What I Learned in Boating School

      Throughout a year of literature forced upon my reluctant self, I found myself lacking impression nearing towards the final months of my reluctance. It was at this moment that yet another novel was pitilessly thrown towards us, and I found myself unable to even purchase the book for reasons only I may ever understand. Working ever so diligently to attain possession of the book on its due date, I walked into class with Into the Wild displayed humbly in my crackly, dry hands. Prior to our actual odyssey of reading the book, an introduction was presented and I knew that this book would be somewhat of a replica of my idealistic yet all the more possible pitiful aspirations. Excited I was; expectant: not so much. I did, however, work to mask my appreciation of the novel for I feel as though if I, as a third person party, were to observe my own self expressing excitement towards the novel's plot, a questionable sense of irritation would come upon me. I find it rather difficult to explain why I found a liking in the story, or any one concept for that matter, and I understand that such an idea is somewhat vague. Yet I consider my refusal to explain my liking as an explanation itself. I took it upon myself to read the entire novel (which I still did not own) within the matter of four days; this may also have been a result of there being four days left to read it. And although I find it difficult to provide a reason for my liking, I can say that as a whole, what I enjoyed most about the novel was a pleasant irony: how a book that the school system I was reluctantly placed into initially forced upon me and the presence of Utah flowing past me led me to realize that I may not, as profane as it may sound, desire attending college (or university) myself. And as I currently scratch my head, I envision myself in ten years, standing in the middle of a barren farm field, one sock different from the next, doing the same. And as I ponder once more, I realize the novel had somewhat of another benefit presented to me; I felt just a tad less special upon its completion; I was not the only one who had the unimaginable idea that she could do whatever she wanted. Yet after reading the novel I realized, I could. I may even consider purchasing the book. 

God's Path For Me

     Beginning my natural journey, of which God's only gift to us: money, will not be an object, I strip myself of all but bare necessities. I am left with banana leaves with which I make suitable clothing out of, and a hand-held CD player full of 80's pop. I begin my spiritual journey. Feeling more connected to the earth than ever only three minutes into my odyssey, I decide that traveling by car will not do, even though I do not yet know where I am going at this point. I decide to call up a pack of wolves to guide me to my salvation. Although this is slightly rare in the ninety-seven degree weather in July in Los Angeles, California, I am sure the wolves will be more than willing to join me on my adventure. We are off. About five minutes into the drive (which is being conducted on a sled tied to the wolves), I notice that the ride is not as smooth as I had hoped for, the reason being that the roads are quite rough and apparently not built for sleds, and we seem to be holding up quite a bit of traffic on the 101. I decide to ditch the sled and all but a single one of my wolves, whose back I climb onto and continue my journey as such. About forty minutes in, I notice a grumbling sensation in my stomach. Being away from society for so long, it takes me a while to once again recognize such a sensation as hunger. I had previously decided that nowhere in my spiritual journey should I consume foods that encourage sin, as God had told me in a dream one night that such foods are directly from the devil. Therefore, enjoying the beautiful natural world around me as I park my wolf on the pole of a stoplight on Beverly Drive, I feast on some raw, vegan, organic, gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, low-carb, fat-free tree bark, accompanied by a salad of weeds that were ever so conveniently growing in a flower pot in front of Bloomingdales, and a wonderfully refreshing juice of herbs (as the man had told me as me sold me a bag full of this green substance for quite a hefty price and disappeared before I could even say thanks). Finished eating, I pause and think to myself, "Nature is gorgeous", as a tear drips down my face. With my energy supply replenished, our adventure carries on.
     I open my eyes in what seems to be the first time in days, seeing only a blur. I feel an aching pain traveling throughout my entire body, and an emptiness in my stomach. The light that peeks into the small cracks in my eyes blinds me. Have I reached salvation? Has my spiritual journey reached its zenith? Have I finally attained the ability to reach out to God? "God? Is that you God?", I whisper to myself, staring in front of me at what seems to be an angel in white. I later find out that is my doctor, and I am in room 305 of "God's Healing Souls" Medical Center in Nevada City. It turns out wolves really are not suited for California weather, especially with someone on their backs. My little trooper, however, managed to lead me all the way to Nevada City, California, where he and I both fainted: him, from an excess of heat and baggage (me), and me, from a lack of "proper nourishment" and a heat stroke, or so the doctor says. I find myself quite upset, yet manage to ask the doctor for some tree bark and weeds to replenish my energy as he sticks a bendy straw down a packet of pasteurized orange juice from concentrate, puts it in my hand, and shoves a spoonful of Jell-O brand processed chocolate pudding down my throat. I only hope it was gluten free.

Mental Hospitals Now Becoming Art Galleries

Meet Yayoi Kusuma, The Woman Recently Dubbed The World's Most Famous Artist
By: Priscilla Frank
Source: Huffington Post

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/04/08/yayoi-kusama-most-famous-artist-in-the-world_n_7018862.html?utm_hp_ref=arts   
   
     Yayoi Kusuma, born in Japan in 1929, now eighty-six years old and resigning in the Seiwa Hospital for the Mentally Ill, is named "the most popular artist in the world" (Frank, 1). She began having hallucinations of polka dots at the age of ten, which, to her, were symbolic depictions of earth, moon, sun, and humans. It was these hallucinations that found their way into her art, composed largely of the polka dots themselves. Kusuma's explanation behind the dots lied somewhere along the lines of them "help[ing] to 'obliterate' her sense of self, allowing her to connect with the infinite universe" (Frank, 1).  Her artwork, prominent in Asia, is viewed by millions of people, leading to one of her exhibitions having the highest attendance of any other artist in 2014. Kusuma has expressed her art in the form of sculptures "stemming from a lifelong phobia of sex" (Frank, 1), to images of polka dots intermingling with nudity, combining art with the human body and form. Being in the mental hospital she is now, Kusuma is the least bit unmotivated to create, continuing to produce art daily.
     Art in its many forms, possesses endless abilities to convey, to portray, to draw in, and to isolate from all that lies around. Kusuma's otherworldly inspired artwork manages to draw the viewer into a different world aside from their own, pulling them into her own perceptions and giving them the "sensation of losing oneself to the surrounding noise, and somehow still finding peace" (Frank, 1). Her work truly shows that art can come from anywhere, anyone, and is one of the rare aspects of life that conveys no boundaries.