Sometimes,
Sometimes, is a good thing
Some things don’t work out
And there comes a time when,
Enough is enough
And you smell like people I pass by,
And you will not remember me,
But, sometimes, some things need to be rescued
And sometimes, we all need a little saving.
Sometimes, people are good, and less moronic nimrods
That we all, some times are

We are distracted by reality shows
And the newest iPod or MacBook
Spell check even corrects the ipod to iPod
Materialism will be the end of our freedom
And the dependence on consumer products and imported goods
Technically, Technology is a blessing and a curse
Memories of the good ol’ days will die
Hard

Dear You,

My unknown love,  
Did you see the rain gather in puddles?
Or were you too distracted by the city life?
Watch the headlights as you run across the street
Or focus on the light turning red,

Did you see me drink that glass?
Or hear me cough

Do you like the way it turned out?
All the pieces fit perfect

Or, are you like me,
Pretending
That this is what you want

I struggle through school
I struggle through my emotions
Everyday is a challenge
I put up a jubilant front
But sometimes I get low
Grow into a ball of limbs and torso
Wrapping myself away,
Creating a shell of ifs and whens
Hot flashes and sweated dreams
Constantly spinning out of control and back again
Living for the remember, times past seem like moments better then they should
And I sit on my mattress and sheets
Circling in and out of depression

The media swings information into the air
Innocently as a child spreads a lie
In charge of their own idea of reality and knowledge
Casting glimpses and burning holes in the stories and bombs
Does anyone care?
Care
Enough to read between the periods and well rehearsed tears
Law binding, right breaking polices of how and when
Single file lines and caged boardwalks
A foot away from bar codes and eye authorization
Slowly morphing into a well oiled death toll
I could be helpless, you could be heroic

So many things to think about,
Not too many to talk about
Some things are better kept locked
In a dark foreboding too
The time misleads the hands and feet
Walking aimlessly around 100 mile town
Broken down and out of society
Away
The time misleads eyes and ears
Straining at the rainbow for the ever after
Stuck in the rain, drenched and far
Alone

Coming to the final project and final Artist Statement of my days at Emily Carr University. I am more confused about Art, and what makes Art, Art. I have tried different things, some better than others, some worse.  I have used different formats, different film sizes and different subject matters and focal points.  However, The last ideas that I have shared have not gone over as happily as I would have liked.  So, yet again, I find myself changing my project to please my peers and faculty. While doing so, I have lost why I fell in love with photography in the first place. Forgot all about my photography award in High School. Forgot about taking pictures of everything I see. I did that for me, and now it feels like Art has become some kind of popularity contest of who is more abstract and charged, something we’ve never seen before. But I feel everything is already been done, in one way or another.

With sharing this, I do not feel, I can even remotely come up with something completely new and have some philosophical subjective interpretation of whether a picture of a leaf is just a leaf, or a tiny glimpse of global warming, or a sign that fall has once again, fell.   To quote Andy Warhol, “Art is what is what you can get away with”.  Has art really become, whatever we can ******* our way through?

I feel completely drained of any creative ideas or thoughts. So I have decided to do something for me. I have taken pictures of different places or things in my apartment.  In black and white, with 120 film on RC paper.  They are on 11x14-sized paper. I decided that photography was once a way to keep all the moments of my life kept, safe and documented. And this is what I plan to do. Document the place where I have been banging my head up and down the 4 walls of this space, trying to come up with something magical. Instead, I took a more literal route, and focused on the space I was in, trying to not create something for an institution and something for my personal archives.  I think we as artists, and as individuals can all take some wisdom from Oscar Wilde when he said, “It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.”  As I am my own toughest critic, I do not see myself in the art I have created over the past couple of years, therefore I don’t feel as if my practice is truly reflects my voice as an artist. Thus, I plan to create something within myself for myself.