Two Pictures and The Archives: Empty Space

I did it. I made illustrations for not one, but two poems, one of which you haven't read before. I've been bored, see. I had/have a youth religion camp going on yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and we had a lot of free time the past two days. Thank goodness I brought my sketchbook. Right now I'm at home on a little break before a barbecue and a movie and a dance party. We're watching Forever Strong, and if you haven't seen it, you're missing out. It's an incredible movie. For reals.

First thing, I have the line art for my illustration poem, Summer Blooms. I got quite a lot of attention at the camp, but I have to say, it wasn't the best thing to be drawing at a religion camp, especially at the early stages where the breasts and other private areas aren't covered yet. I put fake little undies on my drawings just for that reason. o////////o It's loosely inspired by this image.

Those things on the left are supposed to be garlic. And she's wearing spankies under that skirt, thankyouverymuch.

I don't have the guts or the time to color it yet, so I'm just going to leave it in the computer for a while, probably. I might do a few studies before I go for broke, and I'll probably do a pre-color with my graphics tablet. But all in all I'm very happy with how it came out.

Now, for the poem. I wrote this a few years ago on a whim, then edited it once or twice to improve the rhythm and rhyme scheme.

Empty Space

I am full of empty space
My body seems a solid place.
Yet my mind’s full of emptiness
The size of which I cannot guess.

When I look into my face,
It’s hard to see that empty space.
My hands so thin, my limbs so tall,
How is it I have space at all?

To some it seems like such a waste;
“Why don’t we use this empty space?”
Then science says without a doubt,
“We cannot fill the spaces out.”

It is a fact that I must face:
I am full of empty space
And science says, I do not doubt,
“We’ll never fill the spaces out.”

I am full of empty space
And fullness is a hopeless case.
The thought of this makes me feel small...

Am I nothing, after all?

I drew a picture for this poem, too (ignore her hands, please). This one's inspired by Evan Dahm's Bottle Woman, from the webcomic Order of Tales. 

It's Wednesday! (That Means It's Picture Time!!!)

And that means I'm going to post pictures! :D

My parents recently visited France on their late 20th anniversary trip (their real 20th anniversary was last year, but my mom was too sick to do anything but go out to some lame restaurant and sleep through a movie). They bought me a set of watercolor pastels from the Louvre, and I've been experimenting with them as of late. What's neat is that you can blend them like watercolor paint if you get them wet, kind of like watercolor pencils.

P.S. You can click the pictures to make them bigger. ;D

This is attempt one:

Pretty, pretty hummingbird of prettiness (I guess).

I used the watercolor feature of the pastels on the hummingbird, but I have to say that I wasn't impressed. Of course, nothing can ever match the versatility of real watercolors, so I think the pastel people were fighting a losing battle from day one.

Over the weekend I decided to give it another try:

I'm not big on backgrounds...

As you can see, there was an obvious improvement. I did a few little studies on the paper as well:

I experimented on her legs for skin color, then petals, leaves, colors in general, and the folds of her dress. I also practiced my signature with the felt-tip pen I killed by drawing on top of the pastels. That's what vanity will do to you.

I was so happy with the results, I made two more. (I might also have been very bored. I was up at my cabin and my friend did MATH the whole time. >_> Weirdo. :P )

She had a background at one point, but I didn't like it and it wasn't done. Also, she's a black rose because the red pastel is actually more red-orange.

My scanner kind of messed up her dress. I like how the sky is kinda hairy, like a kitten or something. :D

I really do like pastels, though. Maybe once I run out of these cheapy-cheap-o watercolor ones, I can graduate to oils. c:

I'm also thinking of illustrating my poem, Summer Blooms, in this kind of style. Though, it would be kind of creepy-ish. I don't know if I could pull it off; I'm not too good with these pastels quite yet. It's a bit of a risk...

What do you think? Should I do it? Would it be defiling my poem? Would it be too creepy? I must know!

Lawnmowing, Love, and Lilacs

Today was my last day of school before summer starts! It's about time, too. :P

Ah ha, another lawnmower poem. It's an inspirational thing, mowing the lawn, is it not? This poem's even about plants! Coincidence? I think not! I wrote this on Saturday and edited Sunday and Monday to make it the best it could be.

This is partly inspired by my boyfriend--yes, I said it: my boyfriend--who is a microbiology genius. Most the things he talks to me about go in one ear and out the other. He's working on curing cancer, and I think his team is close. Did I mention he's just about to graduate high school? Yes. And he's curing cancer.

Anyways, loosely inspired by him. He's very sweet, and he would never mistreat me in any way. The only similarity is the scientific-ness of this poem. What can I say? Relationships make for great poetry, even if it's a little exaggerated.

Are you in a relationship? Is it an... INSPIRING one? Do tell.

Summer Bloom

Suspend me, saint-like, from the ceiling,

Strung up beside garlic and spice.

I bet I'll look nice when you move from this shack to a lab,

And you can study me all you want, but I won't change.

It's strange how you said you wanted me,

Only to pluck me from my roots so I could die before your eyes.

But I'd rather be dried than condemned to formaldehyde,

Watching dandelions go to seed while you read medical journals

And observe my body decaying inside a jar.

I know where they are.

When their petals began to wilt, you pumped them full of preservatives,

Injected dyes so you wouldn't have to see them decompose,

A daisy;

A rose;

Locked in the dusty corners of your memory,

A sickening surprise for me to find as I search your mind,

Looking for the "Why's."

I only bloomed so you could tell me I was pretty,

And when you found me I told you I couldn't last forever.

You thought you were so clever,

Hanging me like Peter from the rafters,

Sealing letters, making charts,

Calling up forbidden arts.

And I know you're trying, but

I'm

still

dying,

And all your efforts just won't work.

By the time you find a cure to mortality,

I'll have gone to seed,

And I'll teach my posterity to laugh

At the silly charts and stupid graphs

You made to save your garden of hearts.

A summer flower made to bloom in spring,

I'll leave you to wonder if you did something

Wrong,

Because I can't bear to watch, with my dried-out eyes,

As the could-have-been seed

slowly

dies.