Search Results

Camille Murray < Back From an Oleanders View By Camille Murray The preschool kids have just now returned to school, disrupting my year of quietness given to me by the pandemic. The sound of basketballs bouncing and chains swinging and crashing into backboards. The clicking of skateboards and scooters going in and out of the cracks of the sidewalks. Women walk their babies, and families walk their new puppies. The sun is shining on everyone, giving the kids at the public pool sunburns. I can hear screams of happiness and see a handful of children sliding down slides and swinging on swings until the sight of the park gets blocked. I see a large figure sprinting towards me; the happiness in its face warns me that the figure is interested in me. I start shaking as the heavy footsteps approach me; leaves slowly fall from my branches, letting me know it was their time to go. The figure gets close enough to where I can see that it is one of the preschoolers who found a way to get out of the gated playground and past the supervision. The child collapses on her knees and examines my petals like a scientist. Her golden hair shines in the sun, and I can see each highlight of yellows and blonds flowing in the wind. The annoyance fills me up because I know she will pick my pink petals, and she does not know that I am poisonous to her. The sharp pain I experienced as a piece of my stem is pulled off, and the shocked look the girl had on her face after she felt the itchiness of the petals. She takes off running towards the gated playground and explains to her teachers that her fingers were red and puffy. A warning is spread around the preschool children about my dangerous presence, but it is not spread far enough throughout the park; someone new always finds me attractive and gets too comfortable with my looks. Previous Next

Joanna Vazquez < Back A Plant’s Life By Joanna Vazquez I don’t understand how others look at this world and know what they have to do in life. It is like they have a purpose; do we all have a purpose? Where do we even come from? Where do we at any point come from? Can anyone explain why I need to go into this world and carry on with a daily existence I won't ever concede to? Where do I, by any chance, come from? More often than not, I feel like there is no reason for living. We spend our lives stuck in this soil, we never move, yet others are so persuaded this is an excellent way of life. I realize I ought to be more joyful to be a piece of something; however, I am not because I don't have the foggiest idea. I'm on this soil, no place to go watching the days pass endlessly, but then I don't have a choice; however, it is my life, right? We will die anyway; there are stories about how humans remove us whenever they feel Like it; eventually, we will die off when the winter comes. It isn't like I would be missed or anything. When the leaves fall, we fall. I guess the upside to things is no one ever comes out as often. I used to hear stories about people running around them, and we dance; everyone dances with the wind. They talk about how exciting it is to be a plant. Coming into this world, I've seen nothing but had things don't even get me started when the dogs use the bathroom on us! It is so disgusting. What's considerably more sickening is me, why I'm so frizzy all over. Why is the top of me so big while the bottom of me is so thin? I feel so disgusting sometimes, and I hate it. I need to be content with life and myself; however, it is difficult to feel lonely. I don't relate to any other plant. I have tried, but now I don't even bother. Some days I feel fantastic, happy, thrilled and then other days I feel really sad. I don't understand; the world is grey, and to the other plants, the world is gloomy. I wish I had the chance to see the world in that way. But I frequently ask myself, why me? Am I just not good enough? It would be nice to stand up tall and appreciate the sun and how amazing the sky looks, and how being a part of this world is a beautiful experience. I try and try, but I am just a plant; I have no means to reproduce as I’m supposed to; I don’t have a gender. Why I’m I the only one like this? I know my purpose should be to provide oxygen for other living things, but there is no point in doing so because what do I get in return? Dog poop. At some point, when I die, I will become another plant that does the same thing over and over again. As the days have gone on, I've tried to be more positive. And as the days continued, I've found this to be more pointless, but I am trying. Trying to be positive makes me feel better. It makes me feel like maybe I have a purpose, and there is hope. I haven't felt hope in a long time. Lately, days have seemed better; I've tried to make friends, and I mean, I am trying. Having a friend makes me feel happy for once. And as the days will continue, I will try and find my—purpose in this life. Previous Next

Sophia Rocha < Back The Periwinkle By Sophia Rocha Oh, periwinkle Taken from your home, But brought into mine. Look how you bloom, At the brightest of times. Oh, periwinkle Your soft lilac petals, Bright in the spring. But when the snow settles, In your roots, deferring. Oh, periwinkle Spread about the ground, For everyone to see. As you gaze upon the sidewalk, Are you ever really free? Oh, periwinkle Is this all you desire? To stay in one place, In your vivid attire. I am the Periwinkle, Involuntarily planted. Leaves that are bitter in taste, But it is the inability to leave that makes me bitter. Previous Next

Lara Cruz < Back Roses By Lara Cruz Roses are gorgeous and universal; they can mean love or friendship. Many people relate to them because everyone loves roses. Someday I wish I could be like a rose. Having everyone adore me from the way that I look to the way that I smell. Letting my aroma enchant whoever passes by me. As well as always carrying a suit of armor as protection. Every rose is different though, their colors are symbolic for everyone. Red means love and passion and is given to someone special, someone you can not live without. While white tends to signify purity, and in the Catholic church, the Virgin Mary is continuously surrounded by white roses. If I could pick my color as a rose, I would want to be a yellow rose. My color would symbolize happiness, and people that would see me as a yellow rose can relate to a happy time in their life. They would have flashbacks of their childhood memories and remember how easy life was. A time in which they were energetic and optimistic about life and would want to go back to that same state of thought. My thorns would help protect me from anyone who tries to hurt me. Sometimes, as humans, we forget how much words can impact others' lives, but as a rose, my thorns will symbolize all the hardships I have endured. As I continue to learn from past experiences, I will gain more thorns from them to ensure that those experiences will no longer hurt me again. My thorns are a shield, but they are swords as well. Anyone that wants to take advantage of my beauty will be pricked by my blades made of thorns. As a rose, I would be happier because I would share beauty and confidence with the world. As well as understand the difficulty the world has to bring. I will adapt to my living conditions and use my thorns for protection. Most importantly, as a rose, I will learn to love and accept myself, which is one of the most complex challenges in life. Previous Next

Valeria Munoz < Back The Alien By Valeria Munoz I watch the surrounding seeds Destined to blow away in the unsheltered wind Until their own flowers grow are called weeds Later a witness to upheaval, my senses became dimmed While roots my own grew the environment impedes Yet still I continue, repaying to my parent a debt The journey along the wind lead only to where most others concede The soil is dry, as my lip nearly bleeds Yet merely feet away, there is another, not a weed But the ice plant, tough, flowerless, and low. Although just as alien as I, they thrive all the same Maintaining healthy soil, survival, and happiness the aim. I learn from my surroundings, that nothing is permanent Changes are made whether of my volition or not, ignoring as she pleads The past is washed away only by choice, likewise to torment Some issues solve as naturally as time, so to cleanse the sky wept With a renewal of mind, I felt the first leaf spreads And flowers formerly of nutrients bereft Thus the cycle continues, the habitat succeeds But not all is allowed, of happiness there is theft And the seeds, bulbs of hope, benefit from my petals fatigues There is beauty in their death, old memories away kept As the new proceeds Although still alien, at adapting I am adept My roots are set, even as weeds Previously on my own worth I slept But with time the life I make is all the mind needs Previous Next

Alayna Boyd < Back The Fiddleneck in Me By Alayna Boyd Stand up tall and stay thin, or you'll be just another weed. Little do they know, I am lacking nutrients. Bend over backwards to make everyone happy, or you'll be just another weed. But they don't see that this depletes my joy. Dust off your long, thin leaves to always look your best or you'll be just another weed. I yearn for a day that my natural beauty is considered beautiful. Always make sure your flowers are blooming and vibrant or God forbid, I'm just another weed. I waste hours of my life looking my best to satisfy the unsatisfiable. Stay in your pretty little group with your pretty little friends or God forbid, I'm just another weed. Can't I pick my own friends? What if I want them to look different than me? Be popular, be an influence, make sure others want to be just like you or God forbid, I'm just another weed. I hate that I spread the seed of the societal norms because in my little sister's shiny leaves, I see a reflection of who everyone wants me to be. Just because it's winter, doesn't mean you should let yourself go I know, I know, I’ll be just another weed. Sometimes, I just need a break. Don't let anybody get too close, always wear your armor I know, I know, I’ll be just another weed. Would it really be so bad that I have one true friend that was always there for me? Do not be fooled into thinking that you would be accepted if you looked different I know, I know, I’ll be just another weed. Why can't what's on the inside be worth more than my wilting outer appearance? All of these expectations are weighing down on me. I stand with my group of beautiful flowers, and while everyone is jealous of us, I envy being weed. Previous Next

Gabriela Valiente < Back Reborn, Here By Gabriela Valiente Light miniature leaves sprout out of the ground, as one is fallen in the sea of dust and another is swept in dismay, the wind blowing and hushing planting the seed, in a land far away In the darkness of the tainted sky with flashes of white of distant stars that shine at night, may I not be reborn and rejoice in my own delight? In the light of a new day, of a new sun, of the new morning air, like the dew on my leaves which tranquilize me with a light glare. Will I not rejoice in my own fight? I grow and grow in this desert of land, find the skittles and sudden stops of rustling animals in the dry grass, and there I stand, tall and mighty as a trunk that surpasses the storm, so rare and so bold. When the dry season comes, the air becomes an acid that burns down my walls, leaving me weak and wilted. My interior rejoices as the warmth of the water particles surge within me, in the echoes of my stem. Should I not rejoice for the season that brings me mellowie air? All around me, the vast land, glistens like the sunlight on ripened grain, or like the moonlight night reflecting its glow over the horizon of the waters, or like the crystal gleams on snow. I too, glow, with an olive-drab colour, like the multiple feathers of greenie highlights of the birds picking at the dust, The dust picks back with the dry taste of dirt, in cases Picking at small ants coming out of their small homes. The more I live through the seasons, the more I appreciate this nature, Will I not rejoice in the death of my life? Will I not be again reborn into tiny sprouts each time more and more? Thankful I am to nature, Thankfully I live in this far away land. Previous Next

< Return to Exhibitions Autumn 2012 The Contemporary Figure: Past Presence Hats Off: Sally Egan & Amy Bystedt Mercedes Helnwein: Drawing from the Figure Deli I pity the fool2 arbus_f jennifer-glass-cyanotypes_edited Mercedes Helnwein Creatures MOAH Learn More September 6 - November 24, 2012 Hats Decay Helnwein Cyanotypes Past Presence Artifacts of Desire in Decay: Gregory Martin Although most easily categorized as landscapes, Gregory Martin's paintings can be thought of as contemplative spaces in which to experience dualities and polarities within human nature, the natural world and the practice of painting. For instance; growth and decay, the illusion of depth and flatness, the "truth" of photography and the "fiction" of painting, the differences between our ideals and our actions. The Contemporary Figure: Past Presence Exhibition Statement To embark on a journey through contemporary figurative art is to dive into a rich history of image making as a fundamental means for understanding and interpreting our world in the image of ourselves. In this history, from Paleolithic times to the mid 19th century, the depiction of the human form is plentiful, yet went largely unchanged in both artistic approach and intent until the modern era. From the 30,000-year-old fertility figurines unearthed at Çatalhöyük of Southern Anatolia to the height of the Italian and French Renaissance, art making was primarily focused on the skillful, realistic depiction of the human figure in an attempt to reconcile the place of humans in the world, both physically and spiritually. During the Middle Ages, for example, artists learned their skills through craft guilds and in monasteries—the academy of the time—by creating highly representational and illuminated manuscripts in the service of the church. Similarly, through the height of the Renaissance, an artist underwent rigorous technical training as an apprentice to a master, copying the masterworks until their skills were exquisitely refined. These skills were essential for creating high liturgical art and the finest of paintings, portraiture, frescoes and sculpture for the wealthy. From around 1850 C.E. through the late 1960’s, however, a sea change occurred: the artistic representation of the figure and the means by which creative skills were developed and employed shifted dramatically, ultimately ushering in the new era of Modern Art (1860’s – 1970’s). This remarkable shift transpired at the hands of the avant-garde: a small group of artists who gradually abandoned their rigorously acquired skills and rejected the master-apprentice approach of mimicking historical masterworks in favor of experimentation. Invention and the individual artist’s idea came to the forefront, providing the art world with especially pioneering periods from the mid 19th century in the works of Claude Monet (1840-1926), Mary Cassatt (1844-1926) and the Impressionists. Building upon the Impressionist’s momentum, an increase in creative risk-taking and experimentation occurred from 1900 to the 1920’s when the art of Georges Braque (1882-1963), Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), Wassily Kandinsky (1866-1944) and Georgia O’Keefe (1887- 1986) emerged. These artists replaced the norms of representation, composition, color, and light with pure form and structure, emotion and intuition, dream imagery and expression, and ultimately pure abstraction. In equal measure, they sought to examine the human form—and the human condition—as a pursuit of the artist’s idea outside a defined set of socially acceptable consumables. These trajectories eventually lead to the wide-spread making of non-representational imagery which remains a popular force in contemporary art today. The Contemporary Figure: Past Presence showcases a group of Southern California figurative artists at the forefront of an equally important development in contemporary art. First and foremost, the works herein depict a shift away from the dominance of non-representational image making in contemporary art. By employing the figure in their work, these artists present an immediate and accessible line of connection to the viewer through the imagery, often affording us the opportunity to identify ourselves within the work. Equally rich are the opportunities to understand the questions these artists are asking—through representational form—about the greater human condition. Like their predecessors working over one-hundred and fifty years ago, many of these artists have undergone rigorous training in traditional drawing and painting techniques through the academy. During a time when such a traditional curriculum is often viewed as passé or considered relevant only to the pre-modern era, these artists have intentionally honed their drawing and painting skills in order to deftly execute their ideas. Once again the artist’s skill and craft is revealed in the work. Finally, the depth of inquiry into the artist’s idea is often expressed through intelligent historical references that question currently established norms inside the art world, academia and the greater society. In doing so, these artists are revitalizing the figurative movement, harkening back to the early days of Modern Art when artists were highly trained, superbly expressive and keenly knowledgeable of the art history canon. By utilizing a more traditional form of academic training in figure and portraiture as a springboard to unleash their contemporary ideas, the artists in The Contemporary Figure: Past Presence honor and acknowledge the past while inviting you to explore skillfully executed works at the edge of a revolution in figurative art. Hats Off: Sally Egan & Amy Bystedt In this series, Bystedt and Egan give reverence to icons of photography that have influenced and inspired them throughout the years, playing the role of both photographer and subject in these emulations. The attention to detail in these recognizable photos was just as significant as choosing which photographer and image to replicate. Hats Off is a salute in the highest form to those who have come before them, whose trail blazing in the arts have paved the way for some of the most progressive images in photography. Mercedes Helnwein: Drawing from the Figure Exhibition Statement Mercedes Helnwein is an Austrian born visual artist and writer based in Ireland and Los Angeles. As a self taught artist, drawing and literature have been the focus of her creative life for as long as she can remember. Although of European descent, Helnwein’s many influences are distinctly American, crossing artistic genres and places including a fascination with the culture and values of the American Midwest and Bible belt, the music of the Delta blues and the literary works of John Steinbeck, Mark Twain and Charles Bukowski. Mercedes Helnwein: Drawing from the Figure showcases a selection of recent works from 2006-2010 including several from her internationally acclaimed series “Whistling Past the Graveyard”, “Temptation to Be Good” and “East of Eden.” These expertly drawn images depict women engaged in quiet, yet unsettling dramas often holding a child’s toy or occupying a vaguely domestic context. Helnwein presents the viewer with the mystery of her character’s circumstance. The artist explains: “Judging by their expressions I’d say there’s probably something the girls in these drawings would rather not talk about – something they’d prefer to sit on. And they’re keeping it in, but it’s kind of leaking out of their faces.” While her figures are drawn with meticulous attention to detail and rendered with the precision and technique of a classically trained artist, Helnwein often bathes her subjects in a harsh, raking light. This tension provides the viewer with an unseen antagonist operating outside of the frame’s edge. Art critic Peter Frank (ArtLtd, January 2010) writes of her work: “A writer as well as visual artist, Mercedes Helnwein does not so much tell stories or even capture moments in her drawings as she triggers possibilities—the possibilities being vaguely unlikely, vaguely unsavory, and not-so-vaguely menacing, rather like inverse Magrittes. Helnwein’s basic ingredient is the fully, fashionably, clothed human figure, more often than not regarding the viewer or about to; occupying a peculiarly lit, but familiar space, they are shown engaged in a solipsistic soliloquy— self-absorbed and drenched in an almost urgent ennui—with someone and/or something else…” Equally mysterious are Helnwein’s short films. Included here are “Whistling Past the Graveyard” and “Temptation to Be Good” where the figures from the drawings jump off the page into film. Like the drawings, her subjects are inundated with a ruthless combination of light and dark yet animated in segmented, slow motion sequences across the screen. Although they are engaged in a kind of indiscernible struggle, the characters are laden with clues: dressed in period clothing, accompanied by purposefully placed objects and moving within a stark, domestic context. Additional clues may be found in the musical scores, which are composed by the artist’s brother Ali Helnwein. Helnwein began paring her drawings with film in 2008 with her debut of “Temptation to Be Good”. Mercedes Helnwein: Drawing from the Figure presents a selection of figurative works set in a series of vaguely defined narratives where someone is missing or something is awry. MOAH invites you, the viewer to engage this work and ask –as art critic Peter Frank suggests—what that someone and/or something else may be. The Lakes and Valleys Art Guild: The Western Figure As part of our continuing local artist series, The Vault Gallery showcases work from the Lakes and Valleys Art Guild celebrating the figure in western themed paintings. The Lakes and Valley Art Guild is located in the nearby hamlet of Lake Hughes, California. This group of artists have dedicated themselves to the traditional painting techniques of watercolour, oil on canvas and representational imagery as well as mixed media compositions. Jennifer Glass: Cyanotypes Cyanotype Greek: kyano (blue; dark blue) + Greek: typos (type or form; print) English 1835-1845 Jennifer Glass captures moments in the life of women through her cyanotypes of vintage gowns. Selected from her private collection, these gowns are reproduced as cyanotypes through a process that the artist sees as a deeply metaphorical statement on the roles of women, politics, power, and fashion. Specifically, this body of work emphasizes the artist’s affinity for fashion as a polarized narrative. The large-scale reproductions are strong in their Prussian blue impressions while fragile in their ghost-like translucency. Glass explains that her connection to the world of fashion elicits a “strong emotional response to how [fashion] may either empower or constrain a woman depending on how she uses it”…she continues: “fashion has been used as a tool by women for years and although it has confined them in many ways, it also has liberated them…these garments belonged to someone.” Glass notes that although the women who wore these garments are now gone, in their time they danced, brought about new life, felt pleasure and pain, and likely changed policy, leaving their own imprint on the world however large or small. Glass’ prints are created through the deceptively basic methods of light exposure and chemical preparation on fabrics. The cyanotype was pioneered in 1842 by Sir John Herschel as a photographic method to quickly duplicate technical drawings that are normally time-consuming to draw and reproduce. Herschel discovered that when iron salts react with sunlight they leave a permanent blue imprint. When paper or porous fabric is treated with a solution of ferric ammonium citrate and potassium ferricyanide, almost any image may be reproduced if it is drawn on a transparent surface, placed over the photosensitive paper in a darkroom and then exposed to sunlight. The areas of the photosensitive paper (or canvas/fabric) that are concealed by the lines of the drawing remain white while the exposed areas turn into an insoluble blue, resulting in a reverse silhouette. In 1843, shortly after Herschel developed the cyanotype, his friend and colleague Anna Atkins, a recognized botanist, utilized the cyanotype method to catalogue her extensive botanical collection. By placing her algae specimens on the photosensitized paper, she created the first known volume of cyanotype photograms. Atkins went on to self-publish her cyanotypes in her book: Photographs of British Algae: Cyanotype Impressions. Atkins published three volumes and only seventeen copies were reproduced. As a photographer, Jennifer Glass is carrying on this tradition in contemporary times, a method that has gone underutilized since the advent of digital reproductions. A Florida native, Jennifer Glass earned a Bachelor of Art degree in Social and Political Science from Florida State University. Glass went on to study photography at the Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale along with taking workshops in New York with well-regarded photographers Debbie Fleming Caffery and Mary Ellen Mark. Glass currently resides in Copenhagen, Denmark. Western August 9, 2012 - September 16, 2012 Artifacts of Desire in Decay: Gregory Martin September 22 - October 22, 2012 The Western Figure: Lakes and Valleys Art Guld September 29 - October22, 2012 Jennifer Glass: Cyanotypes View or Download the Autumn 2012 Exhibition Catalog by clicking on the cover image or here.

Patrick Park < Back My Name is Winky By Patrick Park Today is February 29, 2021. My name is Winky. It is currently the coldest it has ever been. A cold, dark world. Is this all there is to life? A false hope that we may someday escape from this clutching prison. Is that all we can look towards? It feels like a repeating cycle. We grow up together for a while and then one day, some of us stay while others depart. But why me? Why couldn’t I join my friends in the beautiful paradise that is the afterlife? It feels so lonesome, like a rainbow in a storm. I am not beautiful, I am merely a minuscule object that is lost in the vast, unforgiving universe. My bright colors cannot fight off the harsh weather, nor can it ward off the mythological beings whose single footstep can destroy a colony. What is my purpose? A million years can pass and not a single being will notice my presence. We all desire to leave our mark on this world. What is the purpose? A temporary span of experiences known as life is something we consider priceless, but why? An existential question that has been asked throughout history. What is my purpose? Providing something for others until I join my fallen comrades. Why? Why can I not frolic and laugh like those titans? Why can I not run like those animals with four legs? I am stuck with no movement. I am stuck with no purpose. I am stuck with no family. I am stuck finding meaning in my own life. The titans refer to me as a “flower of death”, using me as a crown when mourning the deceased. A fitting name, truly. I suppose I should feel flattered as our family was chosen as a means to honor a titan’s death. They act as though death is something to honor. An interesting concept to say the least. When we die, we (as flowers) are often used as compost in order to help the future generation. But if there’s anything I learned, it’s to live in the moment. Just a few months ago, I had all of my friends near me. We chatted, laughed, and even asked each other questions about life. We were quite the philosophical bunch. However, we had an older gentleman, a fern plant to be exact, that always told us to enjoy the time while it lasted. We often ridiculed him. We believed those times would last forever. Even when each of our companions disappeared one by one, we laughed it off saying that they would be back. We were delusional really, refusing to see our own reality. Perhaps the day will arrive where we may see each other once more. I have not been feeling my best throughout these days, I fear my time to join the afterlife is coming. Today is March 1st, 2021. Something strange happened yesterday. The weather is suspiciously getting warmer. Usually, it feels like an igloo forming inside my petals during the nights however, yesterday’s night was somewhat bearable. Also, I see a tiny seedling about 2 feet on the right. I know it’s nothing and may not survive, but I still feel excited. I lost all my friends, one by one. The fact that I might have a new friend in the near future makes me happy. Would John be a good name? Perhaps I will name him Winky Jr. Although my time is coming soon, I will do everything in my power to grow this seedling. It feels silly to say this out loud but I already feel a bond with this poppy seedling. I will teach it the different things I have learned in this lifetime. Teaching them about the titans, teaching them about the different seasons, and teaching them the different plants. I feel this is the purpose of our lives, plant or titan. Of course, you should expend some of your energy, but you should expend some of your energy to help grow the future generation. I will keep you updated on the progression of this seedling. Today is March 2nd, 2021. I have an update for you. The seedling is almost old enough to begin communicating with me. I’m so excited, I can feel my roots jumping up and down. I also feel nervous about talking with this seedling because I haven’t talked to anyone in person in such a long time. It is also my first time physically communicating with a poppy plant. Poppy plants have a reputation in the plant community as they are one of the most beloved flowers in the state of California. Being able to meet a poppy in person is an incredible honor. I will keep you updated tomorrow when we are able to communicate. Today is March 3rd, 2021. Another major update has surfaced, I have finally exchanged words with the young Poppy. It woke up, scared and confused. I had to talk to it, telling it where we were and what it was. The young Poppy asked for my name, to which I replied “Winky Jr.”. It asked what I was and replied, “A Periwinkle flower”. The Poppy looked confused and went silent for a minute. I decided to start up the conversation once more with, “You are a Poppy flower, a flower that is beloved by the Titans”. The Poppy asked what a titan was. I claimed it was a name we gave to the humans as their footsteps often shook the ground. Of course, this was a silly mistake as it asked what a human was. After spending the whole day passing on my knowledge to the young poppy, I began to give the poppy his own personal traits. The Poppy asked what a good name was. I asked, “How does Summer sound?” The Poppy agreed to this name and our friendship began. After this, Summer thanked me and I welcomed him. Although Summer was the one thanking me, in my heart, I felt I needed to thank Summer. She became the one shining light after several months of darkness. I realized I didn’t need to run and shout like the humans, I just needed someone like me. Someone who could relate to my struggles, someone who was literally in my feet. My will to live became stronger than ever. I hope to see you again tomorrow journal. Although it’s a shame I will not live long enough to see Summer grow, I’m glad I could meet them. Previous Next

Artwork Submission Form General Gallery Submission First Name Last Name Select an Address Phone Email Website Instagram Handle Artwork 1 Details Title Dimensions Medium Month/Year Created Insurance Value Artwork 1 Image Upload File Upload supported file (Max 15MB) Artwork 2 Details Title Dimensions Medium Month/Year Created Insurance Value Artwork 2 Image Upload File Upload supported file (Max 15MB) Artwork 3 Details Title Dimensions Medium Month/Year Created Insurance Value Artwork 3 Image Upload File Upload supported file (Max 15MB) I want to subscribe to the newsletter. Submit

Destiny Solis < Back Stuck By Destiny Solis I am stuck in this grove nowhere to go Surrounded by the ones who I adore But I still feel cold like so Life doesn’t tailor I sit here feeling this aglow But for some reason that doesn’t satisfy my fervor I am still stuck in this slum of sorrow Smile and stare at my sage beauty But if only they know how it felt Being stuck in a loop of continuity Wondering why no one has come to help I miss the laughs and smiles Now all I hear are the roars For now, I will wait awhile Pinsha my dashing liberator I finally feel the sun within Previous Next

Brandon Kim < Back October 18th, 2020 By Brandon Kim The last time I touched this journal was three weeks ago. You see, since I was so preoccupied with the cruel yearly abscission, I simply could not be bothered to put everything aside to update my own journal. My maple leaf siblings and I all were carefully administered by the tree we grew on throughout our entire lives. We lived almost leisurely, but there is always a catch to everything that seems too good to be true. It would never have come to my mind that we would all be abandoned by the very maple tree that supported us when resources began to run short. I have chosen to move past the decision of being left behind to die on the concrete sidewalk instead of sulking about the decision that was made. I should have seen it coming from a mile away, but I did not know any better a few months ago. In the previous months, I remember clinging onto the maple tree that gave me life, only looking down and waiting for my impending doom that would soon arrive. Every fall, hundreds of us maple leaves would be left behind and abandoned without a moment of hesitation as a means to conserve resources and survive the harsh, cold winter. The process would repeat itself every year; no matter how strongly connected the leaves were with the heartless maple tree, they were always cut off selfishly. Our hard work to gather resources for the tree would be disregarded every time. After each harsh winter ended, the remaining leaves that somehow managed to live through the winter despite being left on the ground continued to rot. It would only be a matter of time before all the leaves wholly decomposed. Some continue to sulk about the tree’s unsympathetic and cruel methods of taking all the resources for itself, and the rest just were not able to make it through the winter or were moved to a completely different location in the cold gusts of wind. I feel betrayed rather than depressed as I lie here on the cold sidewalk. We are ultimately used and given special treatment only for a certain amount of time, and it feels that all of our hard work was for nothing. Our existence as maple leaves is an enormous contribution to why the very tree that abandoned us is standing there to this day. Now our only option is to watch the new maple leaves grow in our place, not knowing what they are in for, as we continue to slowly rot away on the pavement with the maple tree’s back turned to us. Previous Next