Being Vulnerable

In a group of old individuals so look tired of being cool and rich but rather dedicate their lives to studying philosophy, life and how to prevent arthritis only after it hit you - I sat in the auditorium.
Initially intimidated. The panel consisted of neurologists, established writers and poets from all over the globe. I sat in the auditorium with sandals, red cotton shirt and a self-preserving mood.

The seminar was all about The Importance Of The Human Brain and how it interacts with creativity. A seminar of creativity?! Count me in! And I am glad I had motivated myself to attend. Altogether, the experience was overwhelming but validating. And that's the best.

1. It was not a typical seminar by old white man presenting textbook stuff, it was about conversation. I am slave for conversation.

2. For the first time in my life, I was able to honestly and vulnerably express my identity and how I am affected creatively in a room as complete strangers.

3. I got to engage in debates and the response was so cloud-like. I was floating, and it felt amazing.

4. There were a bunch of artists: a skinny white lady who looks aggressive about her identity, a long haired white man who left his brush in the Swiss and never bothered to purchase another so he neatly wrapped his hair in a bun, a seat of black poets and writers who wore dreads and images of African heroes on their bellies, a small youth of versatile artists which I would not usually communicate to. And there was me, it felt good to be me. I was in a platter of unique differences. I felt good.

I am realising that being vulnerable and valid are powerful tools of emotions. I used this platform, this seminar to indulge in it. I spoke openly about my identity and applied my experiences to the panel interacting with the listeners. I then had an old wise poet, walk up to me and say: ' you are doing something really right. You speak so passionately and you've got it figured out. '
In response I politely decline his statement, '' I don't think so, its not that easy. It's often too painful ...''
He leaves the conversation by saying, 'I know the feeling, but you've got it figured out. Just keep on even at the expense of family and friends.'

And that is when I cried a little more inside.

The general feedback from the audience and the panel was affirming, with comments like ''thank you for your contribution'' or ''you speak so passionately''. I felt like a million bucks and here is why:

I don't necessarily interact with my family, its not an unwilling attitude. It's not them its me. Its them not taking the time and capacity to understand me both in my values and artistically. I have a small group of friends who are patient enough to listen and learn from me but the difference is they had to learn about my ways overtime.

But last night, felt accepting and sincere, I was able to have conversations with individuals who were three-times my age. Who seemed to not have cared what I did for a living or what I had, but who valued skills, experiences, passions and creativity.  I value majority in my life, but those are the friends I dream about, that move me. I dream about dinner parties and I am the skinny, unemployed  young adult artist who is still valued in conversation.

I went to bed thinking, if I were vulnerable and honest at the '' Hi '' stage of any conversation, shall I attracted such individuals? Should I be vulnerable all the time? Would it be a step closer to receiving an invite to a book launch? Collaborative project? A cheese and wine party? Or am I just dreaming too hard?

But what I do know is that, last night went from me valuing myself as a photographer to claiming to introduce myself as a storyteller, as an artist.

There is a state of mind I dream in.

It is quite scary to know the physical-status quo world, just does not fascinate me. Just maybe might I not be scared of the world as I thought I was, just maybe had I unwillingly confirmed myself in a position of discomfort in this world.

When the thousands of individuals are all worked out, travelling home from slave jobs to catch-up on shows and are to digitize their progress - I want to take walks. I want to converse meaningfully. I want to read and listen to people sing their truths and cry on their flaws.

In this state of mind I am seated amongst writer friends who do not mediate, or mend and fix but listen and inspire. Altogether we silently rage about issues but fence strong mindful communities.
In this state of mind, I do not hear the phone. I do not hear the commercialised tone of the TV. The wind blows into my room, creating for a Celine Dion music video.

The crackle of the stove and the hardware mashing vegetables work all together, picked and washed from my garden. Weekday evenings are filled with essay writing and experimental paint flooding a corner of my room experiencing the heartbreak that I am having with myself. Weekends are filled with dining experiences with candle lit tables, home cooked food and creative idea-sharing conversations.

In this state of mind, my sensitivities are embedded in my hair texture and the color of my outfit motivating for my creative process. And who understand this, but not because their obliged rather for they own theirs too.

Hand-letters are written, embellishing in their curves and poetry is found in their spacing. I want to smell the sincerity in the letter whilst paying homage to the tree that had forfeited its lungs so you and I could write conversations. Where we walk and not talk but converse with family, and friends - and their friends too.

Where dialogue is not made by automated likes, retweets and emojis. But is rather filled with empathy and energy. And in this state of mind chills are familiar and wanted, always, but never grow tire.

The physical world kills my sensitivity. These trends, loudness and objectification of human societies stir my soul from my inner peace. And they keep me locked in and these spaces I dream of this particular state of mind.

My punctuality sucks, I should have cross - nighted

Minimalism

Malcom Pegram

Malcolm

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⤵More pictures after the jump

A Change Of Things

I expanded by blog. 

I have decided to showcase my love for photography, in particular portraiture and my love for people.

I decided to switch up a few a things, firstly, I now have a dedicated Instagram account for Misfits & Muffins

dedicated to portrait photography. 

Secondly, my personal account  allows for flexibility in terms of what I post. 

Then I have my temporary website that displays my work as a visual artists on 

kylelyle.wix.com/photography

A Letter From My Inner

It has never been my intention to write so personally, while is not everything I intend to write in this post. But for the most part of it, its really what I have been feeling for a long time. 

This feeling sucks and sticks with me - often paralyzing me both physically and mentally. 

Its stirred-up by my dreams, inspirations, aspirations

 This is a letter from my inner often telling me to challenge it,to act, react.
 Feel it, breathe it.