No Mans Land

I wrote a poem, maybe four days ago about the state of mind I am in.




No Mans Land
It’s humid and black
Enveloping reality with its deep purple veil and reveals nothing
The opening has dissolved into the black of the shadow,
And I’m in the middle
Still, as a hammock missing a playful breeze
Still as the night when the universe has found peace, nearly impossible in its state
I sit, awake nor a sleep
Awaiting the light to flood in, giving birth to fresh new prisms of light
Waiting for something to come into sight
It’s a no man’s land, clear in it’s dislocation
I’m in no man’s land,
Expecting the organic push of gravity to arrive any moment
When finally; Without a thought
It places me inside an untouched socket,
Until my keen eyes follow it, and claim it
The indissoluble future arrives, with new found haste
Faster then last moments decay in a young woman’s memory




Anyways, I am moving in tomorrow...slightly nervous and excited. Hope everyone's movies are going well.

Love Hannah

-no old city can run away from having a beautiful church




-more pretty clouds




-so many of the most beautiful clouds I had ever seen, paired with the architecture I almost died








-another neat building








-so many amazing old buildings



- I don't know how to rotate it...HELP


- so many gorgeous spiral starcases

-mother and I interesting angle

-looking up! (to the future maybe? or just the pretty clouds)



that's it, I hope you like the pictures (I've been practicing my photography) I really enjoy doing it!

-the church was gorgeous

the tree seemed theatre-revolveisssh

Hello Everyone, so I am on day three of my journey towards university...it still feels far away, I thought I would post pictures...you know,of Old Montreal...hopefully you enjoy them. HOW ARE ALL OF YOU??? PLEASE E-MAILME!

love you all.

Things that Happen RIGHT before Change

All I can do is think about how I don't write enough, and how I can never finish anything. I came to the conclusion that I use writing as a tool (like many other people) to re-experience things, even if they aren't portrayed in the same order, or in a biographical reflection...which brings me to the reason why I think my "drive" to write has decreased and my need to just brew, and contemplate has increased, BECAUSE there needs to be a distinct shift for me from one point in my life to the other, so that I have a clear place that I can try and recapture, re-experience, and to incorporate positively into my memories so that I can use them for my new adventures...

that's all I have to say about that.

OTHER exciting news is that I will be starting a Revolve Society at King's (now it's obviously not official yet because I need to fill out a form when I get there on the 1st, but I'm hoping it will all work out, I will be recording how the society is doing from details to events [one of which is going to be a movie night where the girl's who are doing the film workshop will have their films displayed!] so yes, I will keep everyone up to date on the progress of the society)

Other than that, all the best to everyone! I won't have much time until the society is up and running to blog again, so this will probably be my last until september (which isn't too far away)

until next time...

GAH IT'S BEEN WAY TOO LONG SORRY!
I just would like to take the time during this post to say thank you to EVERYONE for the wonderful experience I have had so far. This has honestly been one of the most artistically enriching experiences I have ever had. I will cherish all that I have learned and hold it on closely as I venture into the foreign world of Halifax.

Please come visit me, my e-mail is hanzritz08@hotmail.com

do not hesitate to contact, share ideas, rant whatever.

who's going to shakespeare in the park on sunday?

anyways, just a short message full of love.

stay well everyone.

The Bubble has Burst!

I had a conversation with my brother while we were walking to Davisville station: well, it was more like me just talking and him day dreaming, so it was quite solitary in both respects, yet we were both actively trying to convince the other person that we were involved when really our independent thoughts were what interested us most. Somehow it worked, and no feelings were hurt.

I was thinking about how the idea of being an artist, and expressing yourself is so sensationalized and idolized at unnecessary rates. Especially for the type of environment the people I know have come from. Of course, if you come from an educated family, and are given a huge emphasis on education, and are provided with sufficient support with regards to food and shelter that you will have some extra alone time on your hands, and unless you have the brain capacity of a button, you might think once and a while. These thoughts might not make sense within the tight walls of your brain, so you might decide to write about them, after years of practice they form into stories, songs, poems, monologues, self portraits, and sculptures, it is clear that people of this environment are raised to have the time to express themselves, and yet we venerate it when some one says "I'm taking time to write" well good for you, you've had time you're whole life. NOW I'm not saying there isn't something selfless in this act, because after all, I do believe we give a little part of ourself to every piece we create, but it really says a lot about this extreme admiration that (me included) people of this environment have been extremely sheltered. What really amazes me (and this has been from people I have met through Revolve, and also through random encounters) is that, amidst moving to another country, surviving on your own in come which is not too generous, and learning a new language, an invidual finds the energy and brain capacity (which might almost be full emotionally anyways from all of the change) that they still have the extreme generosity and drive to still be creative and share. This is a new quality, and concept I admire so profoundly, that I am beginning to re-evaluate what inspires me to create.

I've learned that I can no longer feel superior, or different for writing, or doing things creative, it's what I've been raised to do, but instead of using it as vast inner monologues and self reflection to now look into other people's lives for inspiration: I'm definately going through a transition phase with regards to what inspires me, prior to the passed couple of months there were many new feelings, and experiences in my life that I could draw from as 'inspiring' but now I realize that there are many more universal ones outside of me that I must explore in order to connect outside of my tiny bubble. It's a beautiful one, don't get me wrong, but change is absolutely necessary.

Cheers!

Today's rehearsal was so exhausting, but despite the huge amount of ideas provided at all ends I still believe the show will succeed, and has so much promise.

I'm so tired right now. I'm currently dressed in a prince charming outfit. thought all of you should know...haha or if anyone reads this at all. I'm waiting for the guests. I feel like my life is a giant cannon of anticipation of waiting for events that are certain to happen, but what exactly they are is all a mystery, I suppose I would be extroardinarily egoccentric if I believed I was the only person feeling this way. I guess this existential 'suspended in air/time' sensation is fairly normal, but rather it is the way in which this suspension ceases, and we hit the ground, or the torrents of events, and the way we respond that makes each individual's experience of this existential awareness completely unique and therefore all the more solitary.

Those are my thoughts today, maybe they don't make sense, maybe they will in a thousand years, maybe they once did.

Cheers

My Friends

Friend: Jess Won

Friend: Eleanor Berenson

Friend: Emma Bell

(from left to right) : Charlotte Metivier, Sara Schabass

Friend: Amanda Sutton

Friend: Victoria Hetherington

Alexandra Santamaria, Listya, Tory Jones

Extras who haven't been mentioned yet: Monica Silberberg, and Aleks Isberg, Tory Jones

Part of being creative is being brave. In order to be brave I think a great deal of reassurance is required, all of the people I have posted pictures of on this page have given me a great deal of support, and without that I would not have the courage I require to express myself creatively. I know it's cheasy, but people are inspired by what surrounds them, and I am so lucky to be around some of the most intelligent, loyal, and wonderful women I have ever met. The purpose of Theatre Revolve is to recognize positive women, so here I am doing my first entry of recognition. I will continue to do so as I move along.

The First Few Pictures I took

-my foot against a mirror

-me (the easiest subject to find)

-hand against window

-hand against window (2)

-foot against mirror with that effect I forget the name of...

-lights inside restaurant

-the seductive crepe

-bowl

-seductive food picture (2)

...there you have it my first few attempts

Something I wrote a while ago...just thoughts

God is a Naive Passive Boy, or We are all Active Artists

I decided to abandon my work of floury fiction today to come to terms with some concrete ideas embedded within my imagination: now I must search for them. First I will begin with the concept of my story, why this idea may have arrived in my mind, and hopefully I will be able to reach some sane clarity as opposed to one drenched in passion, and lacking coherence and logic- basically projecting my insecurities for my understanding of the world onto my actual ideas, which may not be my own, but due to the irrational state of my body are shaped by the wrong intentions.

I decided to invent an idea of god, to make him a young sensitive adolescent boy who took for granted his ethereal way of life, and have suddenly all of it taken away, be imprisoned in mortality, and to conclude with an equally torturous manner fall in love with the first woman he encounters: a dying aged woman, whom he sees as utterly stunning an beautiful (an optimistic commentary on beauty, my attempt to scream at people telling them that ANYTHING can be beautiful, although I know that isn’t the case, but nonetheless it is a drive that is so apart of me that I cannot exclude it from my story, because it is the way I am telling it) I’ve been thinking a lot about god, or the lack there of due to many of life’s events that most of the world experience on a much more severe level than I have- yet it does say something that even by the minor traumas I have encountered I still feel distain to this overly divine and perfect idea. Convenient more like it. I honestly feel like if god was a tangible entity, he would be an oblivious, selfish, innocent, beautiful young man, healthy, and purely driven by his senses, never to sit and discover his emotions, I actually think he has no emotions at all- just hyper aware senses that drive him forward keeping him distracted from the detriments of time on his ailing planet. I also don’t think that god created the world, which is why it is difficult for me to believe in god. Which is why I don’t right now, I still find it fascinating though despite the fact that I don’t believe in God, that I still have this innate drive to question, and create a rationalization for it, maybe because it has been molded into our way of life, and without this concept I wouldn’t challenge it- who knows, but the fact that the first form of man had this same innate drive does cause me to question things, that it is part of being human to have a perfect idea to strive for.

I think miracles exist, but not out of the direct hand of some singular being, who determines where these miracles exist, so that I thank him with utmost passion. No. I will start with my philosophy, and why I have grown to love life so much, but I think once I get exposed to more brutality, and direct hate it will also be the reason why I feel such despair for the existence all human’s collectively share, and actively destroy for others. I always wondered why religious people found the world such a miracle, such a divine thing, I feel like things stop being divine once we eliminate the spontaneity, and unadulterated organic instinct of the process. So, let’s assume there is a God, and he created a world that he purposely tried to make, and he planned extensively, the whole seven day shebang. He thought about what every animal would look like, and thought about the perfect creature- us humanity and ONLY started working when he knew it was the right time. Now. Of course God is going to be a success, we have learned that approximately 80% of the time if we plan something out, prepare for it (practice, or a form of) we usually get what we want, unless we are striving for nearly impossible things, but this is god, and god can do anything and has no boundaries so for him as long as he has a plan he is absolutely safe: Correct? Now, how the hell can the world be this divine beautiful miracle (which are supposed to have some arbitrary quality to them which then doesn’t really follow the definition quite smoothly because God is all knowing and all calculating) if it has been perfectly planned, because after all God knows what is going to happen: yes, there is such impeccable beautiful, gorgeous sensations—but wait, profound ugliness, slime, guts, uncontrollable hate, relentless violence, brutality, all are perfect in their extreme terror and yes, God planned that too (and yes we can appreciate the beauty because of these horrible things) but, it definitely eliminates the miracle, because now we are just talking about a creative architect.

I feel the world, the earth, and every conversation that I have that makes a minor amount of sense, every time that I see a colour and some one agrees it’s the same colour, every time I share an idea and the person nods, or I sit and am accepted as being silent. I think those are miracles. I think those are pure magic, without an idea of a bearded man in the sky deciding that they are there. Why? Don’t you appreciate the beauty, and the miraculousness of life and the planet knowing that a solitary being didn’t create all of it after a long term thought? That amongst all of this terror and chaos, that right now some one is reading my letters and able to understand the words, that amongst the colliding particles there are solid elements, that there are conversations, and definitions for words (although not always completely accurate) that even despite language, and emotional discrepancies between people, we can at least get away with convincing ourselves with no shame that we are connecting. And this all started, by an arbitrary collision between two rocks in the midst of vacant space, creating some profound friction, that resulted in an explosion in the sky- some supernova of energy managed to create all of this. I don’t need God to feel lucky, I don’t need God to feel like there is something more significant than I; I feel incredible to know that by chance a few billion years later I can encounter people that are more complex (or less) than the dust particles that emanated from the first collision that started all of this life.

That first act, the first contact of two stones, began the organic cannon to the natural instinct of all forms of life (and not just humans) which is to be artistic, and to live artistically. It is about communication, and those two rocks (unconsciously) connected with one another, and shared each other’s energy to evoke a truth they both shared, and from that created life on earth. We are all innate artists, seeking to connect, and express ourselves, and by dismissing this instinct, and assuming our lives are merely contour drawings that merely offer us superficial gratification and no intellectual questioning than you are cinching the natural path of the human, and collective process of discovery of all life forms.

Everything in life is a result of an artistic drive, and thought; although not everything is art. What separates the two categories is one actively searches relentlessly for what to project, or express within herself and forms something to connect herself with universal or semi universal themes to transcend the singularity of her existence whilst the other is merely a banal pilot light to set off the prior discussed phenomenon. We all have pilots- and by we, I mean all forms of life, but humanity has managed to make it into something tangible beyond a thought process included in survival. Dismissing this potential in this tiny pilot is humanity’s tragic flaw.

We often forget, that in relation to the billions of light years which include the giant galaxy of existence that our solitary bodies are meaningless, and all that is significant is the collective body of life on our planet. We are earth. This links to our innate drive to communicate, and have people relate to our views which is the artistic drive. Communicating is our simple organism speaking to us, aware that in retrospect we are one giant piece of existence, and that if we do not create complex ways which match in the simple ways that single cells lets say execute it, then we will never come to grips with our reality that we are really just one giant muscle of animal existence. It’s ok that through our art we make ourselves seem higher, and more complicated, and powerful than we really are on our own, the point is, it brings us together anyways, as much as we like it to make us set ourselves apart as one incredible artist. Ultimately we are one beautiful entity amidst many others I’m sure in the galaxies close and far. We are communicating, and my hope in life is that I gain as much pleasure and insight I can into others so that I can make the best ionic bond to my peers as I can, so that I can hold this beautiful tissue of life together to the best of my ability—that within my control it will be strong, and consistent, I don’t know about others, but in this godless place, I find miracles all of the time, I found a miracle just now, that I can be aware of my purpose for one moment. Even if it changes, at least I am convinced. And amidst incessant chaos, that is more than enough for me for one day. Let alone a life.

BROKEN CHERRY TREES (my tentative version, plus there may be some ediiting done for length)

I saw a cherry tree for the first time in months. In perfect bloom. With vast, wide branches that seemed to grip eternity, and these vibrant, scarlet spheres dangling from its fingers. I wanted a cherry so badly--- but thankfully I remembered they were poisonous. Why is it that the things that appear the most beautiful and vibrant are the things most apt to kill you?---poison you, one of natures many riddles I suppose. This lipstick tastes terrible--oh you like it? Ya I know-I know I always say how I want to look like a throw back to the fifties with one extreme feature, my plump mouth. But doesn't it all seem abject to you?
I forgot to tell you---something genuinely exciting happened today-other than that cherry tree, nothing this exciting has happened to me in months...I was walking down College street in my pencil skirt, black backless shirt, that I have to work out all day for---and that thick black belt cinched at the waste...I grew faint, walking down the musty street, all glossed over like a sealed bag of fruit---barren of oxygen almost literally. I saw a patch of green in the distance. Blatantly organic, and I couldn't help but realize how I was blindly avoiding this quality in myself--all packaged in something I wasn't meant to wear. So I threw out that black patent leather belt you bought me, and let my gut go free for a couple of minutes, then I got self conscious and ran into the nearest Starbucks to find a washroom, as an attempt to fix my outfit, and make it work without the painful accessory...despite the hysterics, those twenty or so odd breaths were delicious, and felt more beautiful to me than the way I did suffocating inside a thick layer of shiny fabric...why are you laughing? It's not cute...I'm not beautiful when I'm dazed, and I'm not dazed, I'm not day dreaming right now I'm making note of a perfectly tangible genuine experience that happened to me abou two hours ago...what do you mean this isn't me?...I don't need a coffee...NO...no please, telling me I'm beautiful--really is the last thing I need...does it normally work?....no it never did...Jake haven't you realized that being beautiful to you--I mean can not be as fulfilling as you perceive? I'm not a creature...and humans aren't stunning---there is a comfort in being anonymous and fulfilling the conventional qualities, and structures, why must I transcend them?...
Because I allowed you to listen to meas I hyperfocused on life's visual indulgences like plump red cherries I can never eat?...I would often stand motionless as you referred to me as my beautiful in front of your friends---they'd giggle as they all gawked and geered, like hyena's aggressively tearing away the cherry tree inside of me, the limbls of the tree dissolving in their palettes, all within your grasp! Here I am, at a loss--unable to place my uprooted limbs back into earth INSTEAD OF SAYING--INSTEAD OF SAYING

I'M NOT AN OBJECT!
Jake...I'M NOT AN OBJECT I'M NOT AN OBJECT I'M NOT AN OBJECT...

Why are you laughing?

You don't believe me?...after all of this time???... why the hell should you?

Song Lyrics from Last Thursday

Blankly I watch the clouds shift by across a saphire clear blue sky
Watching shapes shift by my eyes
Wishing I could use my hands to capture time


so, I'm going to put a whole bunch of other stuff up to. This process has been so fulfilling, but I feel like so much more needs to be done on my part with regards to this blog, I finally found a pocket of time where I can just invest some quality time in its creation. I hope this is a good start. here are some pictures too.