Introduction

Why hello there strangers and friends. I welcome you to my page. Please be prepared to be horrendously dazzled by the magnificence of my wonderful blog...wait! Where are you going? I was just kidding! Come back! I know where you live!! I have muffins! Okay, there are no muffins, but now that you have returned I should like to begin.

Ehem...

Not to long ago, I quit my job. It was risky and very dangerous in this economy, but the job itself treated me in ways that no human ever deserves. It only slightly related to my degree, and not in a direction I wanted. Too make a long story short, I made the decision to get back my life and my time to pursue a what makes me happy and where I feel my talents truly lie.

I'm an artistic person. In fact, I consider myself to be a growing culture of artistic talent; right now, I'm unsure as to which one to pursue more seriously. I enjoy all arts, but I need to be smart and find out what will support me and what is my strongest ability. This is where I might also need help. As of now I am a jack-of-arts, but have yet to find out which one I can master.

The shades slowly breath in and out as the wind enters through cracks in the old window. Trees scratch desperately at the panes, fleeing from the wind. I sit in the dark corner, hazel eyes lit up blue in the light from my screen as I wonder: Could I be a writer?

Pencils litter the fine oak desk. An orange tabby stretches her paws, pushing a set of paints outwards. Multitudes of papers and sketch books collapse upon a small frame. The tiny yelp echoes off the walls. Buried under the clutter and desperately scrambling for breath without damaging the detailed and fantastical drawings, a frail porcelain girl ponders if she would ever become an artist.

Bright lights flashed violently and rapidly. The small room was electric not only from the thick wires that covered the wooden floor, but also from the elaborate visage standing in front of the bright screen. The beauty balanced her her heels much like a flamingo, but with slightly more feathers. Her eyes hinted at hidden secrets as the photographer moved to capture every clue. Together they explored the dreams and nightmares of the world. Here I sit with my camera, computer and a passion for fashion, wondering which character I am.

Music softly crescendos and figures appear and dance on a giant screen. A hundred eyed blink and laugh together, cry and scream together. In the furthest seat in the back where the cool air reaches the least, a pair of eyes watch not the screen, but the people. Holding in their possession a degree in film, the person attached to the eyes dreams about the worlds that live in the mind. A book of nightmares sits by her bed at night, waiting.

Please join me as I explore, grow, and share my own struggle. Hopefully I wont end up a starving artist, but I hear there are some really nice refrigerator boxes. I might even be able to badazzle one up a bit.