Saturday, April 23, 2016

JOURNAL: THERE'S BLOOD ON MY MOTHERBOARD

 My biggest fear continues to be that people will find me boring. Or grow bored with me, I'm not sure if those are the same or two different things.

It's a thing that has haunted me for always. I used to think I could banish it, that I'd beat it and cast it off like a brilliant and powerful amazon (not the corporation) never to be held back again. But now I recognize it will probably always be there. It's become a thing to face, to test--to dance with and romance and then to shy away from again.



There's a lull in building friendships--a great gulf that scares me every time. The initial getting-to-know-facts-and-favorite-colors step is second nature now. The shy young kid who crept around her dorm building freshman year and sat paralyzed unable to speak to anyone in her classes has blossomed a bit. But there's this deep cavernous pit, a moon crater, or perhaps a Kola Superdeep Borehole--a scientific drilling project that I'm afraid of going into because I hate when we come away empty and walk away from each other. Perhaps it's better to look at these as expeditions in the name of science and in the pursuit of truth rather than feeling like I just shared a bit of my soul that I can't get back even though it's been rejected.

How do you even share when your raisons d'ĂȘtre are made of things like cupping your hands in front of your face and blowing at the honeysuckle petals in your hand to watch as they flutter in a puff of tiny brilliant orange specks? Marvels like that are so quiet and small, they're hard to share with most people.   

I'd been pondering this because I've dipped back into a reclusive phase and I'm feeling the need to break out in some way. Last night I was twiddling my thumbs reflecting when I knew what was needed was to film something. Anything. So I took a walk to a hidden little nature preserve I discovered a few months ago with a boy--I'd known for a long time I'd need to go back alone to make it mine. Even then as we'd held hands we felt like two solo units who happened to be there in step with each other. I walked there hoping I'd find it again, find it before it was dark. I found the stairs just as we had then and I climbed down into this beautiful place. And for a minute I filmed the stream as I looked around and breathed in the world. 


22 April 2016 from Marge Bjork on Vimeo.


Thursday, October 15, 2015

Thursday, May 7, 2015

JOURNAL: AGE, WEAR, AND BLITHER

Sometimes I'm reminded that I need to write more. I've never seen myself as a writer, never felt the call to be an author. Rather, I have to write. I would not be a happy, well-adjusted, fairly confident individual without writing. I wouldn't be a lot of things so it's easier to say what I would be: miserable.

I've been biking for my work commute as we've been blessed of late with this fresh, spring weather. This is a ten mile round trip with plenty of up and downhills. Add to that my vague training for a 10K (running) race at the end of May...My body has been telling me it's aging this past year. I feel damaged much more quickly if I don't stretch it and rest it like it wants. It's a whole new phase of life with sciatic nerves and ligaments and strangely specific muscle aches. Where raising my arm while dancing to Sam Cooke on soul night can pull a muscle and take a couple of months to heal. Bodies are weird and precarious and really special.

Another part of aging probably speaks to why I blog so little as of late. What you may not realize is that most of my posts for the past year were scheduled long ago, these photographs that appear periodically were set up to appear on the anniversaries of their creation as precious mementos for myself. I blog so little because I no longer heavily feel the weight of existential dilemmas that I did eight years ago. I'm sure I'll face another wave of those as I near middle age. For now, I have no children so I can relax in my knowledge that I know nothing.

Guys, I can comprehend now that I'll near middle age. Before you know it I'll be 30 and then it's just a fleetly, flittly, flying leap to 40. I can see 40 approaching. I've always seen years stretching out before me like a strange day (but year) planner, white boxes enclosed in structured black lines. Which is funny because no one actually experiences time this way, but I've always had this image and it continues on, now with 38, 39, and 40 in view.

Well, anyway, this is total blither meant to just get me to write for a few minutes. And I'll post because this is the internet which is comprised largely by blither and who doesn't want to fit in? Let's all be lemmings.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

LAST YEAR ON THIS DAY

British Natural History Museum

Sunday, April 19, 2015

JOURNAL/ILLUSTRATION: PEOPLE IN APRIL

This is what happens when I'm sitting next to my boyfriend while drawing in my notebook:
Cut off in this picture is the caption, "What happens when you become a star." 
I thought that was a great joke.

I wrote the speech bubble by the worm, "We're good friends," thinking this was such an adorable, sweet friendship and he made the bat respond with, "Yeah! Now I'ma eat you!" which sparked the debate that encircles the original sketch. This was after he requested I draw a worm hole so I drew a worm, he requested a Batarang which I guess is the name for Batman's throwing star/bats so I drew a bat,  he said the bat should have a superman shield emblem so I drew a CTR emblem.