1960s vs Post-1980s Liberals [Reblog]

Hey, all. So, I know I’ve been great about writing content once a week that isn’t art-related and I’ve got a barrel full of excuses that I could give to try to make it okay, but the bottom line is that I am content-less today.

However, I stumbled upon this wonderful post written by another blogger, and I’m going to share it here for your enjoyment! Bonus points: It’s hopefully going to lead into a related post by me, later this week. I’ll try and make up for my lack of words very soon!

Source: 1960s vs Post-1980s Liberals

Negative Shrooms

Negative Shrooms is a photography of, well, negative mushrooms. One of my more creative names, I know 😉 It was taken at Steilacoom Park in Lakewood, WA using a film camera. They were huge! And I know, yeah, I’m a city kid so I quite (probably have no concept of what a truly huge mushroom looks like, but they were the size of my palm o_o I was pretty impressed.

Anyhow, the only edits this one got was a very basic color fix and then the somewhat-more-noticeable color swap. Usually, turning an image negative isn’t a great idea since the colors don’t really work together very well, but apparently yellow mushrooms on green plants do.

When I do photography, I really have a thing for close-ups or otherwise abstracting whatever the subject is. Besides, I feel like I’m better at that than, say, landscape shots. You be the judge though, because I plan on sharing ALL the things with you guys!

Don’t forget to check out more of my work at Amandageddon‘s facebook (Etsy to come soon…)!

Why My Husband is Not Lucky to Be with Me

There’s a type of (usually) well-meaning phrase that my husband and I (and couples everywhere) hear all the time from just about everyone at one point or another, and it goes something like this…

Upon a friend/family member of his first meeting me:

• “OMG she’s [describe physical appearance here], you’re SO lucky!”
• “Woah, she’s WAY out of your league!”

Upon being walked in on while I’m making dinner/cleaning/just-doing-my-damn-job-whatever-that-may-be:

• “He is SO lucky to have a woman like you.”
• “Wow, and she [verb here]?! You lucked out!”

The topic of relationships is brought up:

• “Well, he’s lucky to have someone like you, how did he even do it?”
• “You’re so mature, you deal with so much, I hope he realizes how lucky he is.” (Umm…. presumptuous much?)

The list of comments that fit into this category is expansive and occasionally goes into much expounding about just how lucky this man apparently is. And you know what, he is lucky, in the same way that one might be lucky to have a very close friend or a strong relationship with a parent. But you know what we almost never hear? We aren’t told anything like, “Amanda, you’re lucky to have a man like Kyle.”

And there are so many things that are wrong with that. Now, at the risk of stepping on toes, offending relatives and being informed that I am ‘overreacting’, I will now tell you all what is wrong with this picture (and then I’ll tell you why I am absolutely not overreacting).

First of all, the implication that he is lucky to have me because I am beautiful is insulting to both of us. Are men still expected to be so shallow that we judge their taste in partners by just their appearances? Are women still expected to fill this role, caring more about the visual impressions we leave on others before all else? And to follow this thought, I must be beautiful indeed if this one trait is enough to overshadow all that he has to offer as a human being and thus render me ‘out of his league’.

No person’s looks are great enough to overshadow the entirety of another person’s humanity. One’s looks aren’t even enough to compensate for or overshadow their own humanity.

Furthermore, holy crap, get to know us. I am NOT my skin, my figure or even my hobbies. And my husband is so much more than his paycheck or his amazingly optimistic outlook on life which is too often mistaken for childishness.

Now, yes, I know, if you’re saying it in front of me you’re probably trying to give me, and maybe even him, a compliment. Doing it at his obvious expense (and less obviously at mine) isn’t the way to go though.

So, “how did he even do it” [get this way-out-of-his-league-woman], you ask?

Well, he drugged me shortly before dazzling me with all the romantic tricks that work in the movies but in reality would never be a good enough basis to marry somebody on, because apparently men who don’t make enough money have to resort to ‘cheap’ tricks in order to get anything.

He got me to marry him based on his quirky sense of humor, his optimism and his love of learning new things; he somehow managed with his passion for helping others, his work ethic and his patience and adaptability in the face of whatever is thrown at him; he did it through communication, understanding and helping to build mutual respect for one another.

 And he didn’t stop there; he held me up to a standard of what kind of person he wanted as a life partner. He required intelligence, humor and a willingness to be part of a team and not just a monthly expense. He required that I not be petty or dishonest, that I have a moral compass and the same love of life that he possesses.

Yes, he’s damned lucky to have a partner like me. He’s just as lucky as I am to have someone like him. We are lucky that we’ve managed to build a strong relationship comprised of two equals, each with things to contribute and things to keep building on.

Why This is Important:

The words we use have a more profound effect than many of us are comfortable with admitting. Even now, I write this partially out of anger, but overwhelmingly out of compassion for the husband who feels devalued on a regular basis by both friends and family; I write it for all the teenage boys and men I’ve known who have come to believe that their value only stretches as far as their salaries. I write this out of compassion for a younger self and the girls and women I’ve grown up with who are shown at every turn that their value only goes as far as their visual appeal.

Being aware of our words and all the implications therein is important because words are what build our relationships, which build our communities, which build our culture. This awareness is what gives us the ability to make changes for the better in the world around us; coversely, ignorance of this reality only causes our problems to deepen and helps to keep these outmoded values in place.

To conclude, while a comment about a man’s luck in having a woman may seem harmless, it sends out a much more important message to everyone in earshot that perpetuates the gender traps that both men and women are resentfully tangled in. Being aware of what you say is to be aware of how you think; it’s to be aware of the impact you are making every day on everyone around you, in a ripple effect throughout the community and across generations.

Nauthiz / Black Bird

I drew this to be the cover to a poem compilation of my favorite works several years ago (Which I may or may not someday upload in its entirety). Nauthiz is a rune meaning “pain, constraint, necessity” in the context of growing through these things. “What doesn’t destroy me can make me stronger”; without conflict, things would grow stagnant and die… however, conflict without mindfulness often becomes nothing but destruction.

I believe that we have wasted our time here if we don’t spend our lives always trying to learn new things, be better than we were before. I draw on Nauthiz’s essence also when I need to create change… this almost always has painful backlash, and it is important to keep perspective when the temptation to be complacent is strong.

So you see, here, that the black bird is leaving what was probably once a beautiful field of roses when it becomes clear that it’s time here is almost done – the bird’s home, the tree, is dying. What good is all the beauty in the world if you are all alone, with no place to land?

Each unique print is hand numbered and signed. It is available in 8.5 x 11 inches for $12. Leave your mark somewhere on my blog (go find something you ‘like’, or leave a comment) for a drop down to $10, or $8 if you fancy my work or words enough to share it with your friends. Each print is mailed off the next business day.

You can find me (and my other work!) on Amandageddon‘s facebook or email me at magune@live.com to set up shipping; my paypal is also linked to this email address.

The first poem in the Anthology of a Race (by Dean Koontz in his book, Mr. Murder)

At the point where hope and reason part,
 lies the spot where madness gets a start.
 Hope to make the world kinder and free -
 but flowers of hope root in reality.
 
 No peaceful bed exists for lamb and lion,
 unless on some world out beyond Orion.
 Do not instruct the owls to spare the mice.
 Owls acting as owls must is not a vice.
 
 Storms do not respond to heartfelt pleas.
 All the words of men can't calm the seas.
 Nature - always beneficent and cruel -
 won't change for wise man or fool.
 
 Mankind shares all Nature's imperfections,
 clearly visible to casual inspections.
 Resisting betterment is the human trait.
 The ideal of utopia is our tragic fate.

An Open Letter to My (mostly) Immediate Family

Today I have decided that I am done telling myself that I was hell growing up; I am done swallowing and perpetuating this lie that I was ‘just a difficult teen’.

I am done allowing myself to believe all the things about me that were and are said by you, each and every one of you who do not know, cannot know, everything about my life, my mind. I’ve never believed that your cruel, sometimes-well-intentioned and other-times-on-purpose remarks about ‘me as a teenager’ were justified, yet somehow I managed to swallow the essence, the judgements themselves – hook, line and sinker.

(A sampling):

I was hell to be around, miserable to live with

I was a drama queen

I just liked the attention, I just liked getting reactions

I hated people, especially kids

I was probably bipolar

Each and every one of you is guilty of having said these (and more), without regard to anything I may have had to say to defend myself and before I hadn’t yet decided it was a monumental waste of time to try explaining myself to you. Back then, the forces that kept my silence were different; the patience and compassion that would have broken the shell away were more difficult for you to summon up than simple dismissal.

At my most optimistic, you probably think I’ve written this as a blame letter, or to ‘call you out’; maybe you even feel a little guilty.

The evidence-based part of me believes that many of you are ‘oh please’-ing and eying the aforementioned drama queen line, thinking, “well, you were!”.

To both imagined parties of my family: It’s actually neither. While I don’t deny that it most certainly is cruel to say those things and (especially if you’re adults) that you should probably feel ashamed of yourselves, I’m writing this more for me than for you. I am writing this to solidify my freedom from believing the implications behind everything you’ve repeatedly, day after day, told me since I was thirteen. I am affirming the truth behind my actions, both then and now.

I will not invalidate everything that has happened to me to make me who I am by sheepishly agreeing with your quip about how impossible it was to be around me as a teenager. I will not laugh self-consciously as you assure me that my son (my innocent, baby son) will be just as difficult as I was – I’m actually going to stop right here to say this, which I want made loud and clear:

 No matter how jovial the intent behind your words, you leave my son out of this.

You may not realize how cruel saying those things are, and you certainly don’t know how fucked-up constantly hearing them made me, but I will not allow you to twist my child.

It’s strange to me, and very sad, how people can sometimes live most of their lives with each other and know so little about them. I said as a teenager, repeatedly, “you don’t know me. You have no idea what my life is like”. Did you think that my life began and ended with my entrance and exit from our house? Did you really believe that the things I did at home, and the things you heard from teachers, was all there was to my life?

I know that’s not true, and I know that you all know it isn’t true – after all, that’s completely silly. So why did you act like it was? Did you think that serious or harmful things couldn’t possibly happen outside our home, or did you just tell yourselves that you’d somehow know about it if something did happen? As far as your ignorance goes, I know that you aren’t entirely at fault, but if you knew much at all about me I feel it should have been that I am not a mean person. I thought for months that you’d figure out that instead of shouting at my acting out, you should instead be compassionate. I was sure you’d realize that there was something behind my sudden changes, which practically struck overnight.

What happened then is that I got bitter, and hurt, and I got really pissed off. None of you knew who I was, and none of you cared to find out. You’d made your judgements about who I was and there was no changing it. Met with scorn and disdain anytime I tried to tell you that you just didn’t understand, I finally gave up.

And, that’s what finally made me ‘stop being a bitch’ to all of you. I realized, one day, that my desire not to tell you had become stronger than my desire for you to understand. And then: there’s no point complaining about being misunderstood unless I care enough about it to teach you. I still don’t care to try.

Here’s the thing, and I never understood how anybody could miss this: Regardless of age, all people have feelings, and they’re just as valid as your own adult feelings. Children and teens are especially open to the words of those around them. What I never understood is why you all said the things you’ve said. Did you never stop and think about the consequences of your actions? Were you just cruel, were you looking for a reaction (perhaps one where I would be stunned into revelation, which would cause me to disregard my problems as if they never happened)?

I *certainly* didn’t take it to heart that almost each and every one of you was completely astounded that I’ve turned out to be a half-assed decent mother. Maybe all of you who actually have feelings would be hurt by statements like, “It’s so weird seeing you being nice to that tiny baby!”, but I, apparently, shouldn’t be. What the fuck did you expect, would it have satisfied your expectations if, whenever you came to visit, it was to the symphony of my son’s hopeless wails?

Perhaps it comes as a surprise to you that rather than ‘tame the beast’, what my husband did – what all of my friends have done – is treat me like a person with feelings. With the compassion and empathy required for any good relationship, they got to know me, we built trust. Believe it or not, I was a completely different person around them than the one you knew because of that trust.

I’ve wanted to say so much to the world for so many years but haven’t. The fear and self-consciousness is hard to let go of. But apprehension doesn’t mean much to me anymore; after all, I know now that I don’t have to explain myself to you, I don’t have to justify my actions to anyone but myself. I owe it to myself to be kind to myself, to stop tearing myself down. You’ve all taught me some valuable things about how I don’t want to raise my own son, so I guess there’s always a silver lining.

To conclude, I don’t want or need your questions or guilt or anger, or anything. Really, just don’t bother. If you’ve stopped saying all those aforementioned things, chances are that we’ve already begun building a better relationship. If you haven’t, well the ball’s still in your court.

– Amanda

P.S.  Maybe next time you’re stuck dealing with a difficult kid, stop that judgy part of your brain and just listen. They may not be ready or willing to talk, but we all deserve to be treated like people.

Spires

First, allow me to say that I am (almost) in no way good at naming things. One has only to look at this photograph for evidence. However, I’m quite good at naming my video game characters, I think… gotta speak up in my own defense here.

Monsters

Sometimes I wish I’d never had a baby, even though my husband and I planned and dreamed about having children for years before it finally happened. I don’t wish this because I dislike having him around, and not because of how much work it takes… but sometimes I feel like this was among the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.

I feel this way because I am every day, constantly reminded that there are monsters living inside of myself.

Duality

Ollo! I’ve decided to ‘import’ everything I plan on selling in my shop here to  WordPress, so here’s the first. I debated for a good while about the merits/detriments behind talking about what inspires each piece before deciding that sharing one’s inspiration is almost always a good thing.

I drew this (on watercolor paper, very important) as my first exploration into using watercolor pencils (oodles of fun, by the way) and then uploaded it into a free online editor and played around to create the final product. For those of you who aren’t familiar with watercolor pencil, there’s a lot you can do with it! For this one, I drew the whole thing like I would with a regular colored pencil, and then traced over it with a damp paintbrush. You can also dunk the pencil for nice, solid lines or hold it over the page and brush something wet along the ‘lead’, causing a spatter effect. Like I said, oodles of joy to be had from them 😀

I’m really into exploring the duality of the human condition…

How to Decide if Circumcising Your Son is for You

There are many heated parenting debates being waged every day. One such topic is about making the decision whether or not to circumcise your baby. I’ve compiled the most relevant points from both sides that I could find and think of and listed them here (with, of course, my commentary).

There are many good reasons to have this procedure done:

• Your son will look just like his father. You know, because your kid is going to be constantly bombarded with the sight of his father’s penis. It would be best to avoid that awkward conversation about the diversity and acceptance of human appearance and simply teach conformity. I’m sure it’s easier too.

My Nothingness and My Child

“Today I am feeding my depression, not to help it grow but because it has been deprived and neglected. There is something I read once that resonates with me: that in order to move past something, we must first fully immerse ourselves in that thing; we must allow the thing to have a voice.