Art For Art's Sake

Just In Case Of Confusion

Just in case of confusion or miscrediting, "Theatre" and "A Late Night...Or A Early Morning?" were written by my good friend Jonathan Bellerive, not I.

Make A Wish

Blow a wish
Originally uploaded by Ethan Woods.

There once was a girl, she looked rather strange
People would stare at her, sad and deranged

One day, she blew a wish off of a weed
"I wish I had good looks, that's what I need"

She slowly walked home, avoiding all stares
She wished all night that they wouldn't be there

The next day she woke, as strange as could be.
But something was different, something indeed.

She walked out, and what a sight she did see!
All the townsfolk, they looked stranger than she!

She felt so happy, so giddy, so free!
She didn't even notice Mike McGee

McGee was mad, as mad as he could be.
He took out his knife, and stabbed it in she

She let out a gasp, and fell to her knees
"No not now," she cried, "I was so happy!"

She fell to the ground, lifeless like a tree
And that was that, as simple as could be.

Black & White Imagery

Ring Ring, Ring Ring.
The telephone rang, shattering my sleep.
"Hello?" I greeted and asked half heartedly, as I had yet to shake the sands of sleep from my eyes.
"Hey Ethan!" It was my father. "Is Boppy home?" Boppy is the nickname I gave my mother when I was still but a wee child, and found Mommy to hard to pronounce.
"Yeah, hold on, I'll go get her," I grumbled. I yelled out "Boppy" so that she could hear it upstairs, where she was paying bills.
"Oh!" She said loudly, obviously surprised that the phone was for her. Her exclamation was then followed by the sound of a moving chair, and quick footsteps towards the kitchen, which was where the upstairs phone resided.
I waited until I could hear her voice over the phone, and then hung up.
After the conversation was over, she came downstairs and said that my dad wanted to meet us at Barnes & Noble. This caused no negative reaction from me, nor was I pleased by it either. It was just something to do on my day-off from school.
We met my father at Barnes & Noble, and he talked to my mother for a bit about the bills, the possibility of me getting glasses, and our cats and their messes. While they were busy chatting, a magazine caught my eye. At first it's grasp on my eye wasn't very strong, and I almost brushed it off, but something about this magazine was strong enough to keep me looking at it until I couldn't help myself but walk over and open it up. It was a Black & White Photography magazine. Just like the cover, the inside wasn't terribly remarkable. Just interesting enough to keep me turning the pages. Unlike most magazines, which are usually a plethora of advertisements with one or two articles here and there, this one was almost completely dedicated to photos and what the photographers had to say about them. In fact, I don't think I noticed any advertisements until I reached the very end. The photos were decent, but there were a handful of them that really stood out to me.
These handful of photos stood out so much, that I decided that I had to purchase, and further more, share the handful with everyone who actually reads what I have to say! So without further ado, here are the photos and my written explanations as to why I chose them.














I love how much the water distorts the scenery in this one. It seems very surreal to me, and surreality is something that I have been and always will be especially fond of.





















Two boys in an empty looking town. I like how the focus is very much on them and them alone, and the background is interesting enough to look at, but not overbearingly so.
















I've always wanted to take a picture of the naked body. Unfortunately, due to many factors, I've been unable to. I've always thought the naked human body is very symbolic. It's funny that we as humans wear clothes even when we don't need to. I feel that the way this picture is composed is very reflective of the theme of shame. Notice how even when the person is obviously naked, steps are taken to prevent her from being even more so. Even when someone is completely naked, they still hide something.





















How surreal does this feel? 'Nuff said.


















At this point I became very frustrated with scissors and resolved to just tear out the pictures rather than cutting them. I hate scissors. For some reason, I never could use them well.
Half the time, photography doesn't even take any talent. If you see something cool, and take a picture of it, 9 out of 10 times the picture will turn out cool as well.
















Yet another picture which I decided to rip out rather than cut out.
Notice the sad look, huddled position, and the airplane in the back. Peice together, and what does it mean?






















The girl's face is haunting. It's so expressionless. There are so many reasons for her to express something in this photo, like the fact that she's on waht appears to be a beach of some sort, or the fact that she's holding a baby crocodile, yet she continues to stare ever so blankly. Creepy.





So there they are, hope you enjoyed the photos at the very least. I regret to say that tonight my writing is not what I like to think it normally is. So forgive me for anything awkward or sloppy sounding. Thank you, and good night!

Robert Frost As Told By Darby Conley

Oh Darby Conley, you make me giggle so.

Two slugs slithered on a yellow wood
And Sorry I could not trample both,
Being one trampler, long I stood
And looked them down as fierce as I could
To where they sat in the undergrowth...

I will be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere sitting upon a fence:
Two slugs slithered on a yellow wood
And I--I ate the slug less trampled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Calculating the distance between thought and action. Understanding the action I hadn't thought. Thinking the thought I don't dare act upon.
Why do I speak what I don't want to say?
Why are the words I always want to say locked up within my mind?
They float through my mind like a fish floats in a river. But when I try to say them, they reach a waterfall which they dare not scale, and I'm stuck making gasping noises.
They say I shouldn't concern myself over it, they say that I don't have to say. But what they don't know half the problem. If only they knew, then they would understand what urgency what I want to say has.
Even right now, I find it difficult to write this peice. My mind has so much more to say, and it's almost as if there is no abstract representation to represent it.
My mind is so unkind, it keeps me guessing all the time.

The One Thing Alive (Revisited)

The Darling Sasha
Originally uploaded by Ethan Woods.

"This lake is so dead," I drearily thought to myself. The snow on the dead trees gave it the feel of a black & white movie with no plot. The only thing interesting was her. Color in a sea of black and white. A red beacon of happiness and life. I slowly began to realize that just her lone prescence was enough to fill the entire lake with the life and vigor that it normally had. What a magnificent realization! I looked into the face of beauty with both affection and admiration. How could I be so lucky to even spend a lone minute with one of such grace, let alone a whole spectacular day?! At this precise moment, the scale was balanced perfectly, and I was fulfilled. Life didn't have to have meaning, it had her. Life didn't have to have thrills, it had her. Life didn't have to have anything else at all, it had her.

Harmonious scenery, you have me enticed. You make it no wonder to me as to why I decided to take bits and peices of you and put them on paper by means of camera. Everything belonged where it should that afternoon, and I was there to witness it all. And not only did I witness it, I was a part of it. I was a part of a wonderful composition that could not have improved upon the slightest bit. I loved that feeling of belonging so. Standing there, on that island, surrounded by a frozen lake blanketed by snow, dead trees with the touch of old man winter about them, and next to the red coated girl whom I had so often admired, whether it be from near or afar. Red, the color of passion. Red, the color of blood. Red, the color of hunger. Red, the color of life. Her coat seemed to represent so many things, but only in reflection. At that time, I had no room for thoughts of symbolism, just room for taking pleasure in the scenery and situation that I had so fortunately been put in. I belonged.

Surrealistic Flower

83710021
Originally uploaded by Ethan Woods.

Dear flower, you were already the perfect model. You contrast so well with your surroundings, and nature made you easy on the eyes. Why did I feel the need to tamper with you more? Why did it seem to me that I could improve upon nature's perfect scene with the alterations I made upon this pristine captured moment? It's almost as if in doing this, I have created a small break from reality. Surrealistic flower, you are my escape.

Broken

I feel so useless, I can't help a soul.
I hope I heal fast, because this is dull.

I can't run to the house across the street
I can't run to the park with friends to meet

I can't bike down to the grocery store
(Fortunately though, I can't do my chores)

I can't walk on ice, I can't walk on sand
Without outside help, I can't even stand

I can't fix myself not one bite to eat
I need help getting up from my damned seat!

Life with a broken foot is quite a bore
The only thing left is sleep. What a snore!

The One Thing Alive

The Lovely Sasha
Originally uploaded by Ethan Woods.

"This lake is so dead," I said drearily. The snow gave it a black and white feel. The only thing there to make things interesting was her. Color in a sea of black and white. A red beacon of happiness and life. I slowly began to realize that just her lone prescence was enough to fill the entire lake with the life and vigor that it normally had. What a magnificent realization!

A Haiku

Red, Yellow and Blue!
With just three colors comes more!
Green, Purple and Orange!

An alliteration (In the key of S).

"Sadly, this stupid sickness surely stinks," Sammy Samson said to Sally Smith sourly. Sammy says so many silly statements.
"Surely you saved some salve Sammy?" striked Sarah so sure of her self.
"Sadly not so," said Sammy severely.
"So, sayonara Sammy" said Sarah, who split from the scene.
Sad, sad Sammy.

Oh Foul Temptress

Oh foul temptress of forbidden pleasures, why do you taunt me so? Why do you hide from me things that lift my spirits as high as the highest cliff? Why do you come out from your dark, murky cave only when I least desire to see your wretched form? I find the path I want to go down, and all of the fog lifts. But then you come with a different path for me in mind, and with you the fog returns so heavy that even the mere task of breathing becomes difficult.
I have been warned of your existence from other's who have met with you. Poe described you with the title "The Imp Of The Perverse," a curiosity of darker things that grows inside of one's self until one's body no longer can contain the size of the gargantuan question (which often takes the form of "what if..."). Then unleashes itself, not letting yourself diminish until you've been completely satisfied. Once this has been accomplished, you leave the poor person whom you corrupted to deal with the mess you so wickedly left him.In the story of Gilgamesh, you take the form of Ishtar the goddess, who tries to seduce Gilgamesh into engaging with you one of the most forbidden pleasures in modern society: sex. Gilgamesh is wise though. He sees through your play, and denies you. He, however, is part god. Is it possible for a lonely and insignificant mortal to deny you? Can it be done?
The moment I begin to dwell on the possibility of turning away from you, you begin to ooze out sweet words that stick in my mind like caramel."What's the worst that could happen?" You ask. Or is it I who asks this? Have I become so lost within the haze you brought with you that your path seems much more reasonable than mine? Oh how disgusting! The thought alone tears me! It stretches me! It saddens me! It panics me! It tempts me! It taunts me! It ruins me!

You, oh foul temptress, almost have your way too. In my staggering through the fog, I nearly lost all my hope. I thought that perhaps the wiser decision would be to go back, allow you to caress my body with all the forbidden pleasures you offer, and lead me down the path I dare not set foot upon. I almost give in like the worthless coward who goes through life letting it and you take advantage of him. Just as I was about to become this man, a light cut through the fog as if it were a warm stick of butter, and illuminated the very path I had chosen before my encounter with you. Glorious and illuminating reason saved me from the temptation that is you! And to think, all it had to do was show me who was at the end of the path which you were so against me following. All of the dreams, all of the sex, and all of the thrills you could have ever offered me could not ever be even half the worth of who was at the end of my trail.
So foul temptress, retreat to your cave. There, I know you will scheme new ways to lead me astray. But I've gained a new defense against your crafty corruption, which is the sheer knowledge that one doesn't have to be a god to resist you, and I shall keep that knowledge at my side everywhere I go.

Thank you.

The Walls Are Gone

A new set of literary walls have been destroyed by a wrecking ball in the form of a muse. This muse, whose writing is so expressive that one might say that a piece of her life is posted in her words every time she writes a personal passage, inspires me to play with words as if they were mere toys for my amusement.
The ironic matter within this scenario is that despite the demolition of these walls and my newfound giddiness about words, I know nothing. My sight is still predominantly subfusc. What person knows? Perhaps the destruction of these boundaries is completely insignificant in this universe that is as opaque as a thick cream. Regardless, the pleasure I hold within my discovery of this new world of abstract play is enough to give it significance to me. In the end, what is more important? Personal significance or universal significance? I say that to withhold a life filled with pleasure and glee, personal significance must be put before all other things big or small. If this is done, then one's life, however confusing it may be, will fill with meaning, and all the troubles lurking within that life will become bearable, and will slowly fill with more and more color.
I adore language.

Movie Business

I just decided that this blog will now serve the purpose of updating all you folks on the progress of My and Jonathan's movie!!! It shall be most rad-a-licioius, and will include many made up words, like rad-a-licious. The movie should start progressing soon. We're going to have a meeting this weekend. Who knows, maybe we'll even put a trailer up for it when we get enough done.
Good morning and have a good day!
-Ethan