Have you ever read your personal notes of something whose memory blurred after years? What did you feel? 📖📝
Alle Notizen, Gedichte oder Erinnerungen helfen uns zu erkennen, wer wir heute sind und wer wir waren.
Das Auffrischen ist dann aufschlussreich, wenn Entwicklung stattgefunden hat. 📚🖌
It would probably take me a long time to name myself. It's so easy to forget to love yourself and feel inadequate. But the fact is, you're never inadequate because you are fearfully and wonderfully made. And you're already loved by the One that matters most. That alone should be enough to love yourself. But as humans, we tend to forget and look at our failures, letting it define us rather than build upon what He already defined! Just remember that after everything you've been through, you are still standing.
In every journal I've had, I can't stand to have empty space. Empty spaces are meant to be filled with thoughts (which I have a lot of). Tonight I found some empty space and filled it with the following: "I'm tired of cutting straight lines. I'm tired of finding my imperfections and trying to fix them. What's the difference between a goal and a conformity? I want to know. Today is not what it used to be. We are everywhere and we are concerned with everyone. When did we stop caring about words on paper, images on canvases, meaning in expression, the power of a pen? All we need in life is fresh air, pen and paper, God, and a dog. The rest will be filled in the lines by curious and ink stained hands." So here's to the first time of my sharing my semi-comprehensible thoughts as a sleep deprived 20 year old. I hope it inspires you to fill in the blank spaces 🙏🏼 goodnight 💓 #journaling#latenightthoughts#fillingintheblanks#journal#collage#magazinecutouts#paperandpen#currentlylisteningto#boniver#caamp#goodnight#tsned
This giant drawing and I have an interesting relationship. Ultimately, it was pressed out of me by near crippling hopelessness working the night shift at an awful call center while dealing with ending a 4 year romantic relationship, the increasingly ugly divorce of my parents, and depression. I used to sit at my office desk and run ball point pens dry on pads of paper just to cope. The page went from lined yellow to solid black. The putrid smell of ink made me sick.
Then one day waiting for the shrill ring in my headset, a curve appeared instead of scribbles. I was so curious what would happen that I gave myself the permission to see. Then I wondered what would happen if I truly gave myself the space to explore. I went home to make a 6'x4.5' mural in the coming months. The beast changes with my mood. Most of the time it is my friend: a trophy that I grew stronger from that hurt. Other times it's magnetic and ominous to the point I have to sleep on the couch as I dont feel safe near those dark thoughts that consumed me when I made it.
Swipe right to see the giant doodle I made January to March.
Ultimately, murals are what I want to do. Who wants to donate their wall? •