Archive for February 2011

Dearest Readers,

Cavan, although a well kept young man did have frequent bouts of meandering thought. I suppose it is the artistic side of him taking over from time to time in the logical edge of his brain. I have and will incorporate sketches from Cavan with his random musings in this blog from time to time. The following is one such entry I have found of an odd significance to his personal struggle.

Yours in art as I humbly report and record,

Jason Robert LeClair

A female fairy hunting

As I sit and draw, the feeding of these creatures reminds me of the lack of humanity within them. I see a female attacking on a day lily a rather large beetle. I wonder when her survival instincts take over her primitive mind and shut down the remotest piece of humanity. She must hunt, she must kill, she must mate, she must sleep, she must think. Or must she? I find it so improbable that these beings, these insects can look so like us and attack with lust and hunger a lower creature with such violence. They are made to kill, created to hunt and because we find ourselves larger, are we any better?

We hunt, we kill, we allow for the primal instincts to take hold as we devour both literally and figuratively the world around us. We must eat, we must mate, we must keep the species alive. Other than thought, which shuts down for survival, what and how do we really differ? I find myself struggling with this more and more as I study philosophy, art. and live day after day surrounded by my father’s legacy.

In my ear a whisper

while in my heart a symphony.

The warmth of your breath

is only equaled by the warmth of your soul.

I am left standing holding

a part of me that you have begun to draw

from my own soul.

The warmth that was lacking

from the outside world

is present in your eyes.

Having yet to discover myself

I find I only wish to discover you.

For this, I look in your eyes,

I listen to your breath,

I feel the rhythm of your heart,

and I listen for the sweet music of your soul.

In these I will discover you.

Random flowers bring memories

Drawings that I encounter in my sketchbook from days gone past bring such vivid memories of the recent and long past. I remember now, Sonia sitting across from me as we sketched during a class. We had stepped outside on a beautiful day and sat among the flowers and grass upon the hill near a small park just west of campus. The instructor had asked us to find an image that reminded us of childhood. The last thing I needed was t remember that.

I decided I would draw the most mundane object I could find. This flower was my subject. Watching me draw from across the lawn was Sonia. I didn’t know her yet, but from what she’s now told me the memories of the past two weeks have been flooding back. I can now recall without force the moments she watched me working.

How odd, but helping me through this sleepless night.

I can't sleep, all I can think of is her

I am having trouble sleeping tonight. You would think that it is because of the incident in my dining room, the appearance of my godfather at my home, or maybe finding out what that blasted puzzle box was for. It is none of these. I simply can’t get the thought of the beauty I met this evening out of my head. Sonia is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. But it is not just her face, there’s something about her, something genuine on the inside. A need to seek out the best in those she sees as kindred. I am glad she’s counted me among that number.

No matter how hard I seem to try and sleep, her face surges back into my mind’s eye, so I had to draw her thinking I may expel the image to the paper and evacuate the pleasurable sight encased in my temple. No such thing was possible. It merely solidified how take n aback I am by her. The fact that I recall such detail forĀ  a woman I’ve known merely hours is baffling. I feel as though the fates are again playing some twisted game with me. This game, however, I’ll gladly play. The sport of love is something I never thought I would have the opportunity for.

The game’s afoot as has been said. I am ready but for now, I need to sleep and find a way to sift the information and turns my life seems to be taking.

Sketches in the cafe

The afternoon before my birthday, I’m sitting in a cafe on Meeting Street again trying to relax. My favorite thing to do is sketch the faces around me. It is sort of a game of mine. I feel like the Toulouse-Lautrec. sitting and observing the people all around me cataloging history in the faces of people. It is my favorite type of art. There is a purity to it. The quick nature of my hand and the avoidance of the eye of my subject give me great practice at not being noticed.

People in the cafe fascinate me. I often wonder what they’re thinking and how I can portray that thought on paper with just a few strokes of my pencil. It is uplifting to think that this is what I’m going to do for the rest of my days.

My Dearest Readers,

My apologies for my prolonged absence from you. I realize I have not had the pleasure of posting lately. Please do expect a post this evening from Cavan’s journal. The extraordinary nature of his story in the next three chapters has baffled me and I have had to bring myself back to our reality to even attempt to report it. I have a few of Cavan’s sketches and notes from classes to share with you this evening while you pine away the days awaiting February 11, 2011 for our next and exciting portion of Broken Silences.

Yours in Art,

Jason Robert LeClair