A Book for Freedom

        
               Love. Hope. Peace & Dreams
( Marker Pens, Special Pens, Magazine cut-outs, Old Diary )

Patterna

      Aquarelle Pencils on Sketch Paper.

I made a mad box ~

So, my mum tired of seeing my mess of colors and pencils and paints and paper and sheets and gunk in the what in her opinion should be an impeccable family study, gave me this box, that was given as a case for some bed linen set.

Well.. I took it, put all my stuff in.. the box was comfy inside but looked weird and fugly outside.

And...then.. I gave it a makeover . Haha! coupla ol' magazines - Record and Ananda Vikatan to be exact and a French newspaper and gum and glue and sequins and a days work later. It looked like this. What do you think. Its no normal box no more :D


P.S : People are ordering in for me to make them custom boxes like these. woohoo. Collages are fun !

For more photos -Top of the box - 
1. middle  . 2. far left . 3. far right   ;   4. Front,Side and back 

A Broken Melody.

As usual, first the art happened, then the words inspired from it...

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In the beginning, he played it hard and soft,
That cracked record she held deep in her heart,
And she would spin for him, spin and spin,
To all the words he chose for his favorite song.

Everyday it was the same.
*tick-tock, said the clock*
5 o'clock and he'd come rushing in,
He would play the music and she'd spin again,
Only the tune would change or the names.
Lesser, harder, more words for worse.

The record started cracking, cracking and breaking,
She sadly picked up the pieces, still spinning and spinning.
Maybe, she thought she could change the music then, for them,
If she spun harder, lesser, more words for worse.
He still played it furiously each day; for him, to her-
Till she was sorry, so sorry and the record was nearly gone.

But she still put together the pieces and spun some more
*more love, some hope*
The record still played- broken melodies; yet his words were worse.
*so hard,so cold*




- Verbal domestic abuse, is an evil, that needs to be recognized and stopped.... NO ONE should live in fear  of the person they love. If only one could see the damage that one's words can do  -

in.sanity

rough doodle. in.sane.it.looks.

Words.

...All around me.
Mine. Half - that I hadn't stood by.
Some muffled with tears and apologies.
And the rest held back down into the darkness.
(you know... that very same black hole, with black words and black paint?)

My father's bearing down -
Sadly. IMPERIOUSLY.
( NO..no...FROM NOW ON ITS LIVING BY MY RULES OR YOU CAN LEAVE)

My mother's, her loving salt to my sorry wounds.
Hurtful. Painful. Angering.
( how could you. HOW COULD YOOOUU !?!? all that we did for you)

My grandmother's tolerant idealism.
( it's ok..it's ok.. buck up child, or get married )
My grandfather's silent ones.
(...)
My sister's indifferent adolescence.
( So..! guess what happened in school today )
My friends' worried encouragements.
( it's ok love, you can do this. are you ok ? )

Now yours join theirs.
All of that and more from you.
Words all around me.
( taunting, weeping, loving, hurting )

Words.
that.
have.
the.
power of hope.
but.
show.
the.
pain of love.

- Hi, I quit law school to chase an uncertain dream -
- do YOU wanna say something too? -

Maybe this IS a little too personal , for a public blog. But it's sorta of the backdrop for all this creativity. So I'd rather have it here.