This piece was inspired by the written work of Sophie Hamm. The piece was made specifically for a show hosted by Asterisk Arts which paired a writer with a visual artist and then had an opening with the two works side by side. I will include the full written work at the end of the blog post! I was unable to include audio assistance for her written work as it is too long for the program I currently use.
I began this piece with pages of lined paper that I wrote different phrases from her work on, which will make sense when you read her piece. I then positioned them on the canvas in a way that I felt was pleasing and glued them down. I also wrote on the canvas itself.
There’s not too much of a difference between these two phases but I focused on a few elements that seemed important, like the fact that you never find out who she is writing about. She talks about this person who she thinks is the best but she’s too afraid to tell him for fear of rejection. So anytime this person’s name should be in the writing, I block it out with either pencil or paint.
I used blues and grey’s in the piece because a lot of it seems to be a sort of day dream. She talks about things she wants with this person but then says she will probably never tell him how she feels so it will sort of always be a dream for her. I also focused on the number 5 because she states that his name has five letters. The biggest difference between the last two photos are that I painted white paint over the five dashes in the middle of the bottom of the piece because she writes about whiting out his name of her journal.
CINEMATIC
I have a journal. A notebook. It’s not a diary. I guess it’s kind of a diary. But I don’t call it that. It’s a blank book that I write in almost every night. Sometimes I skip a day if nothing really happened, but even then I’ll still write something if I got the write pen. If you saw it you’d be mortified at the very sight of how my handwriting it scribbles the five letters of your name, in ball point pen I’ve tried to stop, I’ve crossed it out, torn it out, then whited out, but it just looks too perfect on the page.
If we were in middle school, I’d pass you notes in math class and you’d crumple them up and throw them at me when I wasn’t looking. If we were in middle school I would text you on my flip phone while watching Bo Burnham videos on youtube. I would hear your text go through the computer with the staticky connection sound before my pocket would vibrate: “Whats up.” “Nm. hbu.” There’s nothing better than 7th grade science projects to break the ice. I always ask for more ice in my Sonic cherry limeades and I know they’re bad for the environment, but I love drinking through bendy straws. And if we were in middle school, and I accidentally threw away my retainer at lunch, you would Make fun of me. But then you would dig through the trash can in the cafeteria, half eaten cheeseburgers, fruit cups and instant mashed potatoes to find my expensive disgusting teeth straightening contraption.
My hero.
Right now, I feel like a super hero movie in that montage where they learn how to use their powers, Spiderman getting tangled in his own web and Matilda dancing with the furniture floating in the living room.
An average person. But on the inside I might be secretly incredible. I step on every crack of the sidewalk just to prove the saying isn’t true. My jean jacket is my cape. And the latest playlist on Spotify’s got me feeling cinematic. Opening credits zooming in on the Chicago skyline. And as much as I hate to admit it:
This is a love story.
Maybe.
I don’t know if this will impress you, but I won the award for biggest klutz in high school because I trip up the stairs and apologize when I bump into inanimate objects. I have bruises on my legs that won’t go away because
I fell
I fall
I’m falling in love with….
Live music. Purple stage lights, ears ringing, screaming on mute and getting crushed against the barricades. Alone in a crowd, pushing and pulling but I stand my ground.
Every time I try to open a door I’m wrong. I push when I’m supposed to pull or vice versa the other way around. It’s written on the door. Clearly. “Push” or “Pull” But who has time to read? So I’m standing there pulling the push door and it won’t open so I pull again, harder this time, because maybe the door is just heavy. At that point I probably assume the door is just locked or broken before reading the sign clearly posted on the handle. So I push. And make it through to the other side. Slightly embarrassed and mad at myself for not being able to open a freaking door.
I beat myself up too much. I think too much. I talk too much. And some nights, I drink too much. But an hour before I’m throwing up in the bathroom I will have finally worked up the courage to tell you through slurred words and a spinning head How amazing I think you are. And you’ll be nice. Call me an uber. And not believe a word I said.
I talk a lot but sometimes I don’t because I remember I hate the sound of my own voice.
And then I remember that most people hate the sound of their own voice too, and I wonder if you ever feel that way? And that’s not ok because I could listen to you talk all day about anything. Really. Read me a car repair manual I’ll hang on every word. And you must think this is absurd because I don’t talk to you like, ever. But I feel like I’ve known you forever. And you can take the Candy Land game board map I’ll follow you wherever. And I want to know every word to your favorite songs, I’ll listen to whatever.
I want to watch you play video games! I want to stand in really long lines with you at amusement parks. I want to fight about where we should eat. And yeah, just like every typical girl since the beginning of time, I want to wear your hoodie. Sure, I’ve got my own but yours smells like your cologne and is a dark green that can’t be found in the girl’s section.
I want to run as fast as I can across the street as the red light turns green because we’re running late to a comedy show we don’t have tickets to. I’m thinking about becoming a comedian, because I love the way you smile when you laugh. And I can totally eat an entire pizza by myself but I guess I can divide it in half if you’re hungry Staring is caring. I mean – Sharing is caring. I’m sorry if I look at you too much I’m just having trouble memorizing every single detail of your face.
I hope you like ice cream. Because that’s kind of a deal breaker.
And I don’t love nature but if you do I’ll climb a mountain I’ll buy new boots for the hike. And I’m not a super political person But for you I’ll protest, I’ll go on strike I don’t go to church, but I consider myself a believer of something I think. Still figuring that stuff out, but if you’re really religious I can dress up on Sundays and shout praises and stand by you. I’m not stupid. I won’t change myself for this guy. But I will absolutely alter my beliefs switch my interests and adopt his opinions in order to catch his eye.
Wait. No. That’s not right either. I’m not going to change.
Maybe I’ll just get new shoes. Superstars, Toms, Sperries, Uggs, and Nike Shocks In middle school I went through a phase where I wore really long neon knee high socks. They say before you judge someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. And I’m sorry, but if you’re with a girl that didn’t have crocs, and I mean two pairs, different colors, so you could change the back strap and wear one pink and one orange, then I have little Meryl-Streep-Golden-Globe-speech empathy for you. Empathy or sympathy? People mix up those words a lot I know I don’t use big fancy vocabulary,
this is all I got.
And either way, I probably need to pack my suitcase Because I’m going to need to leave the country. If I profess my love and you disagree I’ll have to move to Germany. And if I confess my love and you feel the same then we’re going on a road trip. We’ll hit every state on the map, You drive while I take a nap, in the front seat.
Ok?
Here I go.
Who am I kidding, I’ll never tell you. Way too scared of what you would say next.
I’ll just write it a million times in my blue journal:
Hey I think you’re the fucking best.