As I sat writing my "artist statement" for the visual arts section of this page, it reached my realization that much of what I said could, and would, apply perfectly to my writing. The same ideas of movement, "the relationship between simple elements that alters the understanding of the fundamental components"--if I were to quote myself--are exactly the tools I employ when putting words and information together. In fact, if this page weren't to be in the exact same website (literally one hover-click away) I could probably copy and paste the statement and maybe change eight words.
But it is. And I do want to say a writer's statement; as I've said, there are such similarities between the world of writing and visual artmaking that some things largely regarded as integral to one discipline sails clean under sight for the other.
But it is. And I do want to say a writer's statement; as I've said, there are such similarities between the world of writing and visual artmaking, that some things largely regarded as integral to one discipline sails clean under sight for the other. I see no reason why a writer's statement would be less relevant to her work as an artist's.
So here's something different: the capabilities of language fascinates me, and it is at once painful and exhilarlating to indulge in the possibilities, because there are things that I want to say that cannot be said through images. Or, to put it precisely, there are things I ache to put out there, stories I long to tell, that with my particular employment of my visual techniques, I know will not be the most effective telling. There are such vast scenes that can be drawn with one sentence, and though one could do similarly with one line, there are strengths and weaknesses to each that do not overlap.
We might not nearly have enough paper anything, but we still read so much. Lingual art is the form of expression most intimate to us: it's the most widespread way we understand and communicate such understandings--perhaps even more with the new developments of technology. And that, I think, is why I return to writing, over and over: the insurpassible capabilities of empathy in language makes it the way to capture emotion, narratives, and most of all, humanity.
I write when I don't have time, but can manage to carve some out. I enjoy writing creative fiction, and at times poetry, and I like writing about myself (don't we all) but realize that it might be a bit early in life to claim the title of memoir writer. I've so far published one book of short stories, and ran a bimonthly literary magazine for three years. And then there's some short stories and poems here and there.
Abigail's Flight and other stories
Meet Abigail and her four sisters, young magic reindeer living in North Pole. They fly around--no eggnog required--read books and eat moss cake, and sure enough, just like young human teenagers, can't get through a day without getting into some trouble! Find out in this children's book what kind of perils and risks, exactly, are up to the hoof's challenge, the delicious foods that won't fail to cause a stomachache, and most of all, what it takes to grow up and become a Santa's reindeer...Find on Amazon Kindle >>
Catsburrow, a literary magazine
Find here the 19 volumes of literary magazine, containing short stories, long stories, poems, book reviews, and creative nonfiction.
I was ambitious starting off as a writer, I suppose. I had a pen name and the eagerness to write--write a lot. And there was no one to share this great literary magazine idea, so I decided to just give the challenge a stab by myself. Hence I was suddenly employed x 4: writer, illustrator, editor, salesperson, web media manager, and whatever else it took to get there.
It was a long stab; the project remained speared for three years. The end of every other month, the print shop guy came in with ink-smelling boxes that contained the physical produce of my all-nighter labors. The zines were still a bit damp and left cover-colored marks on my eager fingers. And they were real. Nothing against digital publication, don't get me wrong, but as a budding writer I doubt few things would have held the same overwhelming meaning as seeing how my typed-up and printed stories and poems were, well, in print, and tangible, and permanent, and everything like all those books I read growing up thinking my life goal was to become a Newbery winning author.
Just as real and fixed, I found, were all the print mistakes, and weird positionings of typefaces, and the typos... Flowers of publication was what my aunt called them; I grew less patient of their bloomability with time. It was a learning experience. Everything from the most practical--project management, deadlines, and bimonthly postmarking over a hundred of the copies--to the most creative, with poems and stories and illustrations, that still somehow had to fit in the calendar. Else, well, I ended up paying with a few too many all-nighters and 150 home-printed correction stickers.
Yet I emerged from the experience (concluded regretfully with my college acceptance; adding full-time student to the list of duties did not seem like the best of ideas) having more than survived, with the full set of writing and design and project-mapping skills that enabled me to do so much more as I continued my writing and artistic--and frankly, any--journey beyond. And sometimes, struck with some print-layout or writing task, I fantasize about doing it again.
Maybe. Maybe someday.
With the one producer wearing all the hats (me) being a sticker for hand-held literature, it was always meant to be read in print. But what little remains of the copies is up in the attic at home, so if you are curious, here's a digital copy of the last issue to scroll through at your leisure.Read a sample copy >>