Category Archives: Art

Wood, paper sculpture, pen and pencil…. not all mediums were made equal.

The Crow

I recently was lent a copy of The Diamond Age, a novel by Neal Stephenson which explores a fantasy-like future in which nanotechnology and cultural constructs reign supreme. It was in this unlikely (and thoroughly enjoyable) bundle of pages that I found an intriguing poem – “The Raven” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whom I had studied in my grade twelve Literature class.

As you can likely tell by the title of this post, the poem struck a chord with me. The following composition is based on Coleridge’s “The Raven”, with my own ideas thrown in for good measure.

Underneath a stout walnut tree
There was of swine a great company.
They grunted as they crunched the wood,
Which, not long after, no longer stood. Continue reading The Crow

Introverts Galore

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In addition to my semi regular Last Week’s Poetry feature, and my temporary series, The INTP’s Guide to Everyone Else, I’ve decided to start posting a series of comics I’ve been working on for the past few months. It’s another Myers-Briggs inspired thing, and I’ve decided to call it “Introverts Galore.” Because introverts. Lots of them.

Look for these comics on Sunday, and if you like what you see, please feel free to like, share, and/or comment. I ‘preciate it.

M.
Nov 13/16

The art of taking poor-quality photos

Look and think before opening the shutter. The heart and mind are the true lens of the camera.”
– Yousuf Karsh

It used to be that people would give me strange looks when I mentioned that I took pictures on my fourth-gen iPod. “Don’t you have a phone?” they would ask, slightly taken aback. “Does that work okay for you?”

While it’s true that many late millennials and generation Xers have easy access to the newest in technology Continue reading The art of taking poor-quality photos

The Canvas

This one’s slightly older, but I felt it was a good stand-in for this week. In my experience, this is how artists function.

Whenever I want to bleed
I can make
The canvas bleed instead

It seems cruel
Sometimes
To run it red

But then again
It cannot feel
The way skin feels

Or hurt the way
My head
And my nerves do

Whenever I want to bleed
I can make
The canvas bleed instead

It absorbs the stings
Of a thousand
Aching brushstrokes

And it cries with
Watered-down acrylic tears
On porous intimacy

And it heals itself
With layered blood
When ripped to pieces

M.
Feb 12/16
“The Waterserpent,” acrylic on paper