Hi. Thanks for visiting! I’m abby :) …
I dabble in drawing, photography, and various conglomerations of the two. call these things “Art,” call these things pseudo “art-esque” doodlings, call them “art, my-arse” utterly meaningless deductive drivvel.
Call it what you will, essentially. But-Whatever sort-of image happens to strikes your soul, your fancy, your heart, your whatever part that most purely resonates-like a bell ringing true deep within you- i think this is real art.
And whatever rare, precious image takes you aback, leaves you in awe, or just genuinely makes you feel, anything at all- in a way that stirs some lost, forgotten, or yet-to-be-discovered beauty deep within you to awaken, to be-moved, to arise wide-eyed from the darkling still of our soul’s dimminuendo towards sleep- i think this, too, must be true art.
I think it’s a question of who you are and what captivates you- what invokes a sense of connection, awakens a feeling, causing some hardened-part of your heart to crack- just a little…just enough to let a little light shine-on… You crazy diamond, you : )
When an image intuitively resonates with you, in a way that, for a few seconds at least, alters the shape and shifts the light of your inner landscape…making you feel something, or anything more deeply, i call that art.
My underlying issue here, is that i could never just proclaim myself to be an “artist.” It’s not really a self-issued title, i don’t think. or a “Hello! I’m ____” fill-in the blank sticky-label. But people do it. A lot… Maybe i need a healthier ego.
Or maybe i need to stop quibbling over abstract semantics & direct my squabbling towards greater concerns; it might be nice if, like maybe we could eventually get-around to freeing Tibet…just for example. But i mean, god-forbid no-rush or anything. Just- nevermind. You get my point…
again, a big thank-you to everyone (if indeed, there is anyone) which i realize there probably isn’t, and i’m talking (like a mental patient) to myself, and to no one…
But! I’d like to hope that somewhere out-there listening is ONE…just ONE, similarly strange, singularly lovely, and utterly extraordinary SOMEbody.
YOU ‘Somebody,’ mean more to me than ANYbody,
So thanks, buddy :)
“…still, what i want in my life- is to be willing to be dazzled. To cast aside the weight of facts,
and maybe, perhaps- to float
just slightly above this difficult world.”
hi there, and welcome!
kind and curious stranger. i’m abby :)
thanks so much for stopping-by.
…Here’s some of my artwork : )
and my many, many (indeed, perhaps- TOO many…?) pretty-random thoughts and feelings,
…expressed predominantly in Rhyme.
Yes. I repeat: i have an unconscious tendency to slip into what i desperately hope can sometimes sound pseudo-poetic, but what i suspect comes-across as more DR. Suess-like rhyme-speak. Now, you might be asking yourself “i beg your pardon?” Or “what on Earth is this girl even talking-about?” or some variant thereof. And trust me, i’m right there with ya. I hear you and i empathize completely. I just wish i could help you-out. I really, really do.
So here is my official “fair forewarning”
beginning with a disclaimer: sometimes when i write, i start unconsciously rhyming all my sentences. It can get weird sometimes… that’s the worst-of it: you might think “this is weird,” which in-turn might make you feel similarly weird and slightly awkward reading it.
At best, it’s mad-genius. At other-times, it is… quirky? devil-may-care whimsical? manic-pixie-esque self-actualized? um… i don’t know, cute? […please mentally insert appropriate adjective of your choosing, here: ____ ] oh, i almost forgot to add the requisite “it isn’t my fault” line. Ha. no but seriously, it’s not. it just seems to happen. its like a nervous tic, or a lisp…a silently typed “typo”-version of an insthurmountable,
Right… so it’s a bit like a lisp.
except not at-all… for extremely obvious reasons. most notably: because, instead of having a truly adorable speech impediment due to a massive overbite that is nonetheless doomed to be obliterated by an absurdly expensive onslaught of orthodontic medieval torture at some point during childhood, i have already HAD braces. tra-la-la.
But, more importantly, my issue has absolutely nothing to do with lisps or braces but with an insatiable, mostly unconscious, tendency to fall into Dr. Suess style rhyme-scheme whenever i write with some lofty, overarching intention (the irony here has not eluded-me) of attempting to express something i feel deeply and/or passionately about- regarding things i believe, or how i see certain things,or a part of myself that feels somehow inextricably entwined with the roots of something much greater and wiser than i could ever be.
So, basically whenever i desperately want to communicate a real and honest feeling to other people- i tiptoe-backwards in time to a memory of some half-whispered song and an oceanic sway, where things felt safe- in that rhythmic to-and-fro place of breath, heartbeats, all in-sync with Kaos and harmonized with some great Symphony.
So, here is a final, friendly fair-forewarning:
There Will Be Rhymes.
and so, this is probably the reason why, sometimes, i wish words just didn’t exist-
that we could rely on some other, silent form of communication. Like…
we could converse via full-body dance charades,
or we could speak – but only in Middle English, and only vicariously through sock-puppet avatars,
or life could be one epic game of meta-pictionary,
or, we’d learn to communicate via silent emanations of Soul-Speak; intuitively conjuring symbolic imagery through some combination of creative forces, like whatever maybe happens in a college “Improv 101” class…
except we’d learn to cast ciphers in shadows by firelight, on a stage in some surreal dreamlike theatre infamous for its dedication to a single show, something with a strange and alluringly avant-garde title like,
“In The Silence of Ciphers: Plato’s Cave of Shadow Puppetry.”
But sometimes i just wish i could hear, for a little-while at-least, that truly ancient and long-lost Silence.
Before Man came along with language and his constant chatter of words,
and seeing-as how divinely complete the whole celestial orchestra seemed to be,
the cosmic design of harmonic synchronicity (they had it all-down to a perfect T)
we just couldn’t resist. We HAD to ruin-it,
with our out-of-sync and off-key lil’ doggerel ditty-
our dying cattle, death-rattle-like cry,
to Quintessence and back- in atonal unhindered cacophony:
We just had to shatter that silence.
anyway, i hope you enjoy my art (and aren’t too terribly irritated by all my silly writing, pseudo-poems and general glossolalia). But i’d love-it if you stayed awhile and took a look around.
I hope you leave here in a better mood than when you first entered. I suppose that’s probably a part of what i’m hoping to do here. because sometimes, feeling “better,” or even, sometimes… just trying to stay in the relative-range of “basically okay for the time-being,” are not always so easily grasped. Especially without other peoples’ help.
so, i wish you the very best of luck- wherever you are out-there in this wildly bewildering world, wandering the earth with all the rest of us strange, beautiful monsters. again, thanks so much :) – abby *
Note: This is a poem. Hence, the rhyming-thing is entirely intentional. Just in-case you started getting nervous :)
We may so often glimpse,
but so rarely can we hold
these ciphers cast in amber-fire dayglo.
shadows perceived as mere hypnagogic echo-light ,
for insight speaks a language known only by the soul-
symbols still-framed in flash-bulb brilliance-
like a moth’s dazzled gasp, or a pale-fire ghost,
hoping to re-ignite those wide-eyed-fires our hearts ache for the most.
those things we had that made us happy,
so very long ago,
those things we lost somewhere back there,
or left behind? cast aside? Did we spare a blink before releasing our hold?
were we ever SO young- too young to regret our unscathed hearts yet to start bleeding,
when we were whole, unbearably light, and life felt breathless and beating,
and there was a restless beauty awaiting discovery,
a sense of grace in all of life’s unknown-
but now looking-back, we shoulda coulda woulda really wished we’d known:
that there are parts of life you must cherish- certain things you don’t let-go
…and the rest of life? These other things are best held lightly-
all-things fade, “mono no aware,” “this too shall pass,” so
“go with the flow,” read “the art of letting-go,”
learn to distinguish the sound of your voice from impostors of ego.
but amidst all of this letting, losing, going, flow, there’s one thing our hands must hold,
never let Who-You-Are fade-away or slip from your grasp,
keep it clasped tight to your chest- because once it’s gone, you can’t get-it back.
It’s these precious unspeakables that slip-away so silently,
without the slightest “peep,” this moment of our heart’s detachment,
the moment we stop “Seeing” and the soul falls asleep,
but some of us get lucky enough to fall-
fast and far so finally to break
(it has to be hard to re-start the heart and slap-us awake)
That’s when we get that second chance-
numbness gives way to melancholy, a newfound “dust as quintessence,” kind-of human empathy.
an empty ache shaped by the contours of absence.
That’s the Happy Ending, anyway. But its the only end i can envision,
for some it takes a lifetime, to end at “Happy” once again-
….for others, merely an instant:
a disaster, a loss, some miracle or gobbstopping vision,
and that’s all it takes for us to fall, to break, to splinter
like a singular beam of pure-white light suddenly crashing through a prism-
to awaken as from a dream fractured- a kaleidoscopic collision
a rainbow awaits at the end of every catastrophe,
to glean from the wreckage still-reeling-
its the BEAUTIFUL DISASTER reflected in our mirrorball shattered
that bewilders and delights and creates us anew
blinking-awake with the dazzle of light that seems to illuminate,
or even originate- somewhere inside you.
in the end, what we deem “True” is at the mercy of hope-
a force that is truly unstoppable-
for at heart, we’re all visionaries, creators, and dreamers
our imaginations careen beyond logics’ brink to dream the impossible-
So-moved are we all by these God-lights colossal,
that we can let-go for awhile of our “all-too-human”
hold on so-called truths before we turn
towards the unbounded numinal-
to spin-up and out of ourselves in becoming something Chimerical
something weightless, winged and Greater than ourselves
overtaken by wildness once-more for a momentary miracle,
as brightly-glanced will-o-the-wisps,
wild and flying in breathless hope upwards,
Up, Out. and Gone-
with wild-eyes’ hypnotized in hope and blinding bright-sight of the Luminal..
i.e. “The End.”
And Now . . . More Artwork. By Me. Abby.
Quoth The Raven, ” Why, Hello Lenore.
The Abandoned Planet of Microscopia
” Do not go gentle into that good night, Rage-Rage, Against the Dying of The Light. ”
“There is no language for our pain…only a moan.” -Jerome k. Jerome
“Mono no Aware”
” this is the root of the root, and the bud of the bud
and the sky of a sky,
of this tree called life- which grows,
higher than mind can hide or soul can hold.
and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart-
i carry your heart ( i carry it in my heart) ”
– e.e. cummings