Wednesday, February 9, 2011


I've read my favorite book so many times, each time underlining more and more beautiful ideas and eloquent phrases, that nearly the entire book is underlined.

I have so many ideas. Ideas from that book. Ideas from The Daily Practice of Painting, which I'm currently reading as well. Ideas from beautiful videos on Vimeo. Ideas from conversations with friends. Ideas from classy films. Ideas from photos of complete strangers who are probably long gone. Ideas from beautiful songs with rhythmic lyrics. Ideas from everywhere. And when I do cartwheels in my studio because I need a break, I feel them rushing to my brain, ready to burst.

I just did an interview for my department, talking about animation. The kind of interview where they ask you about what you love and what are some challenges and what do you want to do after school. And I felt all of my ideas surging through my veins. I love what I do. And when I graduate, I want to do more of it.

I want to see constellations. I want to visit libraries across the country. I want to become fluent in French. I want to grow my own vegetables. I want to start a garden of peonies. I want to paint my floorboards white. I want to wake up to sunshine and beautiful shadows. I want to embroider stories into the lining of my coat. I want to collect millions of photographs and letters and personal memories of complete strangers. I want to tell stories. I want to write stories. I want to buy a cursive typewriter. I want to have a pug or two, and a pet rabbit. I want to trace shadows. I want to tangle string into knots. I want to paint on film. I want to learn sign language. I want to communicate with tin can telephones. I want to make snowstorms of paper snowflakes. I want to give Mia the biggest hug she's ever had every single time I see her. I want to make people happy. I want to let all my ideas escape before they strangle me. Because I'm pretty sure that's how I'm going to die. Maybe it's the same thing as old age. To some people, maybe. But to me, my veins would only be able to hold so many secrets, and my heart would only be able to pump so many thoughts, and my brain would become too full of memories of people I don't even know. And just like that, my body would become tired, too full of ideas, and I'd sleep.

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