Everyone says that art is an escape from the stress and chaos of everyday life, and it is. But for me, it’s not only an escape; it’s an outlet for my emotions. It is a way that I can express what I’m thinking and feeling without directly stating it and in a way that it’s also open for interpretation. 

Free Spirits











The Beauty of Ink on Skin

        She’s considered an outcast. Rejected by her peers and ignored by her parents. She does what she wants and doesn’t care. Because, after all, who is there to care anyways? Her hair is cut short with red and white dye creating a beautiful masterpiece that requires much upkeep. Her facial modifications in the form of an eyebrow and septum piercing look so natural she could have been born with them. The tattoos on her arms, hands, neck, and angles bring her skeptical looks from many people, looking at her as if she’s dirty, uneducated, and worthless.
They judge her. Do they know her? They do not. Do they care? They do not. Whne she walks into her day job at a local café, her co workers stare at her and ask her demeaning questions.
“Why do you have piercings on your face?”
“Do you ever eat? You are disgustingly skinny.”
“When was the last time you washed your hair?”
The same questions, and sometimes new ones, are asked over and over again. She tries to play them off as if she doesn’t care, and most days she doesn’t. But sometimes, enough is enough and she loses it. She loses sight of herself, who she is, and what she cares about. Sometimes, they win. But when she feels like self harming that’s when she resorts to do what they find so disgusting – body modification. She draws a beautiful piece of artwork, especially tailored to a clean spot on her body. She draws it over and over again, trying to make it perfect. She will only get her own artwork tattooed on her body. She says it makes it more meaningful, more personal.
She goes to the shop and pulls out her drawing, telling the artist this is exactly what she wants. She wants a gladiolus flower on the dent on the front of her stomach between her side and her belly button. She chose this because she didn’t have any floral type artwork on her body. But the most important reason is always be meaning behind the piece. The meaning doesn’t need to be universal, but sometimes it is. The meaning doesn’t have to be understood by other people, but sometimes it is.
The gladiolus flower is the flower that was given to gladiators after a victorious battle. It’s become a symbol of the strength of character. She sees each negative interaction with a person as a battle. A battle that she is determined to win – so she overcomes each interaction within herself, somehow creating a stronger sense of self each time. The battle with the pain of the needle, pulsating ink into her skin to create this permanent decorative composition, also makes her feel deserving of the gladiolus flower. The pain builds character. Each time, her character is broken a little in the moment, but afterwards she comes out stronger and happier than before; just like each negative comment she receives.
She will not allow others to beat her down in the long run. She will come out on top. She will prove the world and the stereotypes wrong. She will be triumphant; a gladiator.

Body Modification

Body modification. Tattoos and piercings. When seen they are judged. But when they go unseen no one judges. Why is that? Simple body modification shouldn’t decide if a person is good or bad, socially acceptable or an outcast, cool or nerdy, clean or dirty. Body modification is a form of expression and an outlet. Some get tattoos or piercings because they know it will be painful at some level, no matter how mundane or severe the pain is – it’s still pain. It’s pain inflicted upon the body but not (usually) by oneself. It’s pain without the outcome being scars – ugly, shameful scars. It’s pain with the outcome of something more beautiful than clean naked skin. It’s pain for a reason, pain with a product, pain for remembrance.

Flash Fiction

            The telling of the story itself was the intriguing piece of the entire conflict. That was the part that the people enjoyed the most. Adding more twists and turns each time it was told, transforming the real event into something more dramatic, more exciting.

            He was a prominent executive of an enormous company. She was his temporary secretary. It just happened. The affair began a dark Friday night. It was raining. She was behind on paperwork and he was behind on a presentation he had to give to the company the next morning. She knocked on his office door, expecting to walk in on him busily working at his desk. But instead what she found was much more surprising. He was leisurely lounging in his big director chair drinking a glass of red wine. She tried to leave quickly but he invited her in. The shades were drawn, making the room much darker with the dim lamp on his desk turned to the lowest power. Mood lighting.

            He was slightly drunk when he poured her a glass of her own. The dialogue turned from uncomfortable to mutual seduction quite quickly. But neither of them cared to stop. One thing led to another, resulting in many more drunken Friday night ventures.

            As it was bound to happen, one night they were not alone, though they thought they were. Hearing the laughter and ruckus in the office, another employee only assumed what was happening behind the closed doors confining the CEO and his newfound mistress. This led to the leaking of the affair, as well as the CEO’s divorce, loss of his position, and the downfall of the company. The chain of events led to hell for everyone involved. The spiral went down, taking her and him with it.