What is Art?

The age old question and really I'm getting tired of it personally. No one seems to agree and makes the same arguement that has been going on for ages. Recently I had my "art" teacher tell me illustration was not art and that abstraction is a purer form of art. Frankly I was insulted that she completely dismissed a whole sector of people doing what I would consider some amazing works of art. I'm still trying to get my head around what she thinks gives her the devine insight to define art for others. As far as my concern I think art is better undefined if nothing gets done but demeaning others and passing them over because they don't cater to the abstract or realist tastes. Anyway I shall rant again later

I think therefore I am

That is such a convient saying and so odd that it comes from someone who thought there was a evil genius at work in the world and it's day to day chores. Is the idea of self, the concept of being so easily defined simply by thinking. The rational mind is the key to existance? Some how I find myself at conflict with this idea. Especially since the idea of self is a preception, since preception of reality starts with viewing the world around us perhaps the correct method of using the rational mind is "I think therefore you are" as suggested in the series "Ergo proxy". The concept makes a bit more sense if you look at it from that standpoint, you can precieve others but can you truely preceive yourself? What you see you define as real therefore it exists but when it comes to precieving yourself you make judgements and create identy through what you believe to be true about yourself. It's like hearing your voice recorded, when you first hear it , you deny that it how your voice sounds, the idea that it sounds different from what you believe it to is a disturbing thought. It's a shaking of your identy, your concept of self.

On the other hand do we need rational thought at all to define ourselves as real , that we belong in this world that we feel. Feeling, emotion, the sound and touch of the rain on your skin, is this not enough to define myself as real. The only thing that stabalizes that feeling of losing self and of nonexistance is the memory of being held, the memory of touching the cold earth with my bare feet. This is Real to me, the world I interact with , perhaps it is not one but all of these things that makes the concept of reality true. I don't have the answer for another or myself, I just have more questions but questions I shall seek to answer in due time. So much more thinking to be done...

Dreaded October

Such a damn depressing month, october, the dreaded hated space of time that is such a burden on my mind and soul. Lost dream, memories and the blood of friends staining the very fabric of my being.

So many lost through the years and all upon the month of my birth and like a true libra, the balance was maintained. A happiness of birth balanced with the loss of life. The great balance, the great joke that fate plays upon the living. Nothing to excess they say to save the soul, perhaps we are damned either way.

I guess my feelings towards this month are the same. It's a month of death and decay, the transition from sunny days full of life to that of winter cold and a cleansing of the world around me till it's crystal white. It's strange despite my distaste for the events that happen within this time, I enjoy this time of year the most. I enjoy the silence, the dark and raining landscape. The wilting world of shadowy brilliance. Perhaps if I could capture the essense of the visions within the construct of a canvas frame I would feel alittle more distance from the trace I find myself in when I stare at it.

I still find myself watching through the window during the day, just staring at it, as if I staring at my reflection in the shattered peices of a mirror. Trying desprately to see the entire image. Perhaps someday I will understand what calls to my core in this landscape till then I shall enjoy the view and the darkness...

The Week To Come...

So much work and school work to do, I am not sure how much i will be posting on here this week but I shall try to keep at it. Art school is a fickle thing and with my mind wandering to the many thoughts that slumber within me, I have a hard time focusing some time. Not to mention the classes bore me to tears, ah well thus is the way of the schooling world. It also seems a few people who are close to me are going through a rough time right now and I will be focusing my attention on them since there are very few that I would consider friends these days. Please be paitent with me and feel free to email me if you need me I am around sooner or later.

Into the Darkness

What can I call the place I drown in when I am balancing unsteadily upon the edge of life and

death. 5 times now I have seen this place, this dark room, this lightless room. 3 were of my own making , 2 by accident. This place is endless, boundless yet confining like a coffin. No light yet shadows dance wearingly upon the walls and around my body. Twisting vicious shadows, memories of loathing nature that still cling to make unconscious minds. Sounveniers of a life lived for the past, there to forever remind me of my own short comings. This dark place, is hell or just the mind's construct I built for myself, perhaps they are one in the same. Moments seem like years, years spread out before me, the path long the way before me shrouded. Slowly the clock begins to move, the light comes in wavering streams. Reality comes full force like having a shroud pulled from my head. Surviving yet again but alittle less of my conscious here. I wonder how many times I can survive this place and return. What happens when the dream is more real then the waking world?

A Start.

Ah yes, before I forget I should tell you who I am.
Hmm where to start... My name is Joshua , though most call me daimien or hellstorm these days. I'm a 3rd year art major minoring in graphic design at algomau and 20 years old. I live in a small city in Canada which I have no complaints about. I like small places where I can hear myself think. The location I live specifically is much to my liking, I live on the beach in the forest about 30 minutes out of town. Its quite and the city can be seen in the distance.

As for myself as a person there is both little and alot to say depending on the topic. I write poetry, stories, paint, do photography, and draw alot. The subject matter varies from almost complete abstraction to lifelike but the themes of death and identy run deep in almost all of them due to my interest in it.

Death has always been a big part of my life, the lose of loved ones, friend and family alike. Seeing death with my own two eyes more times then I would like to recount. It had a large effect on me as a child so I explore it in hopes of finding about myself in the process. Identy is something that I think all humans deal with in some manner or another, the feeling of trying to etch out my own future and trying to understand the paths I have already taken. What makes me human, what makes me myself, how do I know that I am who I think I am, why do I think the way I do, do I even exist? these questions plague my mind. Perhaps I am far to into the ideas of self but it is my nature I guess if you could call it that. I shall walk this path we call the world around us and write my findings here I guess and the day to day things I find interesting.

Feel free to check the links on the previous post for my art and poetry. One specific poem I shall share is the one that spawn the name for this blog, it was written back during highschool more or less around the depth of a low point. Though it may seem depressing it's about hope really, the acceptance of a self destructive nature and the will to move past it.

(Pic of me back when I wrote this)

Ebony Gates Of Depression
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've seen a hundred beginnings

And felt a thousand ends

Just when you think your defenses are holding

The seems of your world begin to bend

What is even left to defend?



A bottle of pills makes the pain go away

Small companions for bloody razorblades

Black clouds cover every single day

Signs of hope readily fade away

This hole is deep and has no name



Let me through these ebony gates of depression

Through these black gates of stone

My heart beats for this decision

Within these pillars you will never feel alone

So step into the unknown



This world strangles me till my eyes turn blue

It beats me till I can not see

Pushes each blade to cut right through

I don't care let it be

I'm almost free



So let me through these ebony gates of depression

Through these black gates of stone

Will the emptiness hear my confession

Because I never wanted to be alone

As I step into the unknown

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**copyright 2004, Joshua Richards**



More to come another day perhaps, time has run out for me this day....

Another beginning...

Hello there, it seems I have yet again made another site, and another beginning in this world of digital madness. I guess it will give me something to do on those late nights. I have been meaning to make a blog for a long time and thankfully got the push I needed from a wonderful young woman I met a week ago or so on facebook. Please stop by her site sometime ( http://www.indulge-angel.blogspot.com/ ).

Some of my other sites are :

www.poetrypoem.com/hellstorm6514

http://www.hellstorm6514.deviantart.com/

www.geocities.com/hellstorm6510.htm