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            If creativity is the spice of life, then facebook.com is the cookbook.

            What would drive a sane mind to make such a statement? Take a look at the website. If you have any friends, you will eventually see one of the following:

                        -an invitation to join a group reclaiming lost phone numbers.

                        -an invitation to join a group for a specific television show.

                        -an invitation to join a group “One Million Strong” for something.

                        -sepia tone photographs.

                        -applications that measure your genius.

                        -applications that “hatch eggs”.

                        -applications that allow you to draw on someone’s wall

            The list goes on forever. I haven’t even scraped the surface of what exists on facebook.com. My roommates were previously addicted to a game that was basically a MMORD (Massively Multiplayer Online Recruitment Drive). They would spend hours capturing other people and building reinforcements. Instead of just posting a picture of oneself anymore, people are spending the time posing and editing their photos so they look like they may have been taken in a different era or by a professional photographer. In some cases, they view themselves as models, throwing themselves out into the facebook.com community for the optical delight of friends and users alike. Requests to reclaim lost phone numbers are now pleas to feed or donate to new phones.

            The point being this: someone had to think of this. Not only that, but the original thoughts inspire others to make their own interpretation. Just like cookbooks teach people to cook, facebook.com is teaching people to be creative. Granted, the ability to grill a burger doesn’t make someone Wolfgang Puck. Taking a black and white photograph, or creating the “Super Hatching Intelligence TV” application doesn’t make anyone a creative genius. If anything, it takes these standards and lowers their legitimacy by making it passé.

            At this point, you may expect me to beg people to stop imitation. Yes, I advocate creativity and originality above all else, but facebook.com is really a great tool for an artist. It acts as a BS Detector. If everyone else is already doing it, then it is not genuinely creative. Never before have creative minds had such an easy reference to determine the validity of their work.

            To wrap this up, next time you receive an invitation to join the “Creative Underground’s Local Troupe”, thank facebook.com for disseminating creativity and ascending true artists.  

Save a Life, Be Different!

            It is always strange when an icon dies. Especially when the person was a cultural icon who instigated change. George Harrison, Mike Wieringo, and now recently, George Carlin, are all men who, though I have never met, I have had respect for because of what they did in life. All of them were bold enough to take grasp of social norms and shatter them in some way, not because they wished to frighten or offend, but because they desired to show people that different didn’t necessarily mean bad.

            Too often people are frightened by the idea of “different”. Yes, to an extent, it is a sort of survival mechanism. I mean, if you ate green cabbage all your life, and suddenly you found a head of blue cabbage, wouldn’t you be suspicious about taking the first bite? Blue cabbage could be poisonous, however it could also be delicious. No on knows until that first step is taken. However, even after that first step, people remain suspect to the “new” thing. And maybe they should.

            Even if the only argument for “normal” was survival, it is important to point out that conformity kills. A bold statement, yes, but to take a step back from the immediate and look at things in the long term, one can see truth to that statement. Inbreeding causes unhealthy, incomplete genetic offspring. Cultural solidarity causes wars of conversion. Everything that results from creating uniformity also creates lower quality and harm.

            Bottom line; go out of your way to be different. Do no harm, but still be different. Sing in a public place. Wear that comfortable shirt that looks ridiculous. Dance if you want to. Have no fear being different; you are doing a public service. In a world of “A” students, it is the “B” student who is the real genius.

Bird Season - Autumn Raven

           After too many weeks, Autumn Raven, the first portrait in a series entitled Bird Season is completed.

            Birds have always had an air of mystery. This may have to do with their ability to fly, but not because of the mechanics of it. A bird’s natural soaring ability has always mocked humanity, as it lends to an idea of being closer to God. The wonderment brought about by this “divine messenger” quality of theirs is why I hold our feathered friends in such high regard. Their ability to commune with a greater pantheon on high leaves us literally in the dust. In this sense, birds are symbolic of a connection to a greater power.

            In Bird Season, I attempt to connect this symbolism with the seasons of the year, which, in fact, act as metaphor to the life cycle itself. Matching the proper avian avatar to the appropriate stage in the life cycle was the driving motivation behind this series.

            Autumn is a gateway to the gentle repose that is winter. The life that once was is now slowly dwindling. As such, the raven was an obvious choice, given its ancient tradition as a harbinger of death.

            Hopefully, the happier seasons will be completed soon. I am especially pleased with my concept for spring, and excited to see how summer fares. 

A Gift Under the Stars

(Note: This was originally posted on my previous Blog. It is nothing new, but still good.) 

Words are etched in chalk on the parking lot pavement, but I ignore them.  I came to the park to enjoy the autumn weather, but am too lost in thought. The angry, metallic taste of blood is an uninvited reminder of last night, when I sat in bed awake, nervously gnawing at my lower lip.

 Not a soul was to be seen in the park, nor anywhere around. The chilly, noontime breeze, and the abnormal, eerie silence caused me to shiver briefly. Had it not been for the sun shining down though the bare branches, the lifeless hum of the world around me would have brought me into the same trancelike state from years ago, when I would stay awake under the stars of dusk until the morning dawn, fixated on the creation of whatever project captured my attention.

My body yearned to rest. The creative trance would have been a pleasant repose, as last night was broken by numerous attacks of worry and panic in regards to student debt and whether I was wasting my time following my creative passions. The latter thought was quickly vanquished by the unerring resolve that bade my passion for the arts as actual potential. Concerns of debt stuck with me, as my increased heart palpitations could attest to.

Within view, an old wooden park bench became the destination of my walk. The strides to the park bench made it feel farther away than it looked, but upon arrival, the thoughts focused on keeping each foot following the last were redirected towards the serenity found within sight of that spot.

I quickly pulled out pencil and paper after finding the most comfortable position on the park bench. The sight of nature will always calm me, but the arch of lead flowing across a field of white is what keeps me sane. Stroke after stroke revealed more and more of the image hiding within the plane of paper. Stopping only briefly to decide whether to draw what is seen or what I want to see, the study was completed quickly. Even though the meditative state I was hoping to reach eluded me, the result of the exercise was nevertheless pleasing. 

Leaving the park, I took a moment to ponder the words that greeted me deafly upon my arrival:

“I promise I will never forget such a perfect gift under the stars.”

Stars are a powerful symbol. As children, we wish on the first, brightest star we saw each night. Whenever we see a falling star, again we make a wish. Stars mesmerized the ancients, who associated them with the god and heroes. Many people still look at the stars and associate them with their spiritual beliefs.

In truth, stars are just balls of cosmic gas, burning brightly enough to transmit their light thousands upon millions of light-years through the universe, making them visible upon our meek little world. Yet, knowing this, I still believe there is something magical about the stars. It was during the cold winter nights of old, when the fresh snow would compete with the twinkle of the star field, that I would always find myself reaching the pinnacle of my creative potential. Even though the sun blankets the daytime sky, the stars are still up there. We still stand under the billions of twinkling lights that greet us night after night. A promise made under the stars, just like a wish made or a gift given, has a powerful history behind it. Likewise, the record of a gift made under the stars has the capacity to remind me of a potential hidden, yet soon to be fulfilled.

One goal The Ballyhoo Collective has in mind is to protect the creative rights of its contributors while still distributing the work. The following is a link regarding Creative Commons, or "CC" licensing. 

CC licensing is encouraged because of its ability to spread and protect an artists vision simultaneously. 

We hope that this post has been informative and beneficial.

The Start of Something New

Today, I spent a few hours putting together the semblance of a website for the group that is forming within the next few days. 

Personally, I am nervous. I have the utmost confidence that Ballyhoo! will succeed, but the real fear comes from not knowing what will happen after. 

In other news, it is possible that one of my favorite presidential facts may not actually be true. Years ago, in middle school, William Howard Taft became a man of myth amongst my peers. Taft, the twenty-seventh President of the USA, was known for being obese. A little known fact of entertainment was that Taft had stuck his toe in a bathtub spigot, resulting in the phalanges of his foot getting caught, trapping Taft in a bathtub for some time.

Or, at least I think this happened.

As entertaining as this story is, the probability of its factuality is tainted by the discovery of the early internet. The now dead website, www.drzaius.com, acted in the capacity of presenting the viewers with utter absurdity. It had various running jokes, most of them dealing with Wilford Brimley, Charleton Heston, and, not surprisingly, William Howard Taft. 

My memory of that time is pretty hazy, however I remember much mockery of the 27th pres. I can't remember quite what they mocked him for, aside from his obesity, but with the little remembrance of it that exists leads me to wonder if maybe Taft's bathtub incident was nothing more than a joke. If this is the case, I will be admittedly disappointed. However, it is a blatant lesson in how history changes with time. 

Let it be known, "History" can be a dangerous thing, however is still utterly important.