Happy national poetry day! I shall mark my calendar because I was not aware of this occasion up until some tweet notifications came through.
Today I want to quickly share a poem to celebrate this day. It is very recent, actually, from last night. I rarely get bursts of inspiration these days but yesterday ended with a bundle of overwhelming feelings I haven’t experienced in quite a while, and at 12 am this artpiece was born!
The year of 2015 was the peak of my writing. Everything was so unexplored yet so genuine. As I was growing and taking the first steps towards more serious and consistent ways of expressing myself, the emotion was very raw and there was a lot of it.
Now, one day I skimmed through my previous files and looked at my writing blog just to find a piece of poetry that I consider to be the longest and the most honest one I’ve ever written. It was the only time I remember having such spark of inspiration. Hopelessness was part of it and the title of this post is, indeed, dramatic but so is this piece!
A little backstory: it was written in April, 2015. During that time, I was approaching my final high school exams and graduation. I – someone who was not getting the grades she wanted, who was losing interest in academic success, who was starting to explore herself and whose explorations scared the living shit out of her. I think I was also starting to get to know art, graphics and editing, but it was really hard to do without any artistic background or education. With art, there also was an issue of exposure – putting your work for people to see. Long story short, I was developing a habit of hating my work. Additionally to that, there was a collision of worlds: senior year of high school, upcoming adulthood and a new life ahead were weighing heavily on my shoulders.
And even though some issues were tackled, new ones were born, I grew as a person and am handling myself well enough, this piece remains very important to me. It’s the manifesto to the loss of innocence; to growth; to adolescence; to blooming dreams of a youngster.
It’s a song to my rebelliously ambitious self. Sung as a contradiction to itself.
— Don’t think of it too much, just enjoy —
Here’s a thing: on this blog, we obsess over print. And it doesn’t really matter what kind of printed objects – I love them all. There’s something about the combination of paper and ink giving a physical shape to a beautifully visual concept.
And what can be more visual than photos? Even though photo printing is not a new thing (this is the part when I start to miss all those old and dusty family photo albums together with the memory of knowing that the local Fujifilm shop has printed our pictures and someone needs to go pick them up; how exciting!), the obsession with picture collages and the recent trend of Instax cameras and polaroids have made photos a very must thing to have. Without having to lie that I don’t need an Instax when I just can’t afford it, and saying that polaroids are becoming overrated when I really want to wallpaper my room with them, I can confess to being a victim of this phenomenon, trend and movement.
But I am no photographer, yet there’s something extremely fascinating about holding a physical copy of something you’ve captured and created. Something that holds meaning and brings back emotions or memories. By looking at it while playing with the light reflecting from the glossy surface, you experience a thrill that no screen can convey.