The Little Blue Book

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As part of my college course in 2019, we had to explore the idea of what environment meant to us individually. So I created a book with original artwork and small poems to match.

Below is the collection of original artworks and poetry. 

These artworks and writings are of personal expression and depict my state of mind and showcase my physical locations at the time of creation.

This series began in February 2019 and is still currently ongoing.

Page 1

Doorway, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Doorway.jpg

Enter the doorway into my thoughts and mind the step.

The corridors seem strange,

they coil like a viper with a thousand intertwining bodies.

With many twists and turns,

there isn't much light,

I'm afraid,

but we must make do.

The rain,

do you hear it?

Do you hear it drumming?

The water is building,

it breaches the cracks.

Soon it will break down the door,

but what can we do?

The plants are dying,

the flowers have wilted

but

I suppose

what can we do?

Page 2

The world is often colourless and sour.

I have dreamed about a world with light so bright

its touch could purify the wicked.

A land where the darkness of one's mind yields to its blissful beam.
A place where wonders stalk the world with entrancing grace.
Where pain is truly temporary and every lesson is noted.
Where there is more to life than war, money, power, and injustice.
I yearn for that dream I dreamed of.
But I was a fool to think that words on a page could be more than just that.
More than the will of another’s imagination.
I am a fool.

Dream.jpg

Dream, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 3

Coping.jpg

Coping, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Less is more,
is what they say.
But less emotion leads to more internal conflict.
What you are left with is an animated husk,
with eyes that lost their colour long ago.
You can spot us,
there is more than just I.
We sit alone in rooms of plenty
and cower when we must talk.
There are days when dusk falls and slumber is impossible to reach
and dawn where it takes an age to rise.
Food tastes like flour,
and the things that gave us life have lost their lustre.
That is when we scream until our throats bleed,
We clutch our chests because the ache becomes unbearable,
and drown our sorrows in unforgiving habits for but a moments relief.
Or like I,
you lay in the confines of a hot bath,
draw a breath of the steam that engulfs you,
and sink into the water.

Page 4

A lifetime passed before my eyes and yet only a handful of years were behind those memories.
If only I could have one last word,
just one more cup of tea,
share one last embrace,
I strongly believe that my hold would never cease.
And I suppose,
that is why final requests don’t exist.
When death held his hand for that soul to take,
if last requests were granted,
his hand would never break my grasp.
Sadly,
his cold hand brushed over me as he reached for one of my own,
I was not graced with a forgivable parting,
nor so much as a goodbye,
and so,
I grieve.

A memory.jpg

Grief, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 5

Warmth

Warmth, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

The years I spent,
Sat before that same fire were ones I could feel the heat and warmth of my family.
These days,
the heat does not touch me.
Its warmth does not grace my skin.
I am left cowering before a dying light,
begging without words for sanctuary.
I plead for mercy,
the grace of God,
But my prayers fall upon deaf ears.
The light is dimming,
As I am plunged into darkness,
I hear the whispers of a memory calling me forth.
A fragile creature wades through the shadows,
with a meek smile,
one that I recognise,
they offer me a coat and a mug of tea.
As they stoke the fire,
Their words remind me that I too have warmth inside of me.

Page 6

As soft droplets fall from the heavens,
The cat makes haste to the window.
It’s soft,
round orbs of sap green,
ever moving to follow the watery tracks.
The lonely feline finds solace in the many droplets.
But it is not enough.
Not enough to replace the hand that once brushed her fur.
At least she has the soft rain.
Oh, how her owner adored the soft rain.
I visited her twice a day ever since.
She was hesitant at first,
but with time she opened her heart to me.
Her eyes grew hollow,
hoping and waiting for her companion to return,
but she would not be graced with her company again through this lifetime.
I sympathise with her through our heartache.

bond.jpg

Bonding, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 7

Worth.jpg

The burden of living attaches shackles to my ankles.
When I find myself soaring,
I’m roped back to earth.
My freedom as fleeting as the wind,
my happiness sinks into nothing.
I find no joy in what I do,
my motivation dies along with my hope.
It takes an age to feel emotion,
but when I do,
I feel them wholeheartedly.
I can embrace my feelings with both arms,
and I decide,
If I cannot soar above the clouds,
then I must walk among the living.
I grow as a person,
I learn new trades,
I begin to find pleasure in small things,
I discover that I have value to the world around me.

Worth, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 8

All it takes is a name,
a sound,
a memory.
Something so simple to remind me of them.
As their faces come to mind,
the rage I’ve concealed burns,
scorning my scarred innards and turning me into a beast.
Like the full moons monster,
My hunger insatiable,
My rage, unwavering.
With a thorn in my chest,

I remember who I am.
As my fury still burns,
it’s flame weakens,
as I turn human my body trembles.
I clutch the object that protrudes from my being,
the knife was instilled long ago,
I cannot pry it from its spot -
The weapon will not yield.
But I’ll give you that,
my friend,
your eyes met mine as you plunged the knife into my chest.

Hurt.jpg

Hurt, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 9

Complicated.jpg

Complicated, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

The beauty of art is that we can pour our emotions into our work and we are praised for our endeavours.
Most enjoy our art for how it looks or sounds,
others can sense the underlying grief or joy to our words and paintings.
In the end,
we long to be understood.
We yearn to be accepted,
to be loved,
to feel anything at all or to feel a little less.
Some of us are as complex as the stars and some are as open as a book.

IMG_20190802_0006.jpg

Page 10

There is both light and dark within me.

They come bearing the balance of calm and concern,

empathy and apathy,

right and wrong,

good and evil.

Some believe that yin and yang are best represented by battling wolves,

I believe otherwise.

I believe that the good and evil within us have never been at war.

Within us,

they dance eternally,

with two steps forward and one step back.

You may choose who leads the way and they will do so gracefully.

That is what I believe.

Eternal Dance, ink and pen, 2019.

Page 11

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Just as the sun sets and dusk becomes an ebony blanket,

A being rests their weary bodies for the final time and does not know it.

We become comfortable with the thought of forever that we fail to realise that nothing is eternal.

Folk wither with time,

buildings crumble,

and the only stamp that marks we existed is fleeting memories among those still living.

I dread to think that my life as insignificant as a spec of dust drifting amongst the cosmos

and all that remains of  me is my work.

I suppose,

that would be both a curse and a blessing.

At least then I would continue to exist.

Even if it was but a small portion of myself.

Dust, ink and pen, 2019.

Page 12

If we could hold our hearts without perishing I could show you a million different things.

I could show you the patches where had to make repairs to my wounded organ,

time and time again,

When my organ was thrown in the gutter.

In the end, its beat returned.

Admittedly a little less hopeful,

a little out of tune.

I presented my battered organ to very few people.

I hoped for acceptance,

I prayed to be loved.

Most turned away from my gruesome gesture,

and I knew my heart would not be reciprocated.

IMG_20191024_0019.jpg

Love, ink and pen, 2019.

Page 13

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Often, I feel as fragile as a paper boat drifting amongst a storm.
The slightest change and my being would crumble.
I cannot stop the downpour of emotion,
I must continue forward without glancing back.
I have come a long way since the beginning,
And although my boat is still made of paper,
I have patched the holes with wooden beams.
Soon the old me will be forgotten like the buckled paper behind me.

Paper Boat, ink and pen, 2019.

Page 14

My mind is a vast ocean and I am but a simple fisherman.
The sea can often be unpredictable,
Storm clouds make for rough sailing.
The water is clouded with pollution of bad thoughts and negative energy.
As I cast my hook into my thoughts,
It takes an age for fish to bite,
But when they do I find myself in wonder how something so spectacular could thrive in this uneasy ocean.
The ocean is not uneasy,
The water is not polluted.
It took an age for me to see that my eyes were clouded with saddened thoughts,
My view was uneasy,
My eyes were polluted.
My mind was shaped by my own critics,
Now I work to cleanse myself.

IMG_20191024_0021.jpg

Polution, ink and pen, 2019.

Page 15

IMG_20191024_0023.jpg

Portal, ink and pen, 2019.

Books are portals into new universes. 

The pages are the gateway and words are the keys. 

I have visited other realms, 

My conscious thrown to watch as the characters' lives play out. 

I cannot intervein, 

I have no voice, 

I can only observe. 

I have witnessed countless heartache, 

Bloodshed, 

Tears and shattered dreams. 

Though there has been a great deal of pain through those lives, 

I have been privileged to be a part of their happiness. 

I have seen love like never before, 

Dreams that came to fruition, 

A kindness that knows no boundaries, 

And I would not trade a portal full of beauty for a world full of horror.

Page 16

Grief brings great change. 

Our grief brought the greatest change of all – 

We were no longer children or grandchildren. 

It stripped us of that privilege.

It robbed us of that love. 

Death tore your hand from ours and cast us aside 

broken and lost. 

We had to climb, and struggle from this pit of despair. 

In our efforts to reach the sunlight we left our childlike selves alone and cold within the darkness. 

They could not survive the climb. 

IMG_20191024_0008.jpg

The Climb, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 17

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As I fell to the floor with tears freely falling 

I could only apologise with a crooked smile. 

The flowers I brought weren’t the finest, 

I wasn’t looking my best, 

But I was trying. 

I began to beg, 

To plead, 

And cry. 

But my words cannot be heard. 

My voice does not reach your ears, 

My prayers go unanswered. 

I weep for you as the grief I’ve concealed is unfolded. 

Like a tsunami 

The pain, heartache, and loneliness come flooding through my being. 

But I continue to pour what’s left of my shattered heart to you. 

I could never right this wrong, 

I can’t redeem myself. 

Forgive me, 

Please, 

Oh Lord forgive me. 

Apology, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 18

Often my mind wanders to those days I took for granted.

All the cups of tea, hugs, birthdays, and memories... 

I find you crave that which you cannot have.

Be it little or large -

a cup of tea or the crown jewels.

Only one of those I long for.

Only one of those matters.

But those moments are behind me,

my future in front of me.

At least you're still here in my dreams.

There you never left.

IMG_20191024_0010.jpg

Taken for Granted, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 19

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I can imagine the joy,

the tears,

and the heartwarming embrace as you are reunited.

At last.

Two years is far too long.

I'm happy for you both.

Truly,

I am.

But,

why did you both have to leave?

Reunion, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Page 20

Just a cat they say.

You may see a creature not worth mourning,

but I know I've lost my friend.

My comfort and companion through darker days.

Who cuddled me as I cried,

sat with me when I slept,

stayed with me when I worked and waited for me

when I was out.

I mourn the loss of my four-legged friend

who gave so much love to me

when I couldn't even love myself.

A creature that is far more than just a cat.

IMG_20191024_0007.jpg

Just a Cat, monochromatic blue watercolour 2019.

Project Gallery

Doorway
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Dream
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Coping
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Grief
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