Since my freshman year of college, I’ve been (mildly) obsessed with the art of the haiku. It started as an inside joke with some college friends, but grew into a ritual–I sometimes create haikus without realizing it!!
After seeing Beau Sia perform at Tufts my freshman year, my friends and I became completely enamored with the perfect brevity of the haiku, and how it’s almost always ‘deep’, even when it’s not. The syllabic limitations (5 syllables in first line, 7 in the second, 5 in the last) make you consider the essence of exactly you want to say–without room for filler words, it’s hard to be honest!
I’d like to try to make haikus about my inspirations/ big things for me in this class/ topics I’d like to explore: privilege, class-jumping, invisible people, domestic spaces, and the illusion of security.
born with or without
raised in aspiration, or
coddled in failure.
(the act/ life experience of raising your social or economic class status, often done through marriage or education) ::
Wealth can buy you a
ticket, but not ensure your
seat. sit on the floor.
In fly-over states
(Kansas, Utah, Missouri),
THEY HAVE PEOPLE, TOO.
I’ll update with other haiku’s later in the week. These aren’t meant to be incredibly probing and symbolic, but I feel that by their very nature, they are.
^^^link to poet Beau Sia’s twitter. he tweets in haiku. i challenge you to do it too!
This is my idea of art as process. I made this one night when I was bored, and clicking through art history websites. good times.
To play: play the song “thirteen” by Ben Kweller when you start the slideshow. i synced them up pretty well, you shouldn’t have any trouble.
Friday, in haiku (see previous post if you don’t know about my relationship with haikus)
what a moment when
mental maps fail and we are
at the whims of peers.
eyeballs reeling from
behind flaps of skin, all i
see are dew drops, leaves.
i choose to believe
that all of this is deserved
and i have “earned” it.
I hope I’m using this blog correctly!
I’m finding that the fear of losing art/ losing what’s “beautiful” in the world, keeps me anxious. I go onto this site, stumbleupon.com, almost daily. My roomate from sophomore year introduced me to the site (during finals week of fall semester–how untimely), and I’ve been in love with it ever since.
I encourage you all to go onto the site WHEN YOU HAVE TIME (REPEAT: NOT WHEN YOU’RE TRYING TO GET THINGS DONE!), maybe you’ll understand how I feel about it. The site isn’t original by any means, it’s a compilation of “cool things on the internet”, customizable by subject, etc. I find it incredibly inspirational, but at the same time, painful. Each time I “like” a page (I try to do so sparingly, so it actually MEANS something), I feel obligation to it, to its topic. A lot of pages about art, writing, and psychology catch my eye, I base many of my personal poems on findings on the site, or the nature of the site.
It all reminds me of the quote from American Beauty:
“Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it, like my heart’s going to cave in…”
It just makes me anxious, the thought of clicking away from a page of poetry, being alright forgetting it.
Some of my favorite findings from StumbleUpon:
Photo: Anka Zhuravleva
Site about sketch book ideas (hmmm…research file…)
I’m taking a course this semester, American Studies 188: Slavery’s Optic Glass. The discussion so far has considered the American slave trade, and its significance and impacts on American literature for centuries thereafter.
In the class, I think of the sea as its own governess, its own power entity and nation-state. Prof. Clytus commented how “once we’re off terra firma, we gain perspective”. When applied to the American slave trade, and the micro-economies and micro-societies bred on the slave ships (among the captains/ Europeans), the water takes on a life of its own, commanding respect. It’s a perfect example of art as process.
I’ve included some paintings by J.M.W. Turner. He manages to encapsulate the all-encompassing power and hopelessness of the sea, a body without memory, without pattern.
J.M.W Turner’s The Slave Ship, 1840
Welcome to my website/ blog! I’ll upload clips of my works from The New York Observer here regularly, along with updates on my life as an intern and a student. I’ll attach clips from my Tufts Daily articles, and do my best to keep this up. We’ll see what happens.
Check often! Email me at email@example.com with any questions, comments, etc!