Black and white sketch, colored lines, full color.
My lovely Jr. and his Mother
Shelley Couvillion 2012
I need a sewer of words.
The following verses probably seem rather infantile but it’s the best my untrained brain can come up with and it was oh so fun.
Just fyi… very disconnected thoughts here. Not a finished piece by all means.
Jr. is a little strange,
Different for a bird his age.
He likes to read,
He likes to cook,
He doesn’t like when people look,
and look and look and STARE
at his glasses or his hair.
Jr wishes they would let him be.
Not acting so darn differently
When he starts to talk to them
about hydrostatic equilibrium.
Jr. does not wish to play
with the crayons or the clay.
Instead he wants to diagram
the stars in our solar system.
Jr.’s mother takes her tea
each afternoon at half-past three
He always tries to do it right,
this gives him pride and gives him might.
etc…
Sight is partially memory
And though you may scoff and say ‘Nay! thou must be loosing thy mind to speak so nonsensically dear maiden!’ it’s true. I looked in the mirror a few moments ago and was suprised and confused and slightly alarmed at what I saw: a grown up looking person who was rather pretty despite the foaming at the mouth feeling the toothpaste added. I think sometimes not only do we see the past reflected at us, we also expect it. I still expect myself to be an awkward chubby shy girl who can’t even hold a conversation to save her life and who loooves to sneak into the kitchen late at night to nosh on butter. But it’s not true. We change ourselves every day; sometimes for the better (I brushed my teeth twice today!) and sometimes for he worse (I completely CLEANED my plate at dinner. It was nummy. I am FULL) But despite that, we all have the power to not be who we were yesterday. So try it, maybe you’ll see someone you didn’t expect in that mirror.
Art Crush
So I saw Sylvia Ji last night for her opening at the Corey Helford Gallery. I must say I was really excited beforehand; I wanted to meet her and shake her hand, touch the hands which painted this greatness and maybe have it rub off on me. Magical. Eventually I became too scared and then when I failed to find her amidst the throngs of hipsters and art appreciators I gave up on the my endeavors. Turning to leave I heard a few gasps as guess-who almost took a headlong dive down the stairs… Yes, the lovely Silvia herself. I still wanted to meet her, to say how beautiful her pieces were. Ask what sort of glaze she used, if she applied it before and after or during the process, what paints she used and how she applied the gold, pen, brush, about the airbrushing techniques and how she determined what color the painting would soak in… But she was already surrounded and I left instead. Maybe my only chance to meet someone I envy so badly and my fear won out. Damn you. Maybe that is why I do not have the courage to paint to boldly. I’m afraid to try and finishes pieces… I hate this.
On the other hand… I am sure she has her own insecurities. She is human after all, she tripped down the stairs in that lovely red dress and landed in the concerned hands of the throng and I let myself get swept away.
So melodramatic… It’s gotta be hormonal.
Mmmm. My favorite.
Iced Pumpkin Spice Americano. Purrrrrrrr.
A card which has been commissioned by an etsy buyer. yay!
Mucha-ising people who sit in Starbucks. :3
My parents.
it’s weird to see them grow older.
My dad is practically bald besides his ponytail.
He is a big jokster. Always making trouble.
My mom has kidney failure.
She is always looking on the bright side of things.
God is pulling us through and is our strength.
They recently moved out of our house and into my grandmothers to help out.
I miss them.
