Recently, things hae been going a little off-track for me on every single aspect of life. Some of which, I will discuss, some, it’s probably a better idea not to.

What started out pretty good, I must say - my first year in the IB diploma I’m not afraid to say that I was quite a good hardworking student, organized even. But then, after the holiday, I’ve been running dry, completely dry. So, what do I do, I ask myself, if I’m not producing any art, not producing any writing, not “producing” grades and not doing anything worth doing.

Maybe I should just do something robotic that requires little thinking for a while, just to get things right again. “I think too much.”

Just the other day, I was working on a certain work of art, the first one I like in quite a long while. My art teacher then caught sight of it. He liked it.

“Ah! I like this.” He said. Of course, he can’t just tell me it’s “crap”, and he didn’t say it’s very “conceptual”, so I think I’m pretty much safe.

“Just ignore the crop box, and everything outside it. It’s supposed to be fifty-by-seventy.”

“No! You got it all wrong!” he exclaimed and examined the messy “unfinished” product.

“But then it’s too messy, I need to change it, and I mean, the whole…” I went searching for words, “composition, and colors.”

He just shook his head and told me the strangest thing, coming out of him that is: “You create something good, and then you start thinking about it, intellectualizing it, and then you just start going wrong.” That’s it.

Yes, theory does destroy you, sure, but as long as you can disconnect from it, fine, go ahead, I figured. Back in the day, before I had the whip of the IB Visual Arts curriculum and examination, I would just “do” what I felt like and not think about what I need to write in my stupid developmental workbook. I’m one step closer to the bonfire, this time holding the developmental workbook.

Suppose I went to see concerts, eventually reaching a state where my hearing will degrade to the point at which I can’t really hear much. Suppose Would I keep going to loud concerts? Well, my hearing will degrade even further, or possibly, there’s an alternative. Earplugs.

In search of earplugs.

I would have to find a clever solution to my problem, something to do with being able to disconnect myself. I decided that the solution will have to conform to these basic criteria:

1. It must not develop a dependence.
2. It must not be illegal.
3. It must not corrode my brain, limit my capacity or undermine my future.

I do realize that I’m facing a major challenge here, and I really don’t know what to do, but here are some possible problems I could suggest as to why I’m in this awful “creative block”.

The IB curriculum itself. Could it be that it’s causing this crippling condition? Could I be unable to deal with some of the obstacles it lays in my path? Unfortunately, a solution will

Lack of positive stimulus from “good” academics and creativity, plenty of positive stimulus from unproductive, “self destructive” habits. I haven’t quite had anyone tell me what a good job I did, nobody tells me to keep working. The kind of person I am, I always attempt to work “for” others. I could be a great secretary, as long as I get tasks sent in my way all the time, and they’re for other people who expect me to do them, not from a vague organization, and not “for myself.” Perhaps I “need someone” to put some pressure on me and pat me on the head every time I do some good work. It worked last May, it’ll work again.

My current creative outlets and inlets are fine, but I how about the old ones? How about I try returning to old creative outlets in inlets. Maybe I should go back to creative writing, make myself do it. Or maybe even coding? One thing for sure, I better start reading literature again (that’s what I mean by “creative inlet”, don’t bother looking it up - I made it up). Perhaps the beauty of their complexity will get my gears going again and make me productive, just like in the good old days.

Diet, sleep and lack of caffeine. If I wasn’t short on cash, I would have considered buying a pack of coffee tablets today. I need to bring the coffee machine in the lounge back to an operating condition, and begin consuming caffeine in hopes of it improving my academic performance (pffft!) and creativity. Additionally, my diet’s been all wrong, and with little sleep, I think it’s a dangerous mix. Fixing these might be a good idea.

Meditation. I was told it could potentially help, I don’t know though. I’ll have to do some research.

Sessions with a psychologist. Yes, I’m pushing towards that - I’ll get it at some point, I’m sure.

I might as well just do all of them, ah?

Tagged as: art, life, school

After constant whining from a certain person, I surrendered, and stopped procrastinating for just an hour.

Thanks for pressing me to do it, otherwise I wouldn’t have done it until next year or at least after the exams. Enjoy, they’re all in the gallery.

Tagged as: art, life, photography

Around 12:30, as I’m relaxing in my bedroom, trying to make the most of my long weekend due to a catholic holiday of some sort that’s celebrated in Denmark for whatever reason - catholics are rare in Denmark, a strange noise suddenly penetrates the silence.

Out of the blue comes a flapping. Like a large pile of paper being swept away sheet by sheet. My brother, who was in my room at that point for some reason, probably something to do with Super Paper Mario coming out later than expected, or maybe about why .Mac sucks or something like that. It’s always pretty much the same.

Usually when a gust of wind moves the blinds, the flapping sound is not as loud. Not even remotely as this. My brother just told me to ignore it, “must be the neighbors.”

“The neighbors doing what?”

He didn’t know. Of course, even if they were rubbing aluminum foil on the door, it wouldn’t be as loud as this, and besides it didn’t sound as if it came from outside at all.

I searched the living room. No metal blinds there. I looked at the dining table, and there it was, on the window sill. A pigeon.

The window consists of three main parts, three panes, the middle being about the size of the two other panes put together. The panes were split into a tiny window on the top and a significantly larger bottom section - altogether six parts each individually re-sealable. This style is extremely common in Denmark.

The bottom right window was open, and the hook was anchored to prevent the wind from closing it. The breeze was pleasant and somewhat cold. It must have flown in through the open window, and since it doesn’t understand the concept of glass, it didn’t realize that the other panes were, sadly, closed - sealed even.

Poor thing, flew in, and bumped against the window. The flapping noises as I soon realized, came from its futile attempts at flying out the sealed window. It’s not going to figure out how to get out any time soon.

My first reaction to this rare sight was of course, running back to my room to get all the cameras I could find. That is, my camera phone and my Canon SLR film camera, which was fortunately already loaded with about 17 frames of good black & white Kodak film.

In the meantime, it kept on trying to fly out the window.

“Come here, you have to see this!” I yelled to my brother, who stayed in my room.

“What is it?”

“A bird.”

At that point I heard the door slide and shut with a loud thud. Unlike me, he wasn’t very happy, and decided that as a precaution, he better lock himself in my room. At least I had my camera with me.

At that point I declared that bird as officially, “cute.” Under its new status, it was protected against cruelty and had to be photographed.

The poor thing had to go though, I just had to do something. Not only because my brother locked himself up in my room in panic insisting I get the damn thing out.

At some point I stopped throwing bread-crumbs at the bird, and decided to take the broom from the kitchen and show it the way out.

Not that I specifically wanted it out, I didn’t mind it being there, not at all. But then again, it saves me a lot of dealing with my brother, who refused to get out and started screaming at the top of his lungs for me to get it out.

After some wrestling with the bird, it was standing outside the window with its back to me. I reached out for my film camera on the table, and took the last few shots of the pigeon. Portraits, I was practically half a meter away from the pigeon, taking photographs.

I was out of film, and so I reached out for my phone, but by the time I turned to look at the table, I heard again, the flapping noise, and the bird was gone.

Tagged as: animals, art, funny, life, neighbor, photography