Packing Reflections

I hate packing.

Yet it is something I have found myself doing a lot in my life. Especially lately. But its okay, moving like the wind, each move is a new brush direction, a new shade to add to the tales of my life.

I had been looking forward to leaving, to going to Texas for two weeks, after all my Aunt and Uncle here are like the parents I never had and I feel wanted and at home in their house. My Aunt treats me like her daughter, there are no double standards, no awkward moments. But for that comes the hardship of being so close to my natural mother. However, it balances, as all things in life seem to do in the end.

Last night however I was caught off guard by something. By the tears of my little cousin B. (for my relatives here I tend to just use the first letter of their names.) She's a bright and happy six year old girl, with lovely manner and a sweet disposition. However she was on her second night away from her mother, and before this she had never been away from both of her parents at the same time. So she was crying and the other six year old girl M wasn't making things any better. I sent M to bed, as my aunt and uncle in Cali were already asleep and I was tending to the girls; and brushed out B's hair, speaking to her and offering to cuddle with her.

She clung to me as we lay down, careful of the cast that she had on her right arm, due to come off next week. She told me about when it had been broken, how she hadn't had her parents with her then, but how they had both come so quickly. For my family, B is extremely sheltered and it touched my heart to know that. As I lay there, listening to her talk, humming and cuddling her, wiping away her tears I found my heart completely open.

I sang to her, held her in my arms, and for the first time in my life realized that I would actually love to have a child of my own.

Because it is possible, to do what my aunt there did, to raise a sweet, wonderful child even when your past is a nightmare. The sins of the parent don't have to be the sins of the child, nor do the nigthmares of that child have to pass on to their offspring. And there is so much more to being a parent then just birthing the child.

I raised my siblings, perhaps that is why I am so mature for my age. I don't know. But after loosing them for years, and loosing them nearly destroying me, I closed that part of myself off, to protect it. A six year old's tears broke through to it. Its nice to find old parts of yourself.

And new ones too.

Flying into Dallas was a mixed bag of emotions for me, the good with the bad of my mother and my aunt who is like the mother I never had. And my uncle who is the father figure I longed for my whole life. And for me the afternoon was perfect, charmed almost. I fit in, I felt at home, coming back here, to the home I never had, to the house where there is a room set aside just for me, where there was thought put into what was done. Its nice to not be a burden. I found out that my aunt and I have even more in common then I thought, and for the first time I have that mother daughter relationship were you can and do tell everything. I have no secrets from her, we spent a few hours just us girls, talking and sharing stories. I have even told her about E, showed her the site, and some of my stories. Yes, that open. I have complete and utter acceptance, and let me tell you, damn it feels good. I have found acceptance from friends here, from people who are like the family of my heart. But to have someone that I'm actually related to give me that, that's something I never dared to even dream of.

However with the good comes the bad right? My mother showed up after I thought she wasn't going to.

Its hard sometimes, distancing myself from her, putting up the boundaries and limits I need to be able to stay half way sane with her in my life. But I'm getting better and when I fall apart I have my "parents" and my friends to help me pull myself back together.

So to all my friends here, thank you, thank you for the color of paint you add to my life, thank you for the understanding and acceptance of your open arms and minds. Thank you for being you, and please, mes amies, never change. My love is always yours, and as I'm finding, love can bloom even in the heart of a storm. I'm a flower in bloom, unfurling my petals slowly and shyly. But even if one or two get torn away in the winds of adversity then the opening is still worth it. Because I felt the sun of your companionship.

Painter's Reflections

I doubt anyone has even really had the chance to read my last journal, and here I am already writing a new one. Apparently being able to write something that is just thoughts down is going well for me now. Odd how that works sometimes.

I am horrible at keeping journals in real life, I guess its because of all of the moving I have done. And I have done a lot. I have four journals throughout high school, and I notice I tend to write more right after or before a move. And I think that is because its the period of transition, the period of unease. Well open unease. Its like, when I'm in that middle period, the after honeymoon and before break up stage, I don't want to rock the boat with any real reflections. Because if you think too much about your life you start to find the things that just aren't right. And in foster care there was a lot that wasn't right. So much that made me unhappy at each home. At the one I lived in the longest, which was hell, high school 24/7 basically (talk about a living nightmare) I would sometimes go months without writing, write a lot, like every day for two weeks or something, before I would start falling out of it.

And the reason this comes up tonight, outside of this being my new journal? Because I was going through the shed out in the backyard here, where I have my "memory" stuff stored. Things like my antique dolls and christining blanket, photos and such. Things I don't want to lose. And I came across my journals. I read through some of them, the high points where sometimes recorded, low points as well. Yet there was always this sense of writing them and censoring them. Like I thought someone was going to read them.

I find it odd that I can be more straight forward and frank with an online journal that will be read, then within the pages of a real journal that most likely won't be other then by myself. Life is so odd at times no? And I fear I am a very very odd creature. But that's something I actually like about myself, how I really am not like anyone else that I know. Its nice to be different, honestly. Hard yes, but good hard. Which I have been thinking about a lot lately.

See here's the thing, my two best girl friends from high school? Well one is in engaged and the other is pretty close. The first one I'm thrilled for, she's been dating her boyfriend for over two years now, and they are going to have a long engagement. She is still going to school, has her own apartment, working and going after the dreams she had before her boy came along. And he's working with her on them as well. The second girl isn't like that though, she and her boy have been dating for less then a full year, she gave up all the top colleges she got into to stay with him, living in a double wide trailer with him and two of his guy friends, working at a local store and taking classes online, and just one at that.

One person found love and didn't change, the other found love and did, drastically. And that makes me wonder, is the reason that I've had such a long period of not dating, of not finding anyone who even interested me in that way, because I refuse to change? Or not so much that I refuse to change, but that I don't want to change for a guy? I mean, I am still young, I am still finding out what I want from this life, where I want to be, what I really want to do. I mean, yeah, I have ideas, I have very carefully laid out ideas and researched thoughts, but still, those are open to change. I like to think of myself as living art at times, fluid, paint that can be moved and smeared, blended in a bit with another color. So I'm still finding myself. How can I be with someone and be myself at this age and doing them at the same time? I do not want to lose myself. That is all I really have you know, its the only thing that is me, is me, and what I put out. I look at my art, well look back at it and when I had a boyfriend its slightly different, more lovey dovy I guess.

I want to know what I want, who I am, I want a firm understanding of both of those before I get into a relationship of any kind. Well a serious one, and I am not a girl to jump into a casual one. I have been given two schools of advice, one is that I can't really find the right person until I am whole and sure of myself. I have to be myself and confident in that before I can really be with another person. The second is that if I close myself off to dating while I'm waiting on that that I will miss out on a lot, miss out on perhaps the right person.

Its hard to know which school to go with it. Its like, okay, chose red or blue. Both are great colors, I could paint a ocean with blue or a rose with red. And blend them together a bit? I get purple, violets and forget me nots. So is there a middle road? Because I think I want to find that purple. I mean, I'm moving to San Francisco, to a huge amazing city, I will be taking classes and going out with friends. So I will be meeting people. But I do not want to jump into a relationship that I am just not ready for. I made a promise with myself to not date my freshman year of college, and you know what? I'm really glad I did that. Because that gives me at least this year to get my feet under myself. I mean I had guys that liked me in WV, and while I wasn't overly interested in any of them, if I had had the same mentality I used in high school I would have dated because I felt like I had to give everyone a chance. Only I don't. I've been making a list, a list about what I want from a guy, what I need. I don't need a guy, I may want one from time to time, but the basic fact? I don't need one to be happy.

But if I do have a guy there are things I need. I mean, they will become another mirror that gives me yet another reflection, another aspect to my thoughts, my art, my life. I like to think of my life as a canvas that I paint on, I only use high quality paints and brushes. The brushes for my life are my choices, they are the instruments I use from time to time to move my life forward, to give it color and depth. The paints are the people I have in my life. Why should I expect any less then exactly what I want to help paint this time in my life? The answer is I shouldn't. I think every girl should have a firm list of what she needs from a guy, and then what she wants.

I mean, I want a guy that knows how to dance and can sweep me off my feet. I need a guy that is attracted to my brains first, that can challenge and stimulate my mind. Dancing is a want, intellect is a need.

Two weddings, two things to be maid of honors for, and I'm happy for my friends, even though their choices certainly aren't mine. I couldn't be happy with their choices, their brushes, and nor could they with mine. But at least, the three of us have chose the paints that we are to mix and mingle for now. If a life really is like canvas I think it would make sense, I mean, there are so many different colors and things in each piece, just like there are so many other lives that touch just one, and the choices, well, the choices end up saying how big or small things affect us.

So brushes and paints. I've chosen my brushes, I like them, spent lots of time thinking over them. And sure, from time to time I upgrade a size or downgrade, I put in new ones. And the paints? Well those tend to come all on their own.

The best part? I get a say in how much of each color marks my cavnas.

Because its my canvas.

New Hair Cut, Old Reflection

So I got my hair cut yesterday, a birthday present. It felt nice to get my hair pampered and treated, I didn't do any color or anything, I like having my hair its natural color. But getting it cut and trimmed, layers reset was great. And then styled, and when I looked in the mirror after it was done, with my aunt having done my make up earlier and my new hair it felt like I was someone new. It was still me under it, still the same old Wisti, but it felt like I was looking at someone totally new.

And I realized, I'm 19 now, I'm done with my first semester of college, I've lived off on my own, dealt with all of my issues by myself. Its not just the hair cut that's changed for me. Its that I've gorwn up. I have always been so mature for my age, had it commented on, thought highly of myself for it. But its a different type of mature I think to realize that one still has a lot more to learn. Maturity comes in several other ways then just being smart and proper, then just being too old for your years in taste. Maturity can be in knowing that you have so much more to do to grow.

And I am happy to know that, to know that whatever happens I still have so much room to grow. I went to my old high school today, saw old teachers, the people that basically formed my last four years. There is still that foundation, the reflection of me still exisits; just like the reflection of me that lays in my aunts family and house. There are all these layers in my life, all these layers to my reflection. There are so many new parts to me, but at the same time, so many old ones.

I was in the car with my ex boyfriend, my first boyfriend in truth. He is someone that is still a really close, good friend of mine. Someone that I trust, look up to, someone that sort of is my stronghold with males. The person I turn to when I need advice, who makes me feel good and delicate and loved. Not love as in the way of romance, but of friendship, of understanding. We talked about it today, me and him, about how we click together in a way neither of us have found with anyone else. There is no one else that I can I can get into silly debates with, no one else that can be so annoying but so sweet at the same time. He can make me so mad, yet so happy. Its interesting, having him in my life.

There is the whole social construct of idenity, the relfections that others are for us. We see ourselves in the people we have around us. And I think for me he is one reflection that is truest, strongest. He knows me better then I know myself sometimes, yet the same can be said for me. We were each other's firsts dates, first relationship, first kiss. And beyond that we are friends, we are people who, while so extremely different can see and know each other.

Art is another type of reflection, its a reflection that someone can only put out of themselves I think. It is something that only I can give to the world, my art is me, it is my reflection, my truth, my gift and words that aren't words. A picture is worth a thousand words, but not all pictures can be put into words. That's what I want to do with my art, that's what I want to try to make something, create something that is beyond words. Because then that piece, that work will be beyond words, will be so pure and honest that it speaks to the soul, not anything else. Just the soul, the core of all that we are, of humanity.

My art is me. It is the truest, most real thing that I can put out there. Because with each person you are with there is a mask that you wear, like with my aunt in California I am a sweet, Christian value type girl. I don't talk about my more adult interests, the kissing and flirting, the reading of romance novels. None of that fits into her idea of me. Perhaps that's because she was the one who rasied me when I was a little girl. And then with my other aunt, she doesn't see the introverted part of me, no for her I am out going, strong and sure. People expect us to be things, and we live up or down to those expectations so often. As a nearly out of the age range teenager I know all too well that we want to have everyone think we are rebellious, or at the very least our "own" people. That we don't allow others to influnce how we act or speak. But I never cuss around my aunt in Calfornia, while in front of my friends I might let one or two slip in a month. (I am not one to curse but it was an example).

So what do we have when we strip that mask away? What is underneath? For me, its the art. Its the truth that you can say without words. Its the way to lay yourself bare before the world, and yet keep yourself safe at the same time. Because, its like that piece of art becomes a vulernabity for us, it is something that not everyone has to pay attention to, has to understand. Its so easy for people to just look and say "Oh, that's lovely." or something along those lines and leave it that. It never has to be more, because after all they looked and complimented it. That's all we wanted right? Well on some level perhaps.

If they don't want to they don't have to look deeper, see more into it. They can block the receptors of their soul off. There are some understandings that can only come without words, they are feelings, movements, sensations, they are art within the human soul and mind and heart. And if one isn't open to them then you don't have to feel them. Which is why when you strip yourself bare before the world with a piece that means so much, holds so much, it doesn't mean the world will pay attention. Because really, the world doesn't want to see those things, it doesn't want to pay attention to much. But people, some people do. And to those people, art can be like music, a symphony that moves through you in a soul shattering manner. It can be like the most perfect moment of the day, or the most horrible one. It holds a truth that so few want to see, that so many could grasp, and that we all try to put on the canvas. I don't think that any artist can really do work and not put part of themselves into it. Please don't take this blog to say that I think every piece an artist does is this soul searching and shattering experience. Trust me I know this isn't so, but each piece means something, holds something. And sometimes its the smallest things that reach out and grap someone. The smallest things that can mean the world to one person and nothing to the next.

Art is both moumental and insigificant, it is both truth and lies. Art is the universe and all the shades of black, white and gray within it.

My art is me, every piece I do is another reflection of myself. And yes I'll be going to art college soon, I'll be getting better. My classes there will be my "new hair cut", but just like all the reflections that places of my past hold, my old art, and the underneath of my new, they will still be that old reflection.

And both things, myself and my art, well those, those are me and ever changing, those are truth and not true. I have a million mirrors to look at, each day I chose another. I don't know what the end reflection will be, or reflections if that is the case. But I know, that at the very core of it....

Is my soul.

And that is a pure, honest truth that nothing will change.

Traveling Reflections

This is my corner of cyber space in which I can be creative and express myself with other artists around, to share my words. Why not use it more? No reason why not really and so here I am. And what better night to start then on a birthday?

It is a hard thing to do, moving. And I fear something I have done too much of it. Its hard to keep up muse and inspiration to do things when you do so as well. I mean sure, I see a lot of things, think about a lot of things during the hours that I spend traveling. But with the packing and unpacking, all the frantic plans and schedules the fear that I will never have enough time, I just don't feel like doing art, or honestly writing my own prose.

I really don't have much posted up here, part of that is because I don't want to write jibberish or things that are unimportant. It may be a blog but blogs are different then normal journals. If that makes any sense. This fall has been hard on me in a lot of ways, all the stress from taking on too many classes, or working too much and not sleeping enough and then all the medical issues. I lost my muse for several months, not even wanting to look at my tablet. And even when I did get back into it, after I ended up having to do a full medical withdrawal from school, it still felt like something was missing.

I can't wait till Jan. 26th, till I am well and truly settled into San Francisco, into Academy of Art. Transferring was the right decision to make, however hard it may have been to make it. And being a Fine Arts major, I can't wait to start drawing, really drawing with my hands again. I loved that, back when I did it more, but now I'm so use to the digital stuff and have no one that would sit for me, let me study them and really let my art come to life. Sure my digital paintings are pretty, I spend hours upon hours making them so. But nothing, nothing in this world can really replace the wonder and beauty that is the traditional forms of art. Not in my mind.

I will be taking two drawing classes a scuplture class and a photography class (that is for artists and how to take pictures/slides for your portfolio). I will be getting charcole all over my hands again, that was so fun now that I think back to it, although granted a pain in the ass. I really do believe that my work, digital and not, will improve being back in those classes, being back at what I love. I wasn't wrong to go to D&E, to try and compromise between what I wanted and what my family expected. Two professors and a personal assisstant for one of the most powerful familes in Texas, yeah, that's not much to live up to I guess. And the fact that Grandpa was a Navy officer and there aren't much expectations. Cue sarcasm.

Its really funny that, I mean, I grew up hearing from my family that I was the "smartest of us all, you can do such great things" etc, etc. And from foster parents that I would end up in jail, on the streets or in a mental hospital. All such lovely choices. But I refuse to let others define me, I refused to believe what people told me I would do when it was bad, but when it was good? I thought I should live up to those thoughts, even if they weren't what I wanted. What I wanted just never really surfaced. I wanted college, I have known that since the age of 8th grade, heck I have been researching college since that age. Its always been my dream, but what to do after it? No clue. I just want to write and paint, to create and give to the world. That's not exactly a job description though, or at least not one that will make any money.

Starving Artist.

I feared those words. I let others lead me to fearing them, to thinking that I could never even try down that path, not really. There was a brief touch of time that I did, and I had a foster mom slam down on me that it was completely riduculous and with art, I felt like I couldn't argue. So I went to English, to writing and such. I went to D&E as a double major in English and Political Science with a double minor in History and International Relations. I was going to try for Cambridge for grad school, was going to be a political journalist while attending grad school. And after that? I wanted to be a English professor so I could help people. But the stress I put myself under, the expectations I heaped on myself, I made it so that I couldn't succeed. And now I'm happy that I did so. Because now I get to go back to what is me, to what I love. I can go there and know that I can do it, and you know what? Academy has a 98% job placement in all of its colleges (one university, 14 colleges inside it). So I will get a job, I will teach art or work in a gallery or something similar. I will help people, teach people, show them the light and the love that I found.

Because I don't know how not to, not when I'm being true to myself, which, in my eyes, is what art and creation are all about.

Artist uses lies to tell the truth, so I'll use lies to help the world come to life.

I am now another year older, another year wiser. I still have so much to learn, and I'm glad to be alive to learn. And I hope what I have learned can help others as well.