Archive for the Personal work Category

A sketch and a mystery involving chickens

Posted in +/- Minute Sketches, Note to Self, Personal work, Photos with tags , , , , , , , on August 30, 2012 by ccartlidge

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a sketch or anything really, so here’s a semi-random page from my sketchbook. After flipping through it, I’m noticing that the eye-and-diary thing is a pattern.

Blackberry art of the day

Posted in Personal work, Photos with tags , , , , , , , on June 4, 2012 by ccartlidge

Since I’m typing all of this with my thumbs, I’m going to take advantage and post Blackberry photos that I (most likely) haven’t even seen on a computer screen and they stay how they are, which is nice for me.

An attic window. This attic has no cross ventilation and as a result is uncomfortable at best but is also great for hot yoga if you’re into that sort of thing.

A Triptych of Dead Writers with a Triptych of Epic Love Letters

Posted in Literary Masterpieces, Loves, Personal work with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2012 by ccartlidge

I said I was going to draw a portrait of Kafka and pair it with a love letter, but decided that it would be so much better / creepier if I just went ahead and drew three. It’s an adorable matching set of great, dead writers! Huxley is creepy, Hemingway is stoic, and Kafka is mad sexy. (I took some liberties.) And, yes, I spilled coffee on Hemingway. Lets us just pretend that it’s rum. It’s fitting that way and it seems like something Hemingway would do, so it stays.

A love letter to Aldous Huxley:

I am continually fascinated by the manner in which you respond to the word ‘pneumatic’. I’m pretty sure I just called you a commodity, but since you don’t seem to mind, Imma keep on keepin’ on. Bring on the kink and don’t be stingy with the hallucinogens.


A love letter to Ernest Hemingway:

Great sex.


A love letter to Franz Kafka:

Eat something. Still nervosa vibrates from your fragile eyes and your words give away effortless pain. It would be a fittingly tragic conundrum to choose between your gift and your sanity. If I could choose for you, I wouldn’t. Either that or I would choose your gift, playfully flick the winged beasts that live on the sides of your head and say, “I know you’re sick, but seriously don’t burn anything.”

The Mountain Impass and Buckaroo Banzai

Posted in Literary Masterpieces, Loves, Personal work with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 6, 2012 by ccartlidge

Clarity and the bright places come for me in waves now, which is a notable improvement to the murky, dark shit I was wading through before. Hence: curiously colored boulders and an unreachable shore! Oooh, it looks so nice and surreal! I’d visit this place wearing a bikini and a parka. (I’d need both.) I’d heroically fashion myself a slingshot and try desperately to propel pebbles far enough to rustle leaves on the other shore. This would be impossible. I’d move on to ascend the mountain of rainbows and possibly lick it on the way up to make sure the mountain isn’t made of Peeps. Upon discovery of Peep Mountain, I’d scramble to the top so I could eat my way to the bottom. Regret would overcome me. A nap would then follow. Eventually, I’d swim across and either A) admire The Mountain of Rainbow Peeps from afar, make camp, a fire, and wish I’d taken some Peeps with me to roast or B) drown.

So, the next Portrait is still to come but I have this as a temporary replacement. I actually did complete a portrait, but it ended up looking just enough like Jeff Goldblum that I couldn’t post it for fear that it would seem like bad fan art. I do love me some Goldblum. Which reminds me of the insane magnificence of The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension! Facetiously hip things make me enjoy life a bit more.

Portrait of an Intangibility, No. 1: Soren

Posted in Aesthetic Day, Loves, Personal work with tags , , , , , , , on January 20, 2012 by ccartlidge

I had a bit of trouble naming this one. His name is Soren, but trying to describe his mood without using too many words was the issue. (And I’m warning you now: I totes failed). He’s just arrived at the acceptance stage after going through a complicated and esoterically abusive emotional tragedy. You know that feeling when you’re physically and emotionally exhausted and all you want to do is go *insert personally appropriate comforting action here* but you can’t because you are in the middle of something, so you stay and finish it, but when you look at people you can’t seem to focus on their eyes? Yup, that. For now, the subtitle is “the Multifarious Sepulchre” and hopefully this will be the first in a series I’m calling “Portrait of an Intangibility”.

On a side note: this is a bit unintentionally appropriate today, as Etta James has died. The world is a less beautiful place without you.

2012 is going to be an adorable year.

Posted in Literary Masterpieces, Loves, Personal work, Rants with tags , , , on January 1, 2012 by ccartlidge


Lesson Two: Finding Meaning in Small Talk Concerning an Impending Cross-Country Move

Posted in Literary Masterpieces, Loves, Personal work, Rants with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 26, 2011 by ccartlidge

Most people we love or have been close to in our lives have good intentions. We catch up and have conversations about the near-past, present and near-future, and we care enough about the other person to get the background information before moving on to more interesting discourse. Good intentions don’t prevent emotional incandescence or tetchy conversational evolution, regardless of how neutral the pretense. Association depends on interpretation. In other words, if I’m having a neutral conversation and it becomes partisan, it might be because I’m being to damned sensitive.

It might help to mention that I am currently transitioning from Portland (Oregon) to an unknown city via my home state of Maryland. After many months of vacillation, I decided to move and I’m still unsure if the decision borders on correct (read this if you care for even more elaboration on the subject of decision-making), but it’s happening.

It hurts to go, because it means leaving people and places I love. I don’t have to drive, I’m not even peripherally presented with ignorant or closed-minded people, development hasn’t ruined the gorgeous landscape, and I can go for a hike without even leaving the city. These are all reasons to stay. On the other hand, the economy is crap, over-educated creative types make up a significant part of the population (which is also a plus, but unfortunately we’re all unemployed and looking for the same three jobs), my family is only accessible via an expensive, annoying and ecologically insensitive day of plane rides, and I’m treading cold water.

I’ll only know in hindsight how much of this is rationalization, but this is in a strange way what I’m hoping for. I want to be sure about something again. Anything, really. Even if the only thing I’m sure of is that I shouldn’t have left Oregon, that would be just fine with me. I’m allowing myself to become covered in moss and this is disturbing and gross. I can come back. But only if I leave now.

I’ve learned that although I love Portland, I’ll never get that first year back. It was fucking magic. I didn’t mind biking in the rain, I had a ridiculously close group of intelligent and beautiful friends, I was working towards a goal. I was working hard, playing hard, and I was in love but all things come to an end. I got a Master of Architecture months ago. I bummed around for the summer. I was successful in both of those pursuits, but now I’m lost. The city reminds me of this daily. Growth and confidence are the only things I know I want for sure, and my instinct is telling me to leave to get them.

A conversation I had a few hours ago brought me to these words. When I tell people I’m leaving Portland, I usually end up justifying my decision partly by mentioning the new places I’m interested in. Currently I’m focusing on New England, specifically the original American Portland, the one in Maine. I know nothing of significance and I’m aware I might change my mind, but I’m drawn to it somehow.

It seems like the first thing that most people mention when the word “Maine” pops out of my mouth is that the winters are cold. God, really? I have no concept of weather patterns outside Oregon so thanks for mentioning this as I wouldn’t have ever known otherwise. The second thing is that it is a very small city. Again: thanks, I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO KNOWLEDGE OF HOW THE INTERNET WORKS NOR ANY ABILITIES IN SPATIAL RECOGNITION, COMPARATIVE OR OTHERWISE. Shit.

I know now I react this way because I’m sensitive about the subject, not because the person speaking thinks I’m an idiot. I’m still very unsure and it makes me uncomfortable to think that I am in the middle of making a bad decision. But I’ll never know if I don’t try, so I’m strangely happy to keep having the same conversation over and over if it moves me closer to finding my new goal. Bring on the unknown.

So if you live in Portland, Maine and you see a cold, lost, short-haired girl visiting alone in a brand new winter coat, come say hello and remind me that Maine is much colder and smaller than Oregon. I might even thank you.