Yong Hong Zhong
#BeatTheBlues
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Yong Hong Zhong was born in Canton, China. He came to the United States at the age of 12. His professional experiences include work at the Disney Animation Studios, MTV Animation Studios and Walt Disney Company. Making good use of his talents and persisting, Yong has managed to refine his skills in story telling and colorful compositions.
We're glad to share with you Yong Hong Zhong's thoughts on how he #BeatsTheBlues and #WhatMatters most now. Read more... |
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Harmony Lessons
with David Baker
This feature is by David Baker, an American poet, professor, and editor of the Kenyon Review, whose words carry weight because of their honesty and notes of wistfulness.
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Onyinye Zennia
#BeatTheBlues
Greetings,
I'm Onyinye Zennia, a multidisciplinary artist. I have been so taken up by life and it's dynamics that they motivate my artistic career greatly. Humans and the issues they face bother me a lot and I always wished all situations come out fine. That's I've shown over the years with different medium of art; Photography, Serigraphy on tiled Perspex, Exploration with light & sound and recently nails and threads(string).
My works follow thoughts pattern as represented in Roger Crawford: "being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional". The human forms I string are always imbued with emotions and expressions that retain a good measure of the message that the artwork portrays. Each of my work relates to a definite life situation, state, task, challenge and endeavor. However, they are always a product of my life experiences.
The crisis in marital life in Nigeria, where I live, is no less an issue than in many parts of Europe and the United States of America. When I pick up my board, nails, hammer and threads to string, I am well aware that my ideas, emotions, feelings and concepts formed from different experiences, will engage a lot of mind trying to make meaning out of life.
My recent works titled "World Apart", "Stuck in the Marriage Vow", "Who We Are" and "Becoming" depicts crisis in marital life, my experiences in search of my dream and fulfilment in life. I used facial expressions to show through my own life's experience, that fulfilment and self realization is possible. And so we are not left helpless at the mercy of our difficulties and limitations which leads to depression and sometimes suicide. There is hope which derives from our resolve on our never giving up. "If we don't give up" states by Jack MA, "then we still have a chance".
My art has been a way through which I share my thoughts and ideas with the aim to comfort the disturbed. I can boldly say I'm the artist of my masterpiece and the author of my story.
More, visit Zenia
I'm Onyinye Zennia, a multidisciplinary artist. I have been so taken up by life and it's dynamics that they motivate my artistic career greatly. Humans and the issues they face bother me a lot and I always wished all situations come out fine. That's I've shown over the years with different medium of art; Photography, Serigraphy on tiled Perspex, Exploration with light & sound and recently nails and threads(string).
My works follow thoughts pattern as represented in Roger Crawford: "being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional". The human forms I string are always imbued with emotions and expressions that retain a good measure of the message that the artwork portrays. Each of my work relates to a definite life situation, state, task, challenge and endeavor. However, they are always a product of my life experiences.
The crisis in marital life in Nigeria, where I live, is no less an issue than in many parts of Europe and the United States of America. When I pick up my board, nails, hammer and threads to string, I am well aware that my ideas, emotions, feelings and concepts formed from different experiences, will engage a lot of mind trying to make meaning out of life.
My recent works titled "World Apart", "Stuck in the Marriage Vow", "Who We Are" and "Becoming" depicts crisis in marital life, my experiences in search of my dream and fulfilment in life. I used facial expressions to show through my own life's experience, that fulfilment and self realization is possible. And so we are not left helpless at the mercy of our difficulties and limitations which leads to depression and sometimes suicide. There is hope which derives from our resolve on our never giving up. "If we don't give up" states by Jack MA, "then we still have a chance".
My art has been a way through which I share my thoughts and ideas with the aim to comfort the disturbed. I can boldly say I'm the artist of my masterpiece and the author of my story.
More, visit Zenia
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Cartooning and Journaling My Way Out
Aaron Caycedo-Kimura
"...Through cartooning and journaling, I managed to get myself out of that funk. Today I’m back at the easel painting (back in Connecticut), keeping things fun and manageable. And, as a result of exploring a new medium, I eventually put together a book of cartoons for all introverted personality types called Text Don’t Call: An Illustrated Guide to the Introverted Life, which was published by TarcherPerigee in August of 2017."
Aaron Caycedo-Kimura is a creative genius, a gentle soul, an explorer of the world through his paintings, poetry, and cartoons. We have had the pleasure to talk to Aaron about his book An Illustrated Guide to the Introverted Life, Text Don’t Call. Now we are glad to share with you his own confession about our ongoing series #BeatTheBlues. Read up, live it up, and keep moving hopefully more inspired by Aaaron Caycedo-Kimura and his art.
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Aaron Caycedo-Kimura is a creative genius, a gentle soul, an explorer of the world through his paintings, poetry, and cartoons. We have had the pleasure to talk to Aaron about his book An Illustrated Guide to the Introverted Life, Text Don’t Call. Now we are glad to share with you his own confession about our ongoing series #BeatTheBlues. Read up, live it up, and keep moving hopefully more inspired by Aaaron Caycedo-Kimura and his art.
Read more...
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#BeatTheBlues
with Josh Cook
January, 2013: I’m managing a brand new restaurant. The books are filled. Guests sardine into the tiny waiting space by the door, sipping beer and wine while they wait for a table. It’s seven o’clock, the height of the dinner rush, and I’m nowhere to be found. Most nights, I’m pacing to the bathroom, to the supply closet, to the office—anywhere—to escape, if even for a moment. If the temperature weren’t sub-zero, I’d be outside, huddled behind the dumpster, perhaps smoking a cigarette. (I don’t smoke, but a few years shaved off my life seems a small price to pay for assuaging the mounting anxiety.)
December, 2013: Frances is a month old. My wife Rebekah and I bundle her in a navy blue snowsuit and drive her to Green’s Hill, where Rebekah and her siblings sledded as kids. Leaning barns and snow-covered prairie—there’s little else. Green’s Hill isn’t even a hill at all but a country road no one drives on. My brothers and sisters-in-law holler and whistle and, when they fall off the sled, curse their aging knees and backs. Rebekah and I put Frances on an old runner sled and take pictures and laugh and then, when she starts crying, haul her up and coo in her ear and hold her close.
October, 2015: Anxiety in full throttle. Going to therapy and trying meds and going off meds and worrying about going off meds and trying herbs instead and worrying I got the wrong herbs and feeling the coming rage of winter. It’s the time of year I dread. An entry from my journal: “Outside, the sky is that muddy color of clay-water. Winter murk has begun to set. I have nothing to do, nothing to say. I feel tired. I feel drained, of what? I feel like I have nothing. As if I’ve been running all weekend, working, working.”
December, 2013: Frances is a month old. My wife Rebekah and I bundle her in a navy blue snowsuit and drive her to Green’s Hill, where Rebekah and her siblings sledded as kids. Leaning barns and snow-covered prairie—there’s little else. Green’s Hill isn’t even a hill at all but a country road no one drives on. My brothers and sisters-in-law holler and whistle and, when they fall off the sled, curse their aging knees and backs. Rebekah and I put Frances on an old runner sled and take pictures and laugh and then, when she starts crying, haul her up and coo in her ear and hold her close.
October, 2015: Anxiety in full throttle. Going to therapy and trying meds and going off meds and worrying about going off meds and trying herbs instead and worrying I got the wrong herbs and feeling the coming rage of winter. It’s the time of year I dread. An entry from my journal: “Outside, the sky is that muddy color of clay-water. Winter murk has begun to set. I have nothing to do, nothing to say. I feel tired. I feel drained, of what? I feel like I have nothing. As if I’ve been running all weekend, working, working.”
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December, 2018: For the first time since ages 7, 8, 9 — daily sledding and snowballs — I can confidently say I’ve grown fond of winter. I’ve kept my running routine consistent. In the past, I would slink inside around November and use the cold as an excuse to eat more, sleep more, drink more whiskey, and hit the treadmill only when I felt like it. This year, though, I’ve made my mind a priority. I wake in the dark and tip-toe out of the house while Rebekah and Frances and our dog Fred, are still sleeping and click on my headlamp and try not to think too hard about a route and just go. I return in the dark just as they’re all waking up.
I haven’t needed meds (or herbs) for a few years, and I’ve packed up my SAD lamp, sticking to Vitamin D and outside time whenever possible. I guess I don’t think of the extreme cold as the “bitter cold” anymore, probably because I’ve befriended it. I’ve met its intensity with a bit of my own. (And layers, lots of layers.) I dream of spring, yes, and slow bike rides by the river, and family walks to the park, but then a snowstorm comes, and my friends and their kids have all spontaneously gathered at someone’s house, and I can’t help but get another dose of the cold. I pull them on the sled, lead a zombie charge, and beg for a snowball in the face.
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Let Nothing Break You
Dow Phumiruk
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It’s a special time of year. But the many shiny lights and happy sounds, quick strategies and endless best everything lists might make anyone feel distraught and distracted. Keeping up with the latest trends or looking the prettiest, smartest, chicest person in the world can be loathsome and definitely never sufficient to feel complete, to find and enjoy love, to deal with loss and setbacks, to find and hold on to hope, to make a mark, to make a difference. For a reality check, we turned to Dr. Dow Phumiruk. We believe hers is one of the most relevant messages today and any day moving forward. Dr. Dow Phumiruk is good. Salt of the earth good. Follow her advice...
...Let nothing break you. Read more... |
Photo: courtesy of the artist |
Laugh Away The Blues
Hey Bob Guy!
...The first time someone told me my comic was able to cheer them up on a bad day, it gave me a sense of purpose. It became clear to me that not only do I want to make people laugh, I want to use humor to help them through their own hard times. Whether it's by giving them a much-needed laugh or making a comic about mental health that let's someone see they are not alone in this fight. Because we're not alone nor do we fight alone. We can help each other if we just try. Even if it's just telling a silly little joke to someone who is feeling down...
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#BeatTheBlues
Ken Ueno
Ken Ueno |
Music saved my life.
When I was eighteen, I thought I had lost everything. Everything I had planned for my life – attend West Point, serve my country, become a general, then come back to California to become a senator - was taken away from me. Having survived the first year at West Point (still the hardest year of my life), and going into the second year, I suffered an injury in a training accident. That was the end of Plan A. I went back home to convalesce with my mother for two years. Those two years were the hardest years of my life. I had no idea what would become of me. It all seemed hopeless. Read more... |
Discovering the Beauty of Nature
Kirsti KooHoo
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To beat the blues
to come back from the depths of darkness to make the dark clouds pass… I go outdoors to spend time in nature |
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…to admire the ever-chancing setting around me, the vast landscapes, the tiniest details; ants running around, birds chasing sunrays, the glittering sea that echoes the stories from all the shores the waves have already seen. …to witness how the light showers hope on the ground helping the flowers to find their way through the snow. How rain falls on the sunshine revealing the delicate designs of the leaves. * * * I go into nature… ...to feel the motion of silence quiet magical. To lean on a horizon. Own or borrowed. And just to be in the moment. Just to be still Read the full poem here |
How I Find Ways to Beat the Blues
Justen Ahren
I'm not necessarily looking to 'beat' my blues, but find in this state material for further creation. As uncomfortable as it may be to sit in darkness and unknowing, I've found that if I'm surrender and attend to it, there is rich soil here from which new, more realized work comes.
The 'blues' may represent a transformation, a passage, a liminal space between what was and what we were, and who we are becoming and what is yet to be. What is required isn't escape, but sinking down. And this requires trust and faith: the belief that we will bring forth something from this moment.
My current work involves volunteering with refugees in Europe and making from refugees stories a 'theater' which audiences can access. This multimedia work requires me to embody people's trauma, grief, pain. It is not an easy space to dwell. I often feel under the weight of water. What lifts me is my daily practice of making from the emotions and materials something beyond me. Bringing forth something to give to the world, and thus, being of service, gives me purpose and gives my labor meaning.
Where we do ourselves a disservice is thinking we must be happy. If we aren't happy, something is wrong. Happiness isn't a goal, isn't an end result. It is what we gather along the way, working daily to bring forth what is urging its way out of us. To attend to this urge, is the work of the artist. To mine and fashion (make visible and audible) and give what we find in the depths (and heights) of our experience is the work of the artist. Our work is our prayer.
The 'blues' may represent a transformation, a passage, a liminal space between what was and what we were, and who we are becoming and what is yet to be. What is required isn't escape, but sinking down. And this requires trust and faith: the belief that we will bring forth something from this moment.
My current work involves volunteering with refugees in Europe and making from refugees stories a 'theater' which audiences can access. This multimedia work requires me to embody people's trauma, grief, pain. It is not an easy space to dwell. I often feel under the weight of water. What lifts me is my daily practice of making from the emotions and materials something beyond me. Bringing forth something to give to the world, and thus, being of service, gives me purpose and gives my labor meaning.
Where we do ourselves a disservice is thinking we must be happy. If we aren't happy, something is wrong. Happiness isn't a goal, isn't an end result. It is what we gather along the way, working daily to bring forth what is urging its way out of us. To attend to this urge, is the work of the artist. To mine and fashion (make visible and audible) and give what we find in the depths (and heights) of our experience is the work of the artist. Our work is our prayer.
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Martha's Vineyard Poet Laureate, Justen Ahren is founder and Director of the Italy Writing Retreat and Noepe Center for the Literary Arts. He is the author of two poetry collections, A Strange Cathecism, and the forthcoming, A Machine For Remembering. Currently, he is touring his experimental theater performance, After the War for the Valley, about the experiences of refugees living in camps in Europe.
More of his work can be seen at justenahren.com
More of his work can be seen at justenahren.com
How Can I Have the Right to Give Up?
Pauchi Sasaki
Although my work involves technology, what brings me back from the depth of darkness is traditional music and the rituals that surround them. If a song or instrumental piece survives centuries and generations, I believe it's because this music has the strength to connect to human spirit in a very special way.
For example, there was a time when I felt sad. I travelled to Cusco in Peru to the Qoyllur Rit'i (Rain of Stars) festivity. This trip was a life changing experience. I saw thousands of musicians coming from all over the Andes, staying awake in the frigid cold with temperatures as low as -5 degrees F, playing music for 24 hours (for 4 days), and all of it happening nearly over 16,000 feet above sea level. I thought, "How can I have the right to give up?" If these people have faith to enjoy Qoyllur Rit'i's extreme pilgrimage and believe this is one of the most sacred moments of their lives, how can I then give up on life despite its ups and downs?
Here are some images of the ritual by photographer Miguel Mejia Castro
For example, there was a time when I felt sad. I travelled to Cusco in Peru to the Qoyllur Rit'i (Rain of Stars) festivity. This trip was a life changing experience. I saw thousands of musicians coming from all over the Andes, staying awake in the frigid cold with temperatures as low as -5 degrees F, playing music for 24 hours (for 4 days), and all of it happening nearly over 16,000 feet above sea level. I thought, "How can I have the right to give up?" If these people have faith to enjoy Qoyllur Rit'i's extreme pilgrimage and believe this is one of the most sacred moments of their lives, how can I then give up on life despite its ups and downs?
Here are some images of the ritual by photographer Miguel Mejia Castro
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My Happiness This Summer
Mauricio Arango
I did not realize this until I started thinking about what to write for HocTok, but now there is a new little thing that brings me tremendous joy with her presence. A few months ago, a friend gave me her 20-year old cockatiel so that I would take care of her while she, my friend, deals with other things. Prior to that I did not even know what a cockatiel was. In addition, I am also new to having animals as companions...
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