All Blog posts
Tempestuous
Friction is the point
LLMs and generative AI may be easy, but the hard stuff is the point because the friction of art is where the magic is. Art is not a product to be instantly spat out. I've been thinking about this since I updated my site to include an AI disclaimer and before AI was as widespread as it is now. Any artist will tell you that the process of making art is where the real magic happens.
Clearings
Violent patches, forgotten space
where green is crushed,
where green shudders to mud,
where green becomes tarmac
The People Disagree
How not to make things perfectly zine
Recently, I've been enjoying making zines. There's something fun about using your hands to make an object, especially when so much of our lives are digital. I've added a few one pagers to my projects page and itch.io.
Tubers
becoming more than simple root by
breathing in sweet loam
rolling a body into a pebble
churning under the surface
while dreaming deep in fever
of the power to divide
endlessly, divide endlessly
while never blinking
Barometer Falling
I've been the forest groaning as the winds pick up,
a lizard panicking from rock to cool rock as drops fall
like meteors onto the cracked earth. Mostly, you've
been a leaky fishing boat anchored outside the bay,
sinking a little deeper into the churning horizon with a sigh.
Waves slap higher and harder, evening darkens too soon.
I've wanted to be a life raft but have found myself
a hollow statue instead, limestone filling with water.
Shall we stay put, dance a slow waltz, your head
on my chest? Shall we linger as sparks appear around
our eyebrows, as our hair lifts in sudden static surprise?
Or lets throw on some thrash metal, pull apart our house
brick by brick, rip apart each and every supporting wall.
Either way, we'll soon both be sea glass, cloudy
emerald pools where lightning raged against the sand.
Freshly Painted Cream Walls
One IKEA bag full of ill judged clothes - baggy shirts, faded bootcut jeans. Another holding new pans, an orange duvet still wrapped in plastic. Flyers for welcome parties and printouts and maps lie scattered over the plywood desk. No one here knows or cares who I amso I am a blackboard scrubbed clean. I decide not to be defined by worry. Starting at my acne-pitted forehead, I peel off the shape of who I was and, laughing to the empty room, I am recast without anyone noticing, my script punched up and rewritten.
I become the city’s traffic pulse, black coffee unexpected fireworks, a bass drop in a sweaty club at two am, become a dust mite spinning out
caught in a shaft
of dawn light
AI and me
I've added a slug to the bottom of my website, saying 'Handmade without AI.' It's to show my site is made by me without the use of generative AI models.
Shudder
