I live to create in many mediums.
It used to be a toy, pretend really, but then the severity of art set in.

The Rest Turned Blue

With each new experience comes a memory, or an impression of the experience. By nature, we try to preserve these impressions with fixed images: photographs, movies, slides, paintings, sculpture, or poetry. We do not choose our experiences, but we do choose the medium with which we fix them. Whether by accident or purpose during this process we distort reality to preserve it—an impression of reality, which will, in turn, influence our memory, distort our memory over time or even create a memory that may not exist.

The Rest Turned Blue is an examination of the processes by which we choose to first make impressions and then copy these impressions. Photography and poetry are essentially the same concepts executed by two different methods. The goal of a photograph or a poem is to capture a single moment, both to communicate and commemorate. We enlist both methods to either savor the impressions for ourselves or give outsiders a glimpse of our memory. There is no replacement for the actual experience. The Rest Turned Blue is a glimpse of both such processes used effectively and in vain.

It used to be a toy, pretend really, but then the severity of art set in.

It used to be a toy, pretend really, but then the severity of art set in.

Sometimes I found meaning in the static.

Sometimes I found meaning in the static.

The cool curvature of the past grips my fingers when I yearn to let go.

The cool curvature of the past grips my fingers when I yearn to let go.

I remember feeling the bass in my chest and thinking I was going to die. Or, maybe it was her legs.

I remember feeling the bass in my chest and thinking I was going to die. Or, maybe it was her legs.

The horizon bled into my story and smeared all of my words.

The horizon bled into my story and smeared all of my words.

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