I unconsciously believed that love is only defined by the willingness to sacrifice my own needs for the needs of others.
My name is Evelyn and this is There and Back Again, a space for my art and my writing.
**All of the work (writing, art, etc) posted here is entirely of my own invention unless explicitly attributed to someone else.**
*Autobiographical pieces are not intended to be an historically accurate account of events in my life. Almost all of my writing contains some fictional element.*
You can find my painting and drawing cross-posted at elizavetarose.deviantart.com.
Also, I’m kind of a dork. Find dork me at my fandom blog: leclairage.tumblr.com.
**All of the work (writing, art, etc) posted here is entirely of my own invention unless explicitly attributed to someone else.**
*Autobiographical pieces are not intended to be an historically accurate account of events in my life. Almost all of my writing contains some fictional element.*
You can find my painting and drawing cross-posted at elizavetarose.deviantart.com.
Also, I’m kind of a dork. Find dork me at my fandom blog: leclairage.tumblr.com.
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I’ve opened the windows and I can hear the river now, the waves beating on the rocks.
I can hear the port, the ka-thunk of steel containers lifted and settled back down. On the porch I know I’ll feel the coal dust under my feet, but lying here in my bed I wonder if I can smell it too.
So I breathe deep, but all I get is wet and salt and earth.
I turn off the lights, and turn towards that window. I look at the waves with my ears, until their unsteady, perfect rhythm gets in my veins and rocks me to sleep.
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➜2 am and I’m still awake, writing a song,
If I get it all down on paper
its no longer inside of me,
threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
and I know that you’ll use them, however you want toBreathe (2 am), Anna Nalick -
➜Freedom, if you have it, YOU own yourself. You are a slave if you don’t. Freedom should not be taken for granted. If you have Freedom you make the choices in your life. Freedom means that you will live the way you like.An excerpt from my second grade journal
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John Miller at the Chrysler Museum
John Miller was a visiting artist at the glass studio while I was interning, and I had an amazing time filming his performances. He’s actually from New Haven, which is where I’m at school, and I’ve since wondered what the glass scene is like here but I haven’t had time to investigate.
I shot and edited all of this (and it was awesome). It’s a compilation of him (and the studio team) making the donut, wings, and Doumar’s ice cream cone, and was the first time I really got an opportunity to use the studio’s new camera.
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Introduction to Glassblowing at the Chrysler Museum of Art
I spent last summer interning with the Chrysler Museum of Art. I served as the video intern at the their beautiful, state of the art glass studio.
This is one of two informational videos on glass processes which I produced, directed, shot, and edited. The other is about flameworking - check it out here.
Being able to learn about glass and engage with the incredible staff of artists working there was an incredible experience. Not to mention that glass is the most exciting thing to film ever :)
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Poesia and Ostuni
While I was an intern at the Chrysler Museum Glass Studio, I edited the footage they had on hand from the visit of Italian master glassblower Lino Tagliapietra. This video is now on view in the Chrysler Museum’s glass galleries, next to the two pieces which he produced during his visit. Their glass collection is one of the best in the world.
I also edited the footage from the Burnt Asphalt Family, a performance art group. Check it out here.
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It’s warm again.
Do you feel that? What? The sun.
We smile together, long and sweet.
I remember heavy, shining summers, ice shifting on my tongue and the smell of chlorine thin on the air. Dipping into the pool and dipping out again just so I can feel the water lift off into the heat. Rolling sunscreen on my fingertips, dotting the pages of my book with oil and water and sweat.
Some nights, I start out on the balcony, flirting with the press of the wind. My hair still wet, dripping on my back. There’s no sweat left now, I’ve washed it all away, exposed myself. Pain edges in on my shoulders, my collarbones. I wonder what color I’ll be tomorrow. The wind whistles, high and fierce and I’m hoping for a storm.
It’s so much better down on the ground feet in the grass, the cold and warm and the summer night. Fear gets mixed in there somewhere, all delicious and bright and hard.
And then I’m on the pier like I couldn’t have been anywhere else, thinking don’t get a splinter don’t get a splinter. The fear glowing and burning and turning reckless and needy as the wind pushes and screams and fights and begs. Each step is louder and harder and better.
At the edge, and the river is rolling and beating at the pilings. I reach my feet down and hope that it will hit me too. Not enough, not hard enough. I force myself up, turning my face into the wind and asking for it, asking for the hit, asking for the pull, asking to be unmade and scrubbed out of myself.
It grips my hair, hard and fast and sharp, whipping it away from my face. The tangles are knotting together, and I know how much the brush will hurt later tonight, but its worth it, its all worth it to feel this. My dress pressed so tight to me its almost not there, almost nothing but me and the river. Me and the wind and the spray and the noise.
I can almost feel the pain and the passion fierce falling away because its drowning in the wind. And I love feeling the power, love pulling on it until it fills me up, pushes the rest of me out and away into the water, leaving my hurts and aches in pieces on the pier.
The memories blink away, and I’m back in the almost summer spring day. There’s no wind to take the aching need away here, there are no waves, no storm. There’s only the sun’s hot weight on my face and I can’t drown there. I can’t drown in that. I reach and pull all my rage and fire and need into myself, hold it tight and close in the back corner of my mind and push on my heartbeat saying calm down, beat slow for me now. Beat slow, beat slow. Beat slow for me now.
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New artwork!
