(in the context of the moments when I realized my purpose)
 Ever notice in a hallway how we often blink and smile, a pleasant, comfortable distance away. Maybe mumble salutations, a communication you acknowledge a presence but don’t often care of its absence. And I believe if I continue staring and keep the silence deafening it means more than a mumble.  You’ll remember the awkward and uncomfortable. I desire to convey a piece of this veracity, to form an introspection on their pain-staking details, their poignant emotions.  Maybe I knew it in a dream or in those strange moments that only shimmer as a piece of broken glass.  This flash is so concentrated, the profound reality so raw, I cannot ignore its potential.  I wonder if my harsh convictions are a warning for the bare skin of my consciousness to be cautious with my vulnerability, but I cannot turn away from the glare, step around, obey what this maternal safety blanket tells me: I shouldn’t stare into the sun. Perhaps I could squint at it through a reflection, a forgotten reminiscence, yet I know this is not enough. I can’t ignore and look away even if I wanted to. I must continue to stare at those unknown spaces between distances that seem to catch insecurity and vulnerability as a flash of sunlight. Realize there’s more expression in an empty alleyway and bare skin bleeding than the calculated lines of insecurity. I must lay down defenses and maybe stare a little longer in silence even if I don’t understand right away. Perhaps, it will spark a reaction of a moment in a memory when I disobeyed my mother just once; felt the adrenaline run like children through an alley; decided to wear that old, torn and faded shirt instead of sterile white because it meant something to me—even if it seemed like poverty to some. Have to remember not everyone can appreciate blank spaces and faded lines—the unparalleled meaning beneath.  So they close their eyes and walk past . . . mumbling. . . . I will never be one of those.
When I think of this, my mind is initially blank, then images slowly surface like a reflection forming as ripples settle in a pool of water
I want to alter perception in a way, not necessarily “make a difference or change the world, be unique.”  I believe the existence of an altered perspective, the existence of a mind that questions, is already a change, an evolution of a kind or the concretization of a possibility.  If it exists it has already side-stepped “making and trying” and gone to the product, but change is an inherent element to the product, for human’s perception is forever in limbo.
given this, I feel my art needs to have an aspect of time to it, it seems things that are commonly produced or created have a singular aspect to them, as if we are constantly trying to pick out points in time/reality and present it as a single, crucial event, snapshotting our lives into strobe-like segments, and then expect others to get what we do out of these moments.  Is there a way to show the timeline and give a sense of the impending next moment as it is in reality? — both the single moment in time and the inevitable next that makes it all a universal continuum that is the essence of what time is, showing constant movement into some unknown variable.  How can one side step the seeming default of a beginning and an end without getting the “strobe effect? ”
when I think of passion, it isn’t singular like, “I am passionate about nature, or animals or family or sculpture?”  When I think of this, it is a culmination of diminutive images that I take for granted but they still seem to linger, rising up from my watery consciousness:
waving my hand across wind chimes hanging from a mailbox and hearing the musical resultant of my action, and Wesley, seated next to me in the car, saying, “You rarely find wind chimes that are pitched to perfect harmony like that.”  I realize he is hearing and seeing something I probably never will.
obsessively rearranging things in my room and realizing I’m more concerned about the break-up of space then the things in the room—that I want to build shapes on the ceiling and protruding from the walls to satisfy my need for a certain kind of spatial aesthetic.
the glowing of lights on street corners, how light reflections and patterns are often not noticed because we are so used to seeing them and are visually dependent on light source for everyday activity.  I remember someone telling me that is all we see, light reflections and interactions bouncing off each other, off people and objects.  I remember in physics class, the light graphs we would do, isolating and giving labels to the situations to make it easier.  My teacher would always tell us without isolating the activity of light we’d never be able to understand the concept; it would be too complex of a graph to draw.  And my mind would imagine light rays of all colors interacting and reacting off each other, I thought of the impossibility of this task and the necessity of it.  How sound has this kind of interaction as well.
But because of inherent properties of light, sound, space, time, they are visually almost invisible, sometimes more neglected than anything else.  What materials would have these properties, be able to show the density of activity, but also have that translucent quality, something easily missed?

>>i wrote this when i was seventeen, too. i’m twenty now and things haven’t changed; they’ve just grown deeper, like the roots of the tree, feeding the leaves so that one day at least some part of itself will reach the sunlight above …