My Own Personal Artwork: The Samara

Having dug back in the box of stuff I have under my bed, you remember I came across one of the first of many discarded pencil works I did back in the day when I was young, foolish, bored and doodling almost constantly.

This is another product of an occupied mind.

Ahem:

[ART CLASS TEACHER] Here we have "The Samara", circa 2007. Black pencil media, 3x5 card canvas.

Her surroundings are gray and black, with only a hint of white in varying spots. This is a barren landscape for our subject to wander through, perhaps attesting to either Samara's hopeless soul wandering in search for meaning as to her present situation or maybe something as basic as the artist's mirror reflection into his own soul at the time pencil touched paper.

Samara, trudging lifelessly towards the viewer, suggests the lowest point of the Id: a lone soul's journey through a world which they will never understand, dotted only with scraps of rock and greenery, which represents stray points of thought and add nothing to the travel in part or in whole. And yet even the greenery is dark and black in Samara's world; one would venture a guess that there is indeed no color in her mind's eye, seeing that her existence is solely to bring death and despair to others by her mere appearance within seven days time.

Note the well in the distance. Setting off-center and alone, one would ascertain the well is Samara's descent into her own black, despairing night, one to which she must eventually return with trudging steps and lifeless dejection.

Is there any white at all in the world-view of Samara? At a glance one would think so, but is it really; to Samara the white would be momentary. There is only black, gray, charcoal and varying shadows and shadings here; the white is only a momentary surface onto which the darkness will shade over. It's only a matter of time.

However, never seeing Samara's face because of the long funeral shroud of hair that drapes down over her head, we only assume that her life is one of despair. She may very well have chosen this life for herself and hides her face lest anyone see her smile. In relief? Perhaps, because no one will ever assume her life to be a happy one. In resignation? Even more likely, especially since her every moment would be solitary and quiet. No better an atmosphere in which to grapple against her personal demons.

The dirt staining her feet and fingers, while ostensibly a result of her eternal climb up from and down into her dark, overpowering soul (as represented by the well), may also be stained with the blood from her soul, her very life she had sacrificed and spent so callously in order to attain this station in life - if all this is indeed not an after-life - like a Lady Macbeth refusing even now to wipe the blood from her hands that incriminate herself in her own soul's murder. [/ART CLASS TEACHER]

I think I may have some more stuff to share. Who knows; maybe I can put these on a t-shirt and sell 'em for $15 a pop.

Until next time, the gallery is closed.

Dope out.

- TGWD