Oh, ahha, no, i can only draw stick people

 Over the past 13 months, i've rediscovered my love for art. i've been attacking all sorts of genres, i've grown a lot, and, apparently, i have some kind of innate talent that was given to me by fairies under a full moon.

i respect and appreciate compliments - they encourage me so much - and i suppose i acknowledge that i have some kind of visual gifting. But you wouldn't believe how many people i have met who, upon seeing my drawings, immediately place themselves below me on the talent scale. "Oh, i wish i could draw like that!"

Newsflash: when Mrs DaVinci  was putting little Leonardo's artwork on the fridge, it probably looked like this:

Okay. Mountainbikers. Have we got any mountainbikers here? That's great. i'm happy for you. i'm glad that your passion is the outdoors, or maybe plumbing, or cooking or surfing. There are people who aren't artistically inclined - lots of people. YAY. Diversity. A+. Fantastic. Live great lives doing your thing. Do that.

But for everyone who wishes they were born with the flower-nymph gifting of Art, please listen to what i have to say. i am not putting myself down, i am trying to share the joy i find in art, and give everyone a chance to experience it.

Art is not genius. it is not a case of Either You Have it Or You Don't. True, some people are more inclined towards painting or sketching than others, but i have found that there is a ridiculous mentality that you have to start good and get better. Nobody starts good. You suck at design? Awesome. i sucked at design before i started developing more of an eye for it. (Yes, i know that my blog's layout is awful). Actively pursue your talent, even if you're convinced you don't have any. There will be years of frustration, years where you can't quite capture what you want to capture. But just the fact that you're frustrated with your own skill shows you have an eye for what you want to do.

Oh, you protest, but the world doesn't need another artist. There are so many good artists out there. Look at the internet!

The point of art is not to be the best, guys. The point of art is not to be the best. The point of singing is not to be Adele. The point of smiling is not to be a dentist's kid. The point of sleeping is not to be Rip Van Winkle. Make art, because art is a form of self-expression that is healthy and therapeutic and fun. Make art because it is a form of communication. Make art because you've always wanted to. Don't make art because you want to be good at art.

Make art. Treat yourself to some fancy supplies you don't know how to use; none of us know the principals of watercolour when we get our first set. Scribble down your depression with a 6B pencil. Put your happiness on your driveway with chalk. Photoshop your fear.

Make art, and don't wait to be good enough.

Make art.

More Glory Than the World Has Known

well it's been like four months since i last posted.
But I had to dump my soul out. So here I am.

Before we get onto this actual post, a brief update on my life:
-i met a platonic soulmate
-i watch a lot of tv
-summer cannot come fast enough
-[obligatory comment about how freaking tough school is right now like don't even talk to me]

-all the songs make sense now

There's a quote from a tv show called Castle, which I don't watch, but is very relevant to my life right now.
"How do you know you're in love?" "All the songs make sense."

Now, I hate the "I'm dating Jesus!1!!<333" stuff as much as the next guy. So I'm not making this comparison idly. I'm making it because I finally understand all the hymns, all the worship music, all the crazy things people say about wanting to live for Jesus.

I don't know how to talk about what's happened. Everything I'm typing reads like I'm calm. I don't jump up and down in church. but i wANT TO TYPE LIKE THIS AND I WANT TO SCREAM AND SHOUT AND DANCE IN THE AISLES. I KEEP REPEATING "THE HOLE INSIDE ME HAS BEEN FILLED" BECAUSE IT HAS. THE EMPTY SPACE IN MY STOMACH THAT I FUTILELY TRY TO FILL WITH FANDOMS AND RELATIONSHIPS FEELS LIKE IT'S BEEN STUFFED WITH NEVERENDING HOT FOOD. I FEEL LIKE I'M JUST TASTING THE VERY EDGE OF THIS, GLIMPSING THE HEM OF GOD'S ROBE.

"'Cause I got changed by what I've been shown,
It's more glory than the world has known,
Keeps me ramblin' on,
And skippin' like a calf
Loosed from his stall,
I'm free to love once and for all,
And even when I fall I get back up
Through the joy that overflows my cup.
Heaven filled me with more than enough,
Broke down my levees and my bluffs,
Let the flood wash me."

I'M GOING! TO! EXPLODE!
I HAVE FOUND THE KEY TO LIFE, THE UNIVERSE, AND EVERYTHING. IT'S NOT 42, IT'S TRUSTING IN GOD COMPLETELY AND LETTING GO OF YOUR FEARS AND DOUBTS AND BEING STILL AND KNOWING THAT HE IS /GOD/ AND SHARING THE GLORY YOU'VE SEEN WITH OTHERS. THIS IS SUPERNATURAL. THIS ISN'T NORMAL.

I COULD GO ON IN ALL-CAPS FOR A VERY LONG TIME, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THAT PEOPLE TAKE ME A LITTLE LESS SERIOUSLY WHEN I AM SCREAMING AT THEM SO HEY HO BACK TO LITTLE TEXT

So, anyway. Today in church, my dad gave a really good sermon about suffering for Jesus. Me and my friend Mary had been talking a day or two before about how much we'd rather burn up than stick to the shade.
Log book: April 2013. I'm fifteen years old, and I'm tired of living for the distant future. I don’t want to go to school, get married, go on a honeymoon, pay the bills, and die. I can’t stand that. Not because I don’t like the idea, I do. I want to kiss someone and go to Iceland with him and maybe have a kid or two.
But I have discovered a love and a truth that blows everything out of the water and I can’t live normal. I was just sitting in church, soaked in jealousy of Paul the Apostle because how he suffered but still knew the truth. He was out there, preaching, moving the Gospel forward. The church is advanced through the blood of the martyrs. You cannot live safely defending this. And I don’t want to. I want to feel great pain and know that my God is greater and know that I am honouring him. I want to throw away my entire life. I want to live with insane radness. I don't want to get to heaven and cry because I wasted my life. I want to live in a way that is not safe and is not fun or comfortable, but that is sustained by God.

I JUST.

I'M SORRY I HAD TO SPILL THIS.



MICAH OUT.

PEACE.



P.S. LISTEN TO THIS MUSIC BECAUSE IT'S THE BEST MUSIC EVER.

character looks and likeability and orwell and bradbury

Guy Montag is really an honestly likeable character.

The first time i read Fahrenheit 451 i didn’t like him at all, but i think it was for the same partial reason i didn’t like Winston in 1984 - they were reportedly ugly, or i imagined them ugly, and human beings are drawn to beautiful things and in the midst of such an ugly world i needed some kind of light. is that superficial? i think it’s human to go after lovely things. the flaw in that is that sometimes the loveliness isn’t immediate and we can dismiss a search after the initial disappointment.

anyway once i put faces - faces i can relate to, that don’t blend in with the grey setting - on characters, they get a lot nicer and i can see them for who they actually are. Montag torched a guy with a flamethrower and burns things for a living and has killed lots of people. yes. but he’s also genuinely loving towards this woman who he feels nothing for. He gets worked up and treats her badly once in a while. That is a conflict in his character and great characters have those. But he just acts in a way, no matter what his words are, that says he cared a great deal for her at one time, and that is still there somewhere.

he is very lost and rediscovering the world outside his grey entertainment. He tastes the rain when no one else will. He wants to yell at the world blasting him with noise to shut up. he is frustrated and flawed and just doing his best. He’s observant. He has fears. Somehow, to me, Winston from 1984 represented the worst of humanity, covered in indignity, fighting but losing - and Montag is rising from indignity and winning against the odds.

I guess maybe what separates a hero from another is the outcome of their character battle, in literature. I guess we want to be, need to be told that humanity will conquer and beauty exists. montag represents that. He searches for books, which are beloved to me. He quits his job burning things. he’s intimidated by people and runs but eventually finds a way out and survives. Winston just sinks into his human waste more and more and after a moment of struggle is crushed inevitably. You can’t blame him for that, for being ugly in an ugly situation, you can’t blame him for circumstance. But the message he carries is so full of despair that I think shying away from him is not a wrong response.

I have no idea what the point of this post was.

And if you read it i love you to bits. come let me embrace you.