Kimberly Grace Boston/Hartford

// We are far too young and clever//

Art has a way of evoking emotion from people, whether it be a painting, a photograph, a sculpture or anything else.
As an artist, this is something I have struggled with; having my art convey emotion.
I think this is partially because I tend to stray away from personal meaning in my work.
But then I tried something new.
It started with a quote, “No not us, we are far too young and clever”
This quote has been overlooked for years, for the chorus and the ‘too ra loo ray ays’ are much more fun to sing. If you haven’t guessed it already the song is Come On Eileen.
This single quote has been floating around in my head for quite some time, but I never knew what to do with it.
So I began to make a connection with being a teenager. Being young was a destructive time for me, I thought I was invincible, I did too many drugs, I struggled with anoxeria, and above all I made too many mistakes.
I thought for sometime how I could portray that in art, but everything I thought of seemed to cliche, and too obvious.
Then, as I pondered on ideas, across the room I saw a book of matches.
And it came to me.
I was going to write out this quote in matches, burn it, and what remains would be a metaphor to the aftermath of being a teenager, and despite how hard you try you will never be able to get those years back.
So after a trip to lowes for matches, and the art store for a 36 by 48 inch canvas, the real work began.
I spent hours upon hours poke thousands of holes into the canvas for where the matches would go. I spent hours upon hours taking my time to carefully place each match in a orderly fashion. For the past two weeks, I haven’t left the studio. I have splinters in my hands from the match sticks and blisters on my fingers from my exacto knife.
Today was my day to present it. At first glance it seems almost unimpressive. Just a canvas, just a quote, just some matches; you cannot even begin to fathom how many hours it took, or that there were over 2000 matches in the canvas.
Then, I lit a match. The swoosh of a match lighting happened over and over again, so quickly as every letter went up in flames.
The heat was outstanding.
I stood back, me, my teacher, and my fellow students watched as the matches and the canvas slowly disintegrated.
Something happened as I watched over 25 hours of work go up in flame. Something so overwhelming I’m not even sure I can begin to put it in words. As my entire class was silent, I felt a part of me releasing. I felt everything that has been pent up for years leaving. The anger, the hate, the pain and the sadness, it was all gone. All of a sudden I had let go of something that has been haunting me for a long time. The person I used to be was gone, and left was the person I’ve become.
Maybe that sounds silly, how could something so minimal leave me so emotional?
This is something that I will never be able to answer, for I don’t even know.
But then, as the fire slowly went out I looked at my classmates.
Then one began to speak. She began to talk about how much this piece reminded her of the person she was when she was younger, she told me how perfect the quote was and how the message was so clearly displayed, yet you didn’t see it coming.
As almost every student spoke up to agree with her, I realized that I had done the one thing I have always dreamed of doing with my art, I had made them feel exactly how I wanted them to.
Art is a funny thing, and I find myself sometimes getting discouraged with my work, but today is a day I will never forget.
I am an artist, and I always will be. 

// here’s some shit.//

Once you taste something so sweet, it’s hard to go back to anything else.
Perfection is overrated, although I’m in denial.
I guess I’m just lost, but I’ve been that way for years.
I will never be enough.

I hate how everyone just assumes I’m having the time of my life.
I fucking hate you. 

I think it’s time to make a change. 

// A collection of things written in my moleskine.//

“I told him I needed to talk but suddenly the words has escaped.
Instead of screaming out everything I wanted to say,
I just stared blankly at him.
He tried to tell me he wasn’t angry with me, but his eyes told the truth.
No longer did they light up when he looked at me, instead they were filled with lifeless emotion.
I wanted to tell him everything but my mouth was empty.
He looked at the time. It was time for me to go.
This conversation wasn’t going anywhere.
I tried to smile, I tried to laugh, I tried not to care.
But when we took me into his arms I felt like collapsing.”

“Emergency Exits and worn out couches.
The smell of old books on broken shelves.
This place is a haven for some.
The sound of distant typing and pure concentration makes me itch.
The air is stale and awkward, we share so much in common.
I want to run and feel the brisk air across my face.
I want to break down all these walls and tell you everything.
I’m everything and nothing at all.
I’m worn out and used like the books on these shelves.
Please pick me up, Help me fix my broken story.”

 

// thoughts.//

I find myself idolizing the people of cities, with their small frames and high fashion.
It makes me want to stop eating, and start caring.
Instead I seem to stay true to my unhealthy eating habits, and lack of care.
It seems too unattainable, so I’ve stopped all my effort.
I have all these great dresses, and skirts and scarves and jackets.
Though all I wear are torn up tights and too big shirts covered in paint and charcoal.
My once neatly trimmed pixie hair cut has turned to a mess on the top of my head.
I rarely go in public with makeup on.
I used to never go out unless I had done my eyes.
I haven’t got a care in the world - so it seems.
But I thrive to be that thin, beautiful girl I once was.

Maybe someday it will all come back.
But I doubt it. 

// excerpt from my moleskine//

emergency exits and worn out couches
the smell of old books, and broken shelves.
This place is a haven for some, but it makes me want to scream
the sound of distance typing and pure concentration makes me itch
this chair is much to stiff
these lights are much too bright
the air is stale and awkward 
we share so much in common
I want to run away.
Feel the brisk air across my face
I want to break down all these walls and tell you everything.
i am everything and nothing at all
i’m worn out and used just like the books on these shelves
please pick me up
maybe you can help me finish my story and fill these blank pages.

This is
me, take
it or
leave it.