the uncomfortable abyss of oblivion

I really can't think of anything but the vast abyss that is laid out in front of me. I hate the fact that it's not even me, standing at the crossroad, forced to make the decision for my future. My future and the decision to travel down either road is in the hands of complete strangers, and I'm not even entirely sure when they're going to make the decision.

While I was standing, staring into the abyss of oblivion, a possibility dawned on me:

What if I don't get accepted anywhere?

That thought had never even occurred to me and the more that thought sinks in, the more nauseous I get. I have to get accepted somewhere or else I'll have to start paying back the copious amount of loans I'd been granted over the past four years. I'm not usually one to wallow in negativity but the realization that it's ultimately not up to me where I go in September is swamping my mind daily.

I have no doubt in the strength of my art portfolio and I'm confident my love for what I do evidently shines through in my artwork; however, I'm just really worried because the competition is tight. I've applied to the Toronto School of Art who accepts about six people for the program I applied to and I've applied to the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design who probably doesn't accept many more than that.

NSCAD would be an ideal choice. Halifax is perfect. My brother and sister live there as well as the vast majority of my friends. I've been to Halifax plenty of times and if I did get accepted into NSCAD, my life and what I want to do is completely laid out for me.

However, if I get accepted into the TSA program there's so much adventure laid out in that option. My life is fairly plain, boring, predictable, comfortable. Lauren Conrad said she wanted to move away from her perfect life to be uncomfortable, and there's something inspiring about this point of view. The more I think about it the more excited I get about the possibility of being in Toronto and the completely different lifestyle I'd be exposed to. Who knows what direction my art would take. It's sort of overwhelming to think about.

If I don't get accepted into any school, maybe I'll just take that leap face first into the abyss of uncomfortable oblivion and move to New York City.

teaching a lesson

So, I hadn't heard back from Cape Breton University about the Bachelor of Education program that I'd applied to, and I'm not entirely upset about it. Though, I think it is ridiculously rude that they haven't contacted me to let me know that I wasn't accepted into the program. I think if you've paid an application fee (which I did) it should be mandatory for them to put the simplest effort into sending a letter or e-mail stating the outcome of their decision.

I've come to the realization that they don't want art teachers educated to teach specifically fine arts because they can just hire English teachers to do it. That's basically what the majority of high schools do for their art class and is exactly why the art programs suck in high schools (in Cape Breton, anyway). You get teachers not passionate about art - teaching it because they have to - to students who are taking it because they have to, and not because they're genuinely passionate about art. I feel, however, that I could've changed that. I feel that because art is something I'm so passionate about, I could've enthused and motivated students and changed their view on taking it "just because they have to" or taking it "for a bird course".

But apparently that's not going to happen.

Everyone thinks it's a blessing in disguise; they feel like I would be wasting my talent if I went into teaching. For the most part, I believe they're right. Like I've mentioned numerous times before, I feel I'm meant to do something big with my art… and that doesn't involve being cooped up inside a classroom. I tell everyone I'm going to be famous. They laugh. I don't need them to believe in my theories about art, my art, and the world. They don't need to understand my passion for art, my art, and the world. They don't have to believe or understand my drive for wanting to succeed as an independent artist; the only person that has to believe in it is me…

… and I'm not sure I've ever been so sure about something in my life.

Don't ever let anyone get in the way of your passion. If you're passionate about something then someone (and someone important ) will eventually recognize that. Don't let other people discourage you from following your dream, and eventually you'll get there.

www.bethmartinartwork.com

you're only a day away

Sixty. Soixante. Sesenta. Fifty + ten. Thirty + thirty.

Sixty days is all I have left in Sackville... forever. I happily updated my Facebook status displaying the countdown. I stared at it. The longer I stared at it, the faster the happiness started to diminish and be replaced with sadness... anxiety... fear.

As excited as I am to pack up all of my belongings and start the next chapter of my life, I'm sad to leave behind the school that shaped me into the independent artist and individual that I am. I'm sad to say goodbye to the friends I've made here whom I've shared classes and memories with over the past four years. I'm sad to step outside the comfort zone I've built up... and fearful of what's to come.

I'm thinking back to the beginning of this chapter of my life that began when I graduated high school. I was anxious and scared to move away... and I'm experiencing those same sort of intense feelings now. Mostly because I still have no idea what I want to do next year... or what I want to do with my life for that matter. I wish it was all laid out for me, but I suppose it would be quite boring if you knew what cards were dealt to you in the hand of life.

So, I have sixty days to make memories that will last me a life time. I have sixty days to figure out exactly what my options are for next year and what route I'd like to go. I have sixty days to figure out how exactly I'm going to pay off the copious amount of debt that has been built up over the past four years. I have sixty days to figure out how I'm going to pay for further education. I have sixty days to soak up as much of Sackville as I can. I have sixty days to create an astounding body of artwork that will hopefully set a name for myself.

But for now, all I can really do is take it one day at a time. That's really what life is all about... taking it one day at a time and living for the moment. How terribly sad life would be if all it consisted of was countdowns. It's like being a kid and as soon as school's out for the summer, you start counting down to the last week in August when you go away to your favourite camp. The whole summer is consisted of anxiously tearing off the days of the calendar, making your way closer to the day where you pack your bags for camp. Before you know it, camp has come and gone, summer is over and you're back to school again. You don't know where the summer went.

You don't want your life to be full of countdowns and not living for the moment because before you know it, you're ninety years old and wondering what happened to all the days of your life.

So, let's rewind back to the first number we were ever introduced to... and let's start there.

One. Un. Uno.

1.

One day until tomorrow. Let's live out that one the best way that we can.

all you need is love

I'd love to be one of those people who doesn't succumb to the cliche that is Valentine's Day. But I'm not. I'm completely infatuated with the idea of a day devoted completely to love. I'm one of those ridiculously sappy people that craves for those unattainable fairytales that seemingly only exist in novels and movies. My friends call me a rare breed and say I "bring faith to the idea that love can be real and exist". Love is something I've always been extremely passionate about. It has always been my drive and motivation for a lot of things.

My mother wants me to be completely independent, and for the most part I am. "You don't have to get married, Beth. You know, you could just live for yourself and live out all of your dreams on your own." I smile and nod when my mother tells me these things, but think to myself, "...but Mum, those dreams aren't worth living to me if I'm not sharing them with someone whom I love." A lot of people are brought up believing in the ideology that they must meet someone, fall in love, and get married. It's rare that you find someone perfectly content on their own... with no intentions at all with finding someone to share their life with eventually. That way of life is so exotic and attractive to me, and is the basis around the facade I sometimes try to paint for myself. I claim independence when I travel to all the places I've traveled. I claim independence when I'm as spontaneous and have a fire for life the way I do. But, for the most part, the only person I'm really trying to fool is myself.

It doesn't take long before the paint starts to crack, and my true romantic and completely dependent self is exposed. It takes a lot of willpower to continually try to resurface that exotic and independent facade. But like I said, the only person I'm really trying to fool is myself. I'm coming to terms with that. My friends and family are completely aware of the fact that I'm in love with love... and I always will be.

So, no, I don't think Valentine's Day is over rated. And sure, I do believe that love should not just be celebrated on one day, but every day of the year; However, sometimes our vision is blurred and I believe a day such as Valentine's Day is there to allow ourselves to refocus and realize the extent of love that we have for that special someone in our lives; and it's about celebrating that love; and celebrating that love with each other.

the inevitability of failed perfection

Failure.

I was one of those pre-teens and teenagers cursed with severe acne. I never really thought of it as a serious condition until I made my first dermatologist visit in grade eight. She closely studied my face before responding, "Well... this is really bad, isn't it?"

For years, I made countless trips to that same dermatologist office being prescribed numerous ointments and pills. The acne weighed me down and shred my self confidence. Every time I looked in the mirror I'd see the ugly facade that masked me. Every time I met someone knew, or had a crush on a guy... I knew all they'd see was the vast amount of pimples and redness that plastered my skin. It was a painful experience - both physically and mentally. I'm an extremely impatient person and the thought of waiting at least six weeks per treatment to see results frustrated me. I hated how my dermatologist constantly told me, "it has to get worse before it gets better." I hated how my parents constantly regurgitated that same line to me. I hated the routine I fell into - the swallowing of pills at particular times before and after meals, the application of the numerous tubes of ointment that were to be used at specific times of the day. I didn't just have it on my face. It was on my arms and my back. I was prescribed specific ointments to apply to those areas at specific times of the day as well.

Makeup became my best friend. I was obsessed with caking on copious amounts of liquid foundations and powders to cover my face. My dermatologist would scold me when I popped a pimple, telling me it would scar. I didn't care. I had no patience to deal with said pimples, and they were much easier to cover with makeup once they were popped.

In high school, I would make routine visits to the bathroom and my locker before, after and between classes to check my face. Ten minutes at the end of every class was designated to haul out my foundation and mirror to retouch what had come off. No matter how hard I tried, the acne would always beat me down. I couldn't run away from it. I strived for this ideal perfection that I never could really obtain.

My acne is gone now, but I still see that pimpled face teenager when I look in the mirror. I'm cursed with the scars that my dermatologist warned me would appear from popping the pimples. Makeup is still my best friend. I'll spend forever getting ready for the day, applying my makeup; at the end of the day, I'll look in the mirror and see that my makeup has diminished. I'm still striving for that perfection that really is unattainable.

I think we're this way with a lot of things. We all want to pick the apple at the grocery store that isn't bruised... We all strive for this idealized perfection.

When I was a child, I would colour the pages of a colouring book like most children do. When I'd accidentally scribble outside of the lines, I'd get frustrated at myself and tear out the page to start over. How many times do we get frustrated at ourselves and want to wipe the slate clean? A lot.

I was asked by my professor to document a performance piece themed around "failure". Here, I sit at the table... blinding myself. I give myself thirty seconds to colour the page of a colouring book. Once the thirty seconds is up, I tear it out - recognizing (even without looking) that I have failed my goal to stay inside the lines since I'm unable to see. It's essentially an infinite project of striving to reach that goal of perfection... a goal we all strive to achieve throughout our lives... will we ever realize that perfection doesn't actually exist?

Bryan.

I was fourteen when I met him.

The summer of 2002 was the summer that everyone went to the mall on Saturdays. Saturday afternoons in the mall were spent mingling with friends from various groups and meeting new ones.

He emitted such a positive energy and his smile lit up his whole face. He shook my hand and enthusiastically introduced himself as Bryan. There was something about him that made me long to be his friend. Right away, I was proud to walk through the mall beside him. Him, another friend and I walked through the mall listening to him speak. His voice was so lyrical - probably because he voiced a smile through every spoken word.

"Have you ever had Butter Pecan ice cream?" He looked at me. I shifted from foot to foot trying to avoid his stare. His eyes held such intensity that was enough to make my insides quiver. I shook my head and smiled. We made our way to the grocery store where we purchased a massive tub of Butter Pecan ice cream and a package of disposable spoons. We walked through the mall while Bryan passed out spoons to random friends, inviting them to try a spoonful of his favourite ice cream.

This day was the introduction of a great friendship. I spent almost everyday of that summer spending time with Bryan and his friends. We'd went to camp together that summer. I treasured every moment that I had with him because the moments truly impacted me. He was such a passionate person. Bryan told me that he had cystic fibrosis and was told by his family doctor that he was lucky to live as long as he did. Bryan had a twin brother, Brendan, who passed away at the age of five with CF. Bryan saw every day that he woke up as a gift and lived it to the fullest. He touched everyone who knew him in a tremendous way. He loved life, he loved his life, and he loved everyone in his life. He was always greeting people with hugs and smiles. Bryan expressed his feelings on his life, his disease, and his brother through his music. He was in a band called West Avenue, where he played guitar and sang. He was exploding with talent and was passionate about writing and singing his own music.

I remember a time in high school where a complete jackass (you know... those kinds of jackasses that hang out together in high school) was pushing Bryan around. Bry was wearing eyeliner and the jackass was muttering words like, "fag" at him. The jackass hit Bry's hat off of his head, shouting jackass comments at him in regards to the eyeliner. My stomach cringed while I watched, not knowing what to expect. Bryan smiled at him, "Everyone has their own opinions. I respect that." Bryan picked up his hat and walked away. This situation really showed Bryan's amazing character.

Friday. October 10th, 2003.

I was at a school dance when I found out that Bryan passed away. He'd been at the IWK hospital for a few weeks, but our prayers and hopes were high. My insides grew numb when I found out. My knees fell weak and I dropped to the floor. My stomach ached and I clenched my hands into fists by my side. I rocked back and forth, crying. My boyfriend held me and cried. I looked around while the terrible news diffused through the crowd. Tears, shouts... pain.

The following Monday at school was treacherous. Not a soul spoke. The silence held gut wrenching pain. Everyone's faces were expressionless. Nobody knew what to say. It was evident, then, how much Bryan had affected so many people.

Bryan loved his life and lived every minute that he had the very best that he could. I try to always think of Bryan when my life gets tough. He had a rough life and was battling against a disease in which the odds were against him... but it didn't stop him from celebrating life every day. I think it's important not to get caught up and stressed out about things in life when the situation can always be much much worse. I think it's important to celebrate life, rather than get upset about it.

Not only do I aim to celebrate my own life everyday, I aim to celebrate Bryan's.

Check out the Facebook page "Brystock" to learn a little bit more about how Bry's friends and family continue to celebrate his life, while benefitting others.

flux capacitor

Did you ever think about all the different forks in the road you've encountered throughout your life? Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you'd chosen to go down the alternate path? I often do.

I often imagine going to sleep and waking up in the past, still consumed with the knowledge of the future I had initially chosen. And I often imagine, given the opportunity, if I would choose the same way that I did. You always hear that famous quote regurgitated by friends to "never regret anything in life, because at one time it is exactly what you wanted." But is this really true? How many of us actually believe this? Maybe some of the choices we've made are not what we wanted - but obstacles got in the way, gearing us towards that specific path inevitably. Maybe the vast majority of us choose to faithfully believe in this quote because it's much easier to accept than the fact that maybe the choices we didn't make would've been the better ones. Maybe the vast majority of us choose to faithfully believe in this quote because life would be extremely pitiful if we lived it in the past, constantly wondering, "what if".

Another quote I, myself, used to regurgitate over and over again is that "it's better to regret what you've done rather than what you haven't done." But what if what you haven't done was choosing that other road to venture on? Maybe one of the biggest reasons that we do wallow in our own past (and the choices we could've/should've made) is because we're fearful of the future. We're fearful of the future that is at the end of the path - the path that we chose.

But if we constantly live with regrets of yesterday and worries for tomorrow, then we're losing something extremely important - today. A quote I recently stumbled upon is one by philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard who said, "I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations - one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it - you will regret both."

I thought about this quote for awhile before I realized how true it actually is. No matter what decisions you make... no matter what path you choose to walk down... you're always going to wonder what you're life would be like if you had chosen the alternate path.

I recognize that "if only" are two of the saddest words in the world, but it doesn't stop me from wishing I had a DeLorean with a flux capacitor so I could go back in time. Though... we've seen the tangled web Marty McFly ended up in when he did that. However, he did make subtle changes in his life for the better and he did end up with a sweet 4x4 in the end.