauty, confidence, and love. Can it uncover its beauty from within regardless of its lack of budding leaves or flowers, regardless of its distance and miniature stature from the rest?

The twig is unsure but it vows to venture on the pain forsaken path of ups and downs until resolution is found. It will break down further, it will mend later, it will fall off the road, it will get back on, it will pause at the center, it will turn back & recede into darkness, it will turn yet again, it will delay its journey and question, it won't turn back but it won't move forward, it will teeter at the edge, it will be betwixt and between...doomed to a liminal state, hoping transition will be attainable in this way.

Will I ever be like the woman in Africa? Will I ever appreciate what I have? Will I ever stop being influenced by the Western culture? But I know better than that. I know that culture is but the tiniest element in all this, though I can't help but wonder my fate had I been raised elsewhere.

Fragile but strong, I realize the projections my mind puts forth. I know very well how to counter thoughts in all negative aspects of life, yet I am still so very weak to this. A deep thinker I am, but my thoughts reach levels much to unhealthy for any human mind. Wisdom is the greatest of things and the worst of things. I truly wish I could focus all this energy and deep thought in things other than food and who I am not, how I come across, dissecting everything I say to no end, only to conclude it is always wrong.

Wisdom and questioning has lead me to believe in nothing, to trust no one, to question how in fact anyone knows anything at all. How can anyone give me advice, instruct me on the ways of life, share beliefs, knowledge etc. when what they know is only known by way of someone else. That other person learned from someone else, and that else learned yet from another. This is the way of life, we have learned through others, and through the decent of information thoughts have altered or have been related incorrectly, thus creating myth and differentiation in learned material among individuals. And yet there is no source to any of it.

People of all cultures stand by their religions with such strength and dedication, each one believing their way is the only way; each can influence and carry about great points that make you want to believe too...but then another influences you, and another, and another...how does one know what to believe? What religion to follow? Who is correct? Even philosophers-so many great theories, but I am overwhelmed by the amount of differentiation, and therefore can not trust anyone. Can believe no one. No one knows anything at all.

Light, darkness, and color exist in the atmosphere. This is most notable during sunrise and sunset. In the human being we relate the brightness of light with thinking, the movement of color with feeling, and darkness with the activity in our physical body. When thinking, feeling and the activities in our physical body work creatively and in harmony with each other, health is experienced. Prolonged disharmony results in discomfort, illness, and hindrances for healthy development. Painting and charcoal exercises working with light, darkness, and color are designed to restore balance and harmony so healing can take place.

"Healing requires movement, inner movement for change and growth. One of the greatest gifts of our time for encouraging such movement is artistic therapy--Collot painting and charcoal work. If time and space allowed, I would recommend it for every single person I see."

Why can I read it, understand, agree, and preach it...but not be able to take it and apply it to myself? This question will only lead me on the ever repetitive, rant filled path of my sorry ways. No use in re-writing what I have already blogged; though I have yet to begin, for a world of information has been left out. But I know this is no place to discuss it. It is however, sooo very hard not to, when as I've said, it is all I think about. And even the smallest quotes like these bring it all about with even greater intensity and awareness, though its intensity is already at such an extreme, that I don't even understand how it can be hightened further. But I refuse to listen to these projections at the moment, I am to focus on painting. I have realized I integrated a lot of reading into my action project as well-written pieces discussing painting, other forms of art, mind body and soul pieces, meditation and a few others. All things which I find conducive to my project and my spirit. Its kinda lovely, my mind is growing, I am growing, and outgrowing tbings I no longer find useful; getting older and wiser, though my wiisdom only deteriorates my health. Its such a paradox; its as if I am growing but at the same time stunted. Its just so confusing, I am definitely a form of complication.

But anyhow, my painting is kinda the same...dark; I continue to paint nevertheless...thinking perhaps one day it will surprise me.

Stop the war. There can be no peace until there is peace within.

Its so crazy to me. Honestly, before I took on this project I never thought too much into art therapy as being pictorial of the soul. I didn't even think in depth about what the therapeutic benefits involved with producing art were, except for my knowledge that it made me feel better somehow. I never actually considered all its ramifications, what the piece could reveal beneath the surface of what may look like either an obvious figure, or just plain color. I mean I thought about color, I myself have previously used color to translate my thoughts...but never on such a deep level. Not in the way I see philosophers and artists talk about it (an awareness I have now that is, occuring after the project began). What I am getting to, is that, I chose this particular action to be my project without any influence from what I've read or heard because I actually had not read or heard anything, or perhaps I had never listened closely. But after taking on the project, I discovered its power by way of class discussions, texts I was required to read, and then through my own digging on the web. And presentely, I find myself continuously falling upon more and more individuals who I can completely understand, writers who have written the thoughts of my mind in terms of what I wanted my action project to be. And here I was thinking the project I was taking up probably didn't make sense. I remember in class being unable to explain it well, not knowing how to word what I wanted out of this, and all along there were millions of people doing it for me and writing about it. Its kinda sad in a way, I mean its definitely a lack of knowledge, I was too oblivious to its existence, to the painting of the soul and how to read an art piece. Not to say I wasn't aware of there being a specific way to look at art and that it was to be read with the eye of an artist; I had heard this several times and thought I knew what it meant, but I actually had no idea. This semester has truly taught me the ways of artistry ...the beginning ways to be exact, for I know there is much learning to do ahead of me.

With that said, like a child seeing something for the first time, I was mesmerized and giddy by this little article I found:

This website presents the approach to Painting Therapy of Liane Collot d’Herbois through the laws of Light, Darkness and Color. Founded on a deep understanding of the human being derived from the spiritual scientific principles of Rudolf Steiner, this therapy reveals the direct connection between Light, Darkness and Color and the human being on all levels. It distinguishes itself both from traditional art therapy and anthroposophical artistic therapies, providing a new paradigm for healing that effectively addresses spirit, soul and body.

Working through the “path of incarnation” of the ego (spirit) from above through the path of light in connection with our thinking, in relation to the nerve/sense system, and from below, through the path of darkness connected to our will, in relation to the metabolic system, we create balance and harmony in the middle realm of circulation and breathing, the soul realm of color and feeling. Healing takes place through the activity of the ego (spirit) utilizing the path of consciousness (light) and the path of life (darkness) as the basis for a medical painting therapy for the whole human being, based on universal human principles that work across all cultures.- Pamela Whitman

I want to paint without the presence of my ego. I want to feel its healing energy, I want the language it speaks to be a positive one, I want it to be beautiful. I will settle for even just a tinge of color, a tinge of happiness. I want to want these things.

Maybe I need to stop painting how I feel and give myself something specific to paint instead. Perhaps I should encourage myself to paint in color, any theme I choose is fine as long as its not depressing. But then I feel like I am trying to be something I am not, faking it, and I know the "fake it till you make it" term, trust me I have, but it never works; it became fake it till you fake it, an act, a good actor I did become. So where does that leave me? Not only do I feel its too much of "pretending" but it also goes against all my good friend Edvard Munch said and illustrated :), a man I truly admire. I guess the change just has to take place in myself first and with that, my changing soul will be present on the canvas effortlessly. But of course this just leads me back to my same thought patterns of how impossible changing is for me.

Its a lot to juggle ya know, I have school classes to attend, exercise to fulfill for piece of mind, active appointments to go to in NJ, homework/studying, and the full on job of having to deal with my thoughts 24/7- they never ever stop, I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about them, its all I do and you don't even know the half of what they involve. It really can be said that only half my brain can function on anything else..making getting school work done a horrible process, actually it feels like less than half..but I guess that's how the saying goes. And yet I can't move on. Exercise doesn't even give me piece of mind really, its just an "I have too" ..its crazy, written it actually doesn't sound so time consuming...but you have noooo idea.

There I go again, off track, silly girl I always do that. Anyhow I shall focus on painting, I found this neat little something I would like to leave off with, kinda sums it all up:

Have you ever imagined how your spirit could look?

Have you ever thought about what your soul is like?

Many people think; for example, that a stone is a stone, and there is not too much to study or think about it. But have you ever thought of the fact that very simple things like stones can be complex subjects? Yes, they are because every single stone has its own shape, color and even its own smell. Every stone is special and different than others.

At the present time, we are so busy and in such a hurry that we lose the capacity to observe things. Instead, we just take a look at them, which is not the same as to observe and analyze something deeply. From the beginning of our education, we learn how to draw objects. All children draw them in the same way, because we don't learn how to differentiate things and how to represent them as they really are. This is one of the reasons why, when we grow up, we no longer have the capacity to observe.

When we learn to "observe" things instead of "watch" things, we see the world with other eyes. In consequence, we reproduce it differently. The idea of the soul is always present—for the simple reason that all things have an essence; by consequence, all things have a kind of soul.- Blanca Garmendia

I must hold onto it, it is my biggest need, if I let it go, it will be the end of me. How is this so, how can it be what I must live by, why is it that without it my world will colapse? How is it that with it my world has already deteriorated and collapsed on several occasions, yet I say only without it this would happen? How can this make soooo much sense when I know it doesn't? My goodness, just how can this be? No matter how much I paint, how aware I am of what this other part of me believes, no matter how much I learn, no matter how much I reach out, no matter if it was so kill someone other than myself, I cannot let go of it. Like a stranger it fills any space with anguish, leaving me so cold and numb, it is my best friend and my enemy all wrapped in one. And this is the reality, it has gripped me in the mightest of chains, almost instinctually protective- a mechanism shielding out the real me in my mind, yet I don't know who the real me is. She doesn't exist actually, I never gave her a chance. So this is me and this is what I need and this is what it will be.

But she keeps painting anyway, she keeps talking, she keeps countering her thoughts, a constant debate... a twinge of her must have hope? I am not sure for she always just gives in, she keeps playing the game. Testing death everyday, but its been so long that she believes she must be superior to it.

The colors of todays painting were similar if not duplicates of all the rest, even when she tries to incooperate color, the darkness blocks it out. No matter which combination of palates she uses, it just always turns out the same, if not darker. She realized that this was very similar to her life; whenever she did go about a short period of recovery (color)- in a different way (different color palate), it always reached the same end and then proceeded to get worse (darker). How odd that she could resemble this to the way of her paintings when it was all so unintentional. It really proved how much one can depict themselves by way of painting, even without form, simply abstract with only color, or lack of.