The Power of the Paint Brush

The importance of having a passion is crucial, but having the passion of painting is life changing. With a brush in your hand, you can paint anything you want. You can express your feelings without using words, or you can make a statement of what you believe in. The feeling after finishing a painting that you put a part of yourself into is like a euphoria of its own. Not only can this help you express yourself, you can also do anything you want with the work of art you created. Whether you sell it, put it in the High Museum of Art, give it to a friend or family member, or even just place it in a drawer and never look at it again, you can relieve all tension that's built up inside of you by placing it on paper.
I love painting when I'm stressed out or upset because for the few minutes I'm engulfed in my work, I don't think about the things going on around me. I enter into my own world where it's just me and my paints. With the canvas in front of me I can create something to call my own, that no one can ever create with the same emotions and energy that I have in that moment. Creating art is necessary to my own survival, and shouldn't it be part of yours?

Key West

Key West is by far the most amazing place I've ever visited. It is so different from any other beach-y vacation destination I'd ever been to. As far as beach vacations go, I've never been a fan, but something about the history and the beauty of Key West is one of a kind. Everything from the one runway airport, to the hotel I stayed at and all the history throughout the island is like nothing I've ever seen before.The whole island is accessible by foot or bike. While exploring the island, every house had a old southern plantation feel with a hint of Hispanic influence. The best sights while visiting was the old Civil War fort, the butterfly conservatory and especially the home of Ernest Hemingway and his 6 toed cats. This historic town has a unique sense of beauty that everyone needs to experience once in their lives.

Passion

A passion is something every human should have in order to not only survive, but to thrive as well within this world. I have a passion of painting, and to be more specific, watercolors is my choice of mediums. The saying, “the pen is mightier than the sword,” has nothing on the brush. With a brush in my hand, I can release whatever jumbled thoughts that are fogging up my brain. My love for watercolor painting is not just a passion, it’s a therapy. I didn’t discover this passion until my senior year of high school, when my grandmother was painting at my house. Ever since, I’ve always had the desire to push the watercolors across the page and make something beautiful.   It’s so important to use art as an outlet. It doesn’t necessarily need to be watercolors, because any form of art will help release any problems or worries you have. 

In Deeper Analysis

In deeper analysis to my last blog entry, I want to discuss the two commercials again. To give a deeper meaning to the commercials as a whole, but stating the main ideas I see within them. To begin with, the Volkswagen commercial with mini Darth Vader, has the scene set in the picket fence, cookie cutter, American Dream house. The family is the ideal American family with the happy husband and wife with the 2.5 kids and a dog. The mini Vader takes you to the aspect of childhood, when everyone has a dream of becoming one of their heroes or idols. (For my dad, who is of German, Irish, and Scottish descent, he wanted to become a Native American Indian. As for myself, I dreamed of being a scientist, working up concoctions of soap, shampoo, conditioner, and toothpaste in my bathroom.) The whole commercial is set around the ideal life, which leads up to the dream coming true for the mini Darth Vader.

As for the second commercial, with the young, heavyset jogger, the ideal of reaching a dream or goal is still there. Even in the middle of nowhere, in the early morning, this heavyset boy is running to reach his goal. This commercial makes a statement to most of America, because obesity is a major problem in the United States. The commercial is meant to give you the motivation to be active in trying to reach you goal, and that with the help of the Nike brand, you goal can be achieved. Whether it’s a dream or a goal, if you put in the effort, it can all become a reality. 

Advertisements Analyzed

For my two advertisements, I picked two commercials that were shown during the Super Bowl. The first one I'm going to discuss is the Volkswagen commercial. The little boy, who strives to be the Jedi from the Dark Side, Darth Vader, goes around his house all day trying to use The Force. Every time he tries, he doesn't seem to succeed. His last attempt to use The Force that day was when his dad comes home from work. He runs out to the driveway and tries with all his might to start his dad's car, and to his amazement, the engine roars to life. Then you see the father through the kitchen window with the keys. His father wanted his son's dream to come true. The little boy had used The Force.
The entire commercial has the well known theme song to Star Wars, as the viewer is following the boy around. The commercial has you rooting for the little boy to be successful with The Force, which is satisfied at the end with the Volkswagen Passat firing up. The commercial makes you feel like a kid again, when you were running through the house trying to be a superhero or a magical princess. This commercial sends you back in time to when you tried to be come the Great, and Powerful figure you idolized as a child.

This leads into the second commercial I chose, which is called Find Your Greatness: The Jogger. The scene is set on a country road, in the early morning. The voice over talks about reaching your inner greatness and potential, which is motivating. You see a figure begin to appear on the horizon, and you would assume it was some super star athlete as the spokesperson for the Nike brand, but it's not. It's a heavy set boy running in a pair of plain Nike shoes. He's striving to be the best he can be. It makes you feel like you should go out and strive for your own personal best, just like this kid is. This boy makes you feel like you can do it because he's doing it. In the end, you need to JUST DO IT.

Superheros Get Booboos Too!

I found this ad as I was on Google, struggling to find an ad that I could enjoy analyzing. I settled with the Band Aid Brand. This is an iconic bandage brand in America to the  point where no one asks for a bandage, we ask for a Band Aid. This advertisement depicts the hand of the giant, green Avenger, the Hulk. The Hulk has a Band Aid wrapped around his index finger. This makes the statement that even though he's a strong superhero, he still uses bandages sometimes. When a superhero needs a bandage, they go to the brand as tough and strong as them, so the obvious choice would be the Band Aid Brand. The audience could be anyone from a young kid who dreams of being a superhero or an adult who's a fan of the hit movie, The Avengers. This advertisement is very persuasive in selling the strength of the Band Aid Brand.

My Hideaway on the Cartecay

Tucked away in the north Georgia mountains sits a small, gray cabin with a maroon horseshoe porch. To me, this plot of land is a diamond in the rough. Although from the outside it doesn’t seem like much, but the true meaning lies within the plot of land surrounding the building. The sloping land is always a lush, bright green, even in the winter, which is unusual in Georgia. At the back of the property, the ever flowing Cartecay River is rushing by. This hideaway on the Cartecay River is the perfect place to get away from everyday society and the place I go to be one with God and the world he created for all of us.

            Arriving to the cabin is, at first, quite deceiving due to the fact that you must drive through a run-down trailer park before you get to the road, West Rivers Edge Drive. If you’re pulling up West Rivers Edge Drive in the early morning, you are most likely going to see a few Angus cattle lining the back fence of their property and the smell of cow manure will fill the car momentarily. My father, who grew up on a farm calls that smell, “the smell of money.”  As you continue to drive down West Rivers Edge Drive, you have to drive cautiously or else you might hit one of the twenty or so feral cats that call the nearby land their home. These cats will blur by you in shades of orange, gray, white and black fur.  As you drop down a hill to the wooded area near the brink of the cabin’s driveway, always keep your eyes peeled for the white tailed deer that occasionally run across the road. When you finally reach the top of the driveway, you always have butterflies fluttering in your stomach you get the feeling of suspense as if you were reaching the top of a rollercoaster that’s about to drop. The excitement and beauty of what is to come is overwhelming. 

            Wearing shoes is optional, but I always run through the cool grass barefoot. The feeling of the soft blades between your toes and the fresh, earthy smell that fills your nose makes you feel like you could stay in that moment forever. The things to do there are endless and always tons of fun. The usual weekend retreat to the cabin includes swimming in the Cartecay, floating down the river in a tube, fishing off the bank and playing corn hole in the backyard. There’s never a dull moment at the cabin. At night, our campfire is always glowing and flickering shades of reds, yellows and oranges. You can inhale the scent of burning wood as it crackles in the flames.  If you’re up for some excitement, flying through the property on the Ranger, which is like a golf cart on steroids, is the best thing to do. It’s always a blast having the wind whip your hair in every direction and flying out of your seat as you go over the dips and bumps throughout the yard.  The cabin has so much to keep you entertained and having fun all day long, but the best parts for me don’t involve the material items that most people enjoy. My favorite things about the cabin are abstract.

            The excitement and fun activities to do are fantastic, but in the mornings when the grass is still wet with dew and the sun is barely peeking out is the best time to be outside. These beautiful, cool mornings are there to remind me that God is everywhere I look. These quiet mornings, where the only sound is the Cartecay running only feet away from the swinging bench you’re sitting on, are what make the cabin seem like the cheesy saying, “a slice of heaven.” Even though it seems corny, it’s so true for me. I never thought the cabin my family bought only two years ago would mean so much to me. Whether I’m sitting on the swing reading my Bible or fishing off the sandy bank while the sun is starting to rise I know that I’m with God. These mornings, that I’m blessed to be a part of, I can think about all the wonderful things God does for not only me, but the world in general. He has so many precious gifts in nature that in today’s technology obsessed society are easily overlooked and forgotten about. During my early morning devotionals, everything around me is present to let me know not only how God is everywhere I go, but how fearfully and wonderfully I’m made. It’s a lot like the poem called, “Footprints,” which I read for the first time at my cabin on a canvas what was left by the previous owners, describes how God is always there for you. I think about that poem on these mornings. I think about how when I only see one set of footprints through my life, that God was there carrying me through it. He will never leave my side.

            The cabin is a wonderful place. Some people can drive by a place like this and not think twice, but this spot is my secret hideaway on the Cartecay River. When I’m here I can escape from the society I live in and focus purely on my surroundings. You can simply feel God’s presence and build your relationship with him just by sitting by the water. God is everywhere, which means he’s even there when you’re constantly texting on your phones, but you can feel him with you and appreciate all he’s done for you when you set the phone down and enjoy nature.  It’s amazing how such a small cabin and with a plot of land can make such an impact on life and your walk with God. All it took for me was an hour drive from my house to the North Georgia mountains and my relationship with God became stronger. 

Zoomed In Description

Bright green, soft, squishy and cool, the grass leading to the bank feels wonderful between my toes. I usually close my eyes and turn my face up to the sun’s warmth, listening to the rush of the water. The closer to the edge of the water, the cooler everything gets. By the time my toes are in the water lapping gently onto the bank, the temperature has dropped down at least ten degrees. The water is always ice cold, but in the summers it’s euphoria to jump into the Cartecay.

The Quandt Family’s cabin in Ellijay is one of my favorite places in the world, and I hope that anyone reading this is able to understand just why I love it there so much. I love the river, the large, hill of a yard and just the peaceful area. The cabin is a place I go when I need to get away from the world. I can live life without the iPhones and TV shows that everyone seems to have as an extension of their hand these days. I can be myself and enjoy life’s simplest things for a weekend. 

Setting the Scene

The usual anticipation builds up as if you’re about to go over the edge of a roller coast. The excitement for what is about to come over takes you as you reach the top of the gravel drive. You drive down the hill to the designated less gravelly parking area and you know you’ve arrived. The cabin doesn’t look like much. It’s just a small gray house with a maroon stained porch, but the cabin isn’t what matters. Back behind the cabin is the Cartecay River. When you arrive, the most common thing to do is kick off your sandals and sprint down the rest of the hill to the bank of the river. The Cartecay river rapids constantly flow, but right in front of the property is the best swimming spot. The water is still by the giant rock in the middle of the river. Not only is this the best swimming hole in the Cartecay River, it’s also the best fishing hole. You can catch long, skinny Rainbow Trout, average sized Bass, and, what my dad considers the worst tasting fish, the Carp. The water is so peaceful, which at times is interrupted by the common kayaker or tuber floating by. There’s something about the river waters that is soothing and healing. It’s refreshing to go here to get a change of pace from your busy life. 

The Monster in Ryokan Response

In the observational essay, The Monster in Ryokan, the author, Mary Roach, describes the way she feels staying in the ryokan (Japanese Inn). Her line, "I lumbered down the footpath, crashing into bicycles and trampling tiny ornamental trees," really set the imagery for me. I can relate to this as well. For my last semester of my senior year, I had a class where I went to the elementary school and helped out the kindergarten. I always felt like a cumbersome giant in that classroom, even though I'm only 5'4". Walking into the class everyday, I felt that if I made one wrong step I might flatten a five year old. The tables were also at the perfect height to leave everyday with bruises forming on your shins. Don't even get me started about the chairs. When I sat down in those tiny chairs, I would silently pray for them not to break. Both Mary Roach and I have had to adapt to different surroundings. Mary had to adapt to the cultural differences of Japan, while I adapted to the size difference of the elementary school.

Often Overlooked

Sitting on my old, dorm room desk, with the laminate top that is supposed to resemble wood grain, sits a small, glass figurine that I often overlook. It makes sense for this small figurine, which is only the size of a large grape, to be overlooked. This small desk trinket has a clear, shiny glass body, and light pink wings to it. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s Penelope the Pig. I promise I did not name the pig. The name was on the box it came with. Penelope was something my mom saw in Pier One Imports and just couldn't pass up getting me since pigs are my favorite animal. Penelope the Pig sits on my desk as a reminder of the well-known phrase, “when pigs fly.” It’s an important reminder for myself, that even though people may tell me that I can’t do something or that it’s impossible, I know I can if I put my mind to it. Penelope the Pig has wings, which means she can do the impossible and can fly. I can accomplish anything I set my mind to, and Penelope reminds me of the Bible verse Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Anything is possible, even pigs flying.

Feathers of Life

Feathers, not the birds they fall off of, but the feathers themselves hold a mysterious, wonderful meaning to me that goes overlooked by so many. Every day, feathers are seen as a disease carrying vexation, but to me feathers are my life symbolized in an object. To the normal individual, all they see is just an ordinary feather, but I see so much more than a simple feather. One feather can be found in some of the most important and special events throughout the last ten years of my life. A feather has been in my life at the lowest points in my life, but a feather has also been there in some of the best moments of my life as well. Feathers are a gift from God, and shouldn't be seen as diseased, but as divine. I wouldn't have been able to learn some of the most influential and amazing lessons in my life without feathers.

            In order to convey the true meaning of feathers, I have to go back to my middle school years, seventh grade to be exact. Seventh grade is a rough year for anyone and I was no exception to that middle school year. Honestly, my experience was worse than the usual seventh grade student. If you saw me walking down the halls of Pine Mountain, you would see a girl with short, blonde hair, which was usually pulled back in a ponytail, and always wore t-shirts that were two sizes too big. My self-esteem was nonexistent, and my number of friends could be counted on one hand. It’s safe to say that I was depressed, but what was the reason my middle school experience could be consider one of Dante’s Seven Layers of Hell?

            A group of boys, in my social studies class, verbally abused me daily for their own personal entertainment. They stole all of the little self-confidence I had, and drove me directly into a deep depression. Name after name, I moved closer to the edge. Joke after joke, I could see the black pit was only one step from free falling. I was only one more name and one more joke from tumbling over the edge. All it took was just one more word from them and I was gone.

            On the weekends, the couch had become my home and the remote had become an extension of my hand. As usual, I flipped through the channels hoping for a movie that would kill a few hours of my dull, disheartening life. I wasn’t let down. A movie I had never seen before came on either TNT or USA. I can’t remember which channel it was. The movie was Forrest Gump. I never expected such a humorous, at least for the common history buff, movie to be such a major turnaround for me in my own life. This movie pulled me from the edge of the black pit that my toes were wiggling over the edge of. The character, Forrest Gump, lived a tough childhood. He was bullied just like I was being bullied. The main symbol of the movie is what hit me the hardest. The small, white feather, floating through the air, symbolizing how life goes on is something I took to heart. If I hadn’t been on the couch, channel surfing for a movie, I wouldn’t have had my life touched by that small, white feather.

            The lowest point of my life, there was a feather, but there have been feathers in some of the best times of my life as well. As the small, white feather symbolized, my life moved on. Those boys who tried to wreck my life in middle school were now nothing but little boys to me now.  My life had improved and I grew up. There are two very important people in my life that never let me forget that, my Grandma and Grandpa. I looked forward to their visit every year. I always knew exactly what to expect from them when they arrived.

            My grandma, who is my mom’s mom, is about 4’10”, but don’t let her size fool you. She can swear like a sailor and burp louder than a banshee. She’s always been very vocal about her opinions, which could be due to her New York background, but it’s always entertaining for me to see. Her arrival is always the same. She’ll come in, give us all hugs and kisses and proceeds to say, “Diane, [my mom] your house is just beautiful, just beautiful!” She always states beautiful with such an annunciation that sounds more like, “BEE-U-TEE-FUL.” However, soon after her arrival, the “constructive” criticism would start. “Diane, the kitchen floors are sticky. What cleaner have you been using?” or “Caroline, [my younger sister] you are so beautiful, but you’re eye makeup is really dark. You should do your eye makeup more like Samantha.” We all love grandma, even when she does her so-called constructive criticism. At the end of the day, we all know she’s only trying to help.

            When grandma took a break from “helping” us improve our lifestyle, I would go sit on the floor, next to the lazy boy grandpa would sit in. Most of the time he would be watching a movie ON Demand, or trying to watch the newest boxing match, but if I was lucky, he would take out his banjo. This was always the best part of their visit. If I close my eyes I can still hear the twang of the plucked strings. I can still see my grandpa’s usual outfit of jeans, a plaid, button up shirt, and a baseball cap. I especially remember his baseball caps.

            The hat I remember the most is his Native American Pride hat with the chief in a headdress full of feather on it. My grandpa was part Black Foot Indian, although he’s not my biological grandpa, I considered him blood. He was the only grandpa I ever knew, and as far as genetics is concerned, they can believe whatever they wanted, but I know what’s in my heart. I believe family is the people who love you the most and not what is on a genetic test. My grandpa is and always will be a part of me, and he is the warrior chief with the headdress full of feathers.

            Thanksgiving of my junior year of high school the tables had turned. Instead of Grandma and Grandpa coming to visit us in Georgia, my family packed up the car and made the seven hour drive to Zephyrhills, Florida. At the time, I never knew how bitter sweet this visit was going to be. I spent the whole trip sitting and talking with both of my grandparents, and soaking up every moment with them. My grandma is an artist and she had taken out her watercolor paints to give the grandkids something to do.  

            Little did she know watercolor soon became my passion. When I have a brush in my hand the whole world around me disappears. I go to my own world, where all the anxiety and stress of the real world doesn’t exist. I can still remember the first painting I ever did. It was that Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house. In the corner of the room, next to the TV, she had a pot with peacock feathers sticking out of it. I took one of the feathers out of the pot and laid it on the table next to where I was all set up to paint. I picked up the brush and pushed the purples, blues, greens, and gold across the paper. Soon enough I had finished my first painting, a peacock feather.

            It’s funny to think that a feather can make such significant changes in my life, but it happened. I know feathers are a strange thing to have a connection to, but it teaches us that it doesn’t matter how small or insignificant something might seem, it can still make a difference in our lives. God made everything for a reason. Everything in this world is significant because the Lord our God made everything around us. He embodies, loves and cherishes everything thing and we should all strive to do that as well. For me, it only took some feathers to realize how powerful, wonderful, and divine my God is. All it takes in just one thing to make a change in your life, even something as small as a feather.

            

Feathers, Feathers, Feathers

As most reflections go, there is one main setting, however, mine has three. To start, we have to go back to my seventh grade self. Looking at me, you see at that time, you see a 5’2” blonde with her hair in a messy ponytail and wearing a baggy t-shirt two times her size. Seventh grade was my personal rock bottom. Name after name, joke after joke, the group of boys in my social studies class had no idea that they were continuously driving me closer and closer to the edge. Before I got close enough to take the final leap, I was pulled back by a movie and the symbolism of feathers.

The next place we have to go is my suburban home in Marietta, Georgia where I was raised. My grandparents would come visit at least once a year, and there was always one thing I would look forward to as their visit drew closer: my grandpa strumming his banjo. If I close my eyes I can still hear the twang of the strings being plucked in such a way to form a melody. I can still see my grandpa, in his usual attire of jeans, a button up plaid shirt, and his favorite baseball cap. I especially remember the baseball cap. This cap had a Native American chief on it. The chief was looking brave in his headdress flowing with feathers.

The final and most expressive milestone to mention is my trip to Zephyrhills, Florida in 2011. My family packed up the car and made the seven hour trip to my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving of my junior year. This holiday turned out to be one of the most important holidays of my life. My grandma, who is an avid painter, brought the world of watercolors into my life. Little does she know just how big of an effect watercolors had on my life.  I can still vividly picture my first inspiration. There was a decorative pot in the corner of the living room, with long, tall beautiful feathers coming out of it. I picked up the paint brush and pushed purples, blues, greens and gold across the paper until I had finished my first piece of art, a peacock feather.  

Feathers

Feathers, not the birds they fall off of, but the feathers themselves are full of meaning. Everyday, feathers are overlooked and seen as a disease carrying vexation, but to me feathers are a representation of my life. To the normal individual, all the see is just an ordinary feather, but I see so much more than a simple feather. One feather can define the lowest points, the highest points, and even life changing moments that I have lived through. Feathers are a gift from God, and shouldn't be seen as diseased, but as divine. I wouldn't have been able to learn some of the most influential and amazing lessons in my life without feathers.

Reflection on a Reflection

The Open Door, by Rebecca Solnit, spoke to me. The story as a whole is easily relatable for anyone, but for me I can definitely empathize with her story. Her reflection on how she learned the meaning of the word LOST, is completely different than my own, but ends the same way. The beginning of her reflection states a quote from a philosopher named Meno, “How will you go about finding that thing that nature of which is totally unknown to you?” I really wish I had found this quote when I was going through my own struggle with being lost. She took this quote and she ran with it, discovering what it meant to her.

                Throughout her story, the main place she describes and gives her analogies and examples of being lost is from her trip to the Rockies, (or should I say trips). Her descriptions of the scenery makes me feel like I’m hiking alongside her, “Between white columns of aspens, delicate green plants grew knee deep, sporting leaves like green fans and lozenges and scallops, and the stems waved white and violet flowers in the breeze.” These were the same woods she had been lost in before, but her mood when describing them is serene.

                The ending of the story is what is the most important of it all. This is where she lists the definitions of LOST. “Lost has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing.” This is a story I should’ve read a few years ago when I was struggling daily with depression and anxiety. I could’ve learned how it’s ok to get lost, because if you never get lost, you never discover and learn things. The only important thing is when you do get lost, there is always going to be someone there to help you find your way back. Trust the Lord, he would never lead any of His children into uncharted waters unless he knew there would be a sailor to save us. 

Independent [ ìndə péndənt ]

        1. Not controlled by others in matters of opinion or conduct.

                  2.    Killing the bug crawling across the floor; getting used to waking up to an alarm; learning how to do laundry without shrinking anything; cleaning up after yourself; learning how to fix a hole in the wall or tighten a screw; having to make your own doctor’s appointments or any other general appointments; making your own chicken noodle soup when you have a cold; having the ability to manage both a budget and your time.