tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23365037004984391362024-03-13T21:03:25.717-07:00The avant garde tweenerHannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-55710000132676649442021-01-14T18:39:00.002-08:002021-01-14T18:41:09.318-08:00we'll never be royals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RoG-e_hPMiA/YAD6flJquzI/AAAAAAAADEI/ig6JhgZ3RGUNdb4q-gXFIe7X8PtdRGtwACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/emperornortonball.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1337" data-original-width="2048" height="449" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RoG-e_hPMiA/YAD6flJquzI/AAAAAAAADEI/ig6JhgZ3RGUNdb4q-gXFIe7X8PtdRGtwACLcBGAsYHQ/w688-h449/emperornortonball.jpg" width="688" /></a></div><p></p><p>Long time no see! I've been gone so long that Blogger has changed its entire interface and I don't even know how to make posts anymore! I don't really know what to say about the state of the world right now. I certainly don't have anything insightful to add, but if there's one thing quarantine has taught me it's that sometimes it's enough just to exist. You don't always have to be an intellectual. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwRJ0vrFH0E/YAD8ONe-EDI/AAAAAAAADFU/6YjNv69Dzfw7SbjdhhKwTLmJ_w-PZO5awCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/hannahportrait3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="443" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fwRJ0vrFH0E/YAD8ONe-EDI/AAAAAAAADFU/6YjNv69Dzfw7SbjdhhKwTLmJ_w-PZO5awCLcBGAsYHQ/w666-h443/hannahportrait3.jpg" width="666" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Like everyone else, I have been mourning what we've lost in the past year because of the pandemic. Sometimes it gets to be too much to bear. But I have been lucky in so many ways. And a silver lining is that I have had much more time to focus on personal projects. For years, I have wanted to start a micronation, and quarantine finally gave me the time to do it. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ko8qMvA-OYM/YAD8GnYcpKI/AAAAAAAADFM/ZP1lpepaNoYaUMfYuBVzeyzlpUD6JQVzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/hannah%2Broyal%2Bportrait.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="2048" height="437" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ko8qMvA-OYM/YAD8GnYcpKI/AAAAAAAADFM/ZP1lpepaNoYaUMfYuBVzeyzlpUD6JQVzQCLcBGAsYHQ/w666-h437/hannah%2Broyal%2Bportrait.jpg" width="666" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A micronation is a small entity that declares sovereignty from its larger nation. Some of the most famous examples include Sealand and Molossia. The micronational community is full of eccentrics and visionaries, and I've loved watching it from afar these past few years. This year, I became so frustrated with the macronations of the world for their failure to deal with the pandemic in an efficient way. I also felt a bit lost during quarantine...without purpose, like I hadn't accomplished what I set out to accomplish this year. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6qUDgUpikmQ/YAD7_tBJFOI/AAAAAAAADFA/xKcdc9JZ4EwRG2O7cZka_jWIU02DGqHgQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1334/hannah%2Bportrait%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="671" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6qUDgUpikmQ/YAD7_tBJFOI/AAAAAAAADFA/xKcdc9JZ4EwRG2O7cZka_jWIU02DGqHgQCLcBGAsYHQ/w377-h671/hannah%2Bportrait%2B2.jpg" width="377" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These feelings ultimately culminated in the establishment of my own micronation: the Nation of Paracosmia. You can visit it here: <a href="https://paracosmia.wixsite.com/home">https://paracosmia.wixsite.com/home</a> I had so much fun putting everything together, from the land claim itself, to the website, to the products in the souvenir shop. It occupied most of my time during the fall, and I'm happy to say that the January launch went wonderfully! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KzjdQFJfTFc/YAD8N3KlVUI/AAAAAAAADFQ/zwCHtuQEj1kAgOZLZJy_3Td59gX2rucPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/hannahportrait4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1317" data-original-width="2048" height="419" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KzjdQFJfTFc/YAD8N3KlVUI/AAAAAAAADFQ/zwCHtuQEj1kAgOZLZJy_3Td59gX2rucPQCLcBGAsYHQ/w650-h419/hannahportrait4.jpg" width="650" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I hope to grow the nation further in the months to come. I'm relieved to have an escape from the dismal outside world, and I'm proud of the work that I've done on Paracosmia. It has given me an outlet of self-expression, as well as a community, during these bleak times. Previously, even if I had the time to do it, I might have thought that this endeavor was too silly, that people would think I was juvenile for founding a pretend nation full of pixies and unicorns. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b_8IqVjjn4o/YAD8FR4rfTI/AAAAAAAADFE/QchKHV21dL0dTlMVsmWLa2KGtw0UrNYLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_1767.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="658" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b_8IqVjjn4o/YAD8FR4rfTI/AAAAAAAADFE/QchKHV21dL0dTlMVsmWLa2KGtw0UrNYLQCLcBGAsYHQ/w438-h658/IMG_1767.JPG" width="438" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But during this past year, I have also learned that being hyper self-conscious doesn't really get you anything in the end. I'm so sick of our post ironic (or whatever) world, where no one can admit to liking something genuinely, everything is disguised in this cloak of sarcasm and insincerity. I've certainly been guilty of this in the past too. But these days I really want to kill off the last of my self-awareness and live freely, and buy unicorn stickers and roll-on glitter if I want to. I aspire to have the confidence of Tommy Wiseau and Jaden Smith. Founding Paracosmia was a step in the right direction. Thank you to whoever reads this. I hope you and yours are well. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMQSd-W-uDI/YAD8PTJqxFI/AAAAAAAADFY/jik8FRnbTJcGMdJfkzwYrfcPEb97hxCLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/paracosmiaball.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1521" data-original-width="2048" height="501" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PMQSd-W-uDI/YAD8PTJqxFI/AAAAAAAADFY/jik8FRnbTJcGMdJfkzwYrfcPEb97hxCLwCLcBGAsYHQ/w675-h501/paracosmiaball.jpg" width="675" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-53617426622132589972020-03-28T17:49:00.004-07:002020-03-28T17:49:47.877-07:00the end of the world as we know it <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I turned 20 last week so I guess the name of this blog is officially, <i>officially </i>outdated, along with the venue of BLOGSPOT. But in other ways, the name is more applicable than ever. I don't feel very old. I don't feel like I want to be older anyway. This blog's name was never particularly catchy, but it did sort of capture my character. Not "The Avant Garde" part-- that doesn't fit now and I'm not sure if it ever did --but the "Tweener" part. I know that a tweener is used to refer to someone between the ages of 10 and 13, and that I am no longer a tween. But Urban Dictionary defines tweener as "One who doesn't fall into any category of people," and Merriam Webster defines it as "A player who has some but not all of the necessary characteristics for each of two or more positions." I am not athletic, but both of those definitions feel applicable to me still.<br />
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My own definition of the word "Tweener" is "One who is in between." I think I'll always be in between. I started this blog because I was in between wanting to be a part of a group and wanting to be a loner. This is something I still struggle with. I wish I could get rid of the part of myself that's so protective of the things I like, the part of me that's always disappointed by people. But I haven't yet. But I used to think this struggle was really unique to me, and I realized that almost every teenager experiences something similar, I just haven't been lucky enough to grow out of it yet. Anyway, right now, I feel as though I am Peak Tweener. The most in between I will ever be. But who knows. I think we are all in between right now. These are uncertain times, and so much, is in jeopardy on both a personal and universal level.<br />
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For the past few years, I've felt so lost and distressed in regards to where my life is and isn't going. Most of the time I felt too paralyzed with anxiety and uncertainty to even do anything about it. For the past two weeks I've been in quarantine because of the COVID-19 pandemic, and being quarantined is depressingly similar to my life prior to this. And I don't mean to make a "poor me" post. I know a lot of people have it much, much worse. It's just strange to think that I basically haven't left the house much for two whole years. It's also weird to see people freaking out over having to stay home, over leading the sort of life I've been leading for years. It's made me feel like kind of a loser, and I wish people could just stay home without talking so much about it, but, of course, this is a worldwide pandemic, and people are allowed to react in whatever way they feel is right. And, obviously, my anxiety has been heightened by all this, and it's not quite the same as my quiet existence at home before.<br />
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The worst hasn't happened yet, and we're all just sitting around anticipating it. It's such strange times we live in. The fact my daily life hasn't changed much only adds to it. We're living through historic times, and literally I can't do anything except binge watch New Girl. It's like, if I was paralyzed before, I'm constrained now. This is the year I'm supposed to move out. This is the year I'm supposed to finally do something about all this unrest inside of me, and I'm not sure I can anymore. And even if everything goes back to normal by the time I'm supposed to attend school, this virus has sort of dismantled the structure of our society. My whole life I've been told that I'm "going places," but I'm not sure if I want to go places in a world like this one.<br />
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I'm sure I won't be a couch potato forever. I've been trying to stay creatively active, but it's hard to do that without feeling overwhelmed, or without feeling like you're giving into the idea that you have to be productive in times like this, which you absolutely don't have to. But when I'm quiet and contemplative I start to feel defeated. I don't really think this is the end of the world. I think this is just another example of how our society has already deteriorated. I have hope for the future, I do. I know a lot of people my age think our generation is so selfless, so innovative, we're going to save the world, etc, etc. Young people are doing amazing things. Of course I am inspired by Greta Thunberg and the Parkland teens. But I find that the average member of Gen Z is self-righteous but unwilling to make the personal sacrifices needed of them. I think that's really sad and disturbing, and I'm scared. I'm no better! I'm terrified that the future rests in my hands. I'm in between being manically positive and being nihilistic.<br />
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But we could surprise me. In the words of Shakespeare "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them." My greatest hope is that my generation will have greatness thrust upon them, that when push comes to shove, we will let go of pretension and superiority and do what's right. But when I look at photos of teens on beaches, celebrating spring break in the midst of a pandemic, I can't help but think we are failing the test. Still, I can't imagine any of my friends sitting idle and watching the world burn (unless, like right now, that's the right thing to do). But maybe they are the exception and not the example. I don't think I would just watch as everything when down in flames, but you don't really know how you'll react until you face it right?<br />
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I've read a lot of articles that say this virus is here to stay. I know that the racism it exacerbated is here to stay, the late-stage-capitalism-hostility to one's fellow man too. And I'm worried all these feelings of anxiety, anger, and hurt that I have, that many have, are here to stay too. But maybe we won't linger in this in between forever, unsure of what to do with all these emotions, unsure of how to fix something that's been broken for so long. Maybe we will grow up. Maybe we will transform this pain into real change, into a better life. I really hope we can.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-58021952727422698732020-02-25T20:26:00.002-08:002020-02-25T20:26:31.351-08:00a heart who's love is innocent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lately I've been thinking about the difference between being alone and being lonely. I actually don't like the label of introvert, especially the way it's used nowadays online. People that I've encountered online who identify as introverts seem to have swell heads and think that wanting to be alone sometimes counts as a personality. Or they're incredibly misanthropic and think hating people will make them popular online. Obviously this is a generalization, and I'm sure there are some wonderful people in online introvert communities, I just never felt comfortable calling myself part of them, especially lately. I've also been questioning the usefulness of labels-- I think pretty much everyone has introverted and extroverted tendencies.<br />
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I am a pretty solitary person, though, and I've always been okay with that, until recently. In high school, I was hardly a party animal, but I had friends that I could go get coffee with and study with and make flower crowns with. I actually really do love people, and I love spending time with my friends. I valued my alone time equally as much, though. Another thing about introverts-- everyone expects you to be a worldly scholar who never watches TV and instead reads romantic poetry all day. When I'm alone, I'm probably binge watching New Girl for the umpteenth time. But I'm getting sidetracked.<br />
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What I'm getting at is, for most of my life, I've always had people I could be around if I so desired. But after high school, everyone scattered. Very few of my friends bothered to check in with me or keep in touch. I don't blame them, some of it is my fault, most of it is just life. There are a few friends that I had to cut off because they had hurt me deeply and it was detrimental to my mental health to stay in touch with them, but in most cases, my relationships just fell apart organically, without any hard feelings. Regardless, I had never been alone like that before. For the first time in my life, I was lonely.<br />
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I realized that I wasn't as comfortable being alone-- or as comfortable with myself-- as I had previously thought. This was a really scary thing to go through, because it attacked my identity and my sense of self. I know I've talked about how I have a strong sense of self on this blog previously, and while that was true even during this time, this loneliness challenged my relationship with the world and the people in it. I didn't like to be alone anymore and I craved human connection, but I also didn't really have the courage to pursue any new friendships or relationships, because I need to take care of myself before trying to make friends with anyone else.<br />
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I know that if I were an inspirational blogger here is where I would tell you that I started eating healthier, working out, getting in tune with my spiritual side, started a cool new job and whathaveyou. I did do some of those things, but focusing on yourself doesn't always mean going on a juice cleanse and buying a copy of <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i>. Self-care, if you want to call it that, doesn't have a one size fits all definition. "Focusing on yourself," at least in my case, was a difficult and messy process. It meant struggling through <i>Nicomachean Ethics</i>, eating an entire box of Entenmann's black-and-white cookies, and going to an Esports event without knowing absolutely anything about Esports.<br />
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But I feel like I've reestablished who I am in relation to other people and my environment. In about a month it's my birthday, and pretty soon I'll be moving out of the town where I grew up and beginning my adult life. Just a few months earlier, just the thought of that petrified me with fear. I don't really feel like an adult yet, but I'm learning a lot of other adults feel that way too. But after rediscovering my ability to connect with people, I feel refreshed and ready for something new.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-686296069195009692020-02-07T19:07:00.001-08:002020-02-07T19:07:48.187-08:00lip gloss and cherry pop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lately I've been thinking a lot about the ways in which my online persona differs from how I act in real life. I think that my demeanor is mostly the same-- I'd like to think that my online friends and my real life friends view me as a kind and intelligent cheese lover. I've met several online acquaintances in real life and they don't seem at all surprised by my mannerisms or anything. But, strangely, I think I'm more open and expressive online. It sounds strange to say "I'm more myself online than I am in real life," because, like most people, my digital life is heavily curated. But I do think that, as someone who suffers from social anxiety, the internet has allowed me to share my thoughts more freely without the intimidation of talking to someone face-to-face.<br />
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My (real-life) friend and I are starting a silly podcast-- it's mostly just us talking and we still don't know if we for sure want to make it public or just record conversations for our own self-preservation. Anyway, we got to talking, and she mentioned how people often call her a VSCO girl, and I said people call me an egirl. She said "But your personality isn't like that in real life." It gave me pause, because no one had ever told me that I acted different online than in real life. I can't say I liked what she was implying, but we moved on to another subject and I didn't want to press her about it.<br />
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That night, as I looked back at my photos on Instagram and I guess even though I lack the makeup skills most egirls have, and the goth fashion sense, some of my edits could be considered along the lines of what an egirl might post. I found myself coming up with all sorts of justification: "But my photos have more artistic value" and "I'm just practicing my Photoshop skills." But you know what? "Egirl" photos have artistic value and maybe egirls are also practicing their editing skills. I don't know why I was so resistant to the idea. Maybe because it seems like egirls are only cool online, and I wanted to be cool online and in real life.<br />
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But maybe I'm not cool in real life (or online for that matter) and maybe most of my life has been lived online and maybe that's okay. I met most of my closest friends online, my first relationship was online, most of my work is online, and I hate to think that I all these people that I know, all these opportunities I have, are the result of a persona I crafted that isn't who I really am. I don't think that's true and I don't want to believe that. I think it's much more truthful, and easier to believe, that the format of the internet allows me to be less inhibited and as a result. Maybe that doesn't have to be pathetic, even though people that spend their lives online have kind of a pathetic reputation.<br />
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I live in a small town. And, contrary to public opinion, it's easy to feel lonely in a small town where finding like-minded people is hard. The internet was my saving grace. Truth be told, I only ever go on the internet for connection, not for fame, not even really to learn. I don't actually know very much about internet culture. I don't keep up with YouTube drama, and I don't even have a discord, so I guess that pretty much means I'm not an egirl. I don't say this to exclude myself from other girls, but to explain why it's hard for me to own up to the role the internet has played in my life, because, aside from the perceived patheticism of that, to be honest I still don't feel like I know that much about the internet. I want to though, and I need to for my future career, and I plan to. I think my block was that I wasn't ready to admit how much I rely on the internet emotionally. Now that I've finally admitted that, I'm ready to learn.<br />
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Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-9954134798204447022020-01-16T21:13:00.000-08:002020-01-16T21:13:14.486-08:00it's a double edged sword...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently I was rereading blog posts and I was struck again by how terrible they are ?? I swear, sometimes I can be a good writer and this just isn't showcasing my best stuff. The ideas are jumbled and unclear, different posts contradict each other, and I repeat phrases and sentiments SO OFTEN. Apparently, I have a particular fondness for the phrase "it's a double-edged sword."</div>
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But I use this blog as a diary and as a writing exercise now, not a portfolio. And everyone knows diary entries are messy and hypocritical, because you feel different ways at different points in your life, even if that's just day to day. I don't edit anything on this blog once I post it. I feel that it's important to me to have a space that's purely stream-of-consciousness and spontaneous, so I'm trying not to be too hard on myself. The plan was to never even look at the posts again after I publish them, but what can I say? End-of-the-year reflection got the better of me, I guess.<br />
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The original title of this post was going to be something about sirens, and I was going to talk about Margaret Atwood's poem Siren Song-- but I realized that I'd already talked about my experiences as a muse, and the isolation I felt because I thought I had to be "not like other girls" blah blah blah which is what I would have said in my analysis of the poem anyway. Self-awareness and self-reflection are important, and I think this post will be more interesting anyway. At the very least, it's something I don't think I've discussed on here yet...?<br />
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Even though I know this blog is essentially a collection of my worst writing, I still expected <i>more </i>from my past posts. I was expecting the worst, and I was still disappointed that I wasn't always well-spoken, graceful, or you know, <i>clear</i>. And I realized I also had really unrealistic expectations for myself, surprise surprise! I want to be prolific and knock it out of the park anytime I sit down to write. You can't have both. I choose to make my cringe-y writing public, because I don't want to hide my creative trajectory. I'm a firm believer in the importance of creating prolifically and publicly early on in your career, because a) how can you get better id you don't practice? and b) you can always look back to see how you've grown, and if someone admires your work later on, they can also look at your early stuff, and feel less bad about being an amateur.<br />
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Sure, there are people that might make fun of your bad art, but people with attitudes like that will never create anything meaningful, because they're so blinded by superiority to understand the strange beauty that comes from creating anything at all, and who wants them around anyway? I tell my friends this all the time when they're debating whether or not to share something they've made with the world, but I need to start telling it to myself too. I find myself thinking, there's so many people more talented than me who aren't sharing their work with the world, so where do I get off? I don't know, but here I am, posting poorly photoshopped portraits and loving it. To save this post from being too *~inspirational~* I want to close by saying that lately I've been really sick of my writing, the things I say, the same thoughts I have. When I looked back at the posts I made in 2019, despite everything I've said here, I didn't feel like I'd grown at all as a writer or person. And that's <i>not </i>a double edged sword. That feeling just sucks. And that's okay. Because I know someday-- maybe not next year, or the year after that, but someday-- I will look at these posts and see the seeds of something great. </div>
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-73271532035225089822019-11-22T12:58:00.000-08:002019-11-22T12:58:44.634-08:00it gives a lovely light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think one of the hardest things about going into a creative field is the fact that you're not guaranteed success. Sure, you need to work hard and make connections and be original and insightful etc, but you can do all that and it <i>still </i>might not work out.<br />
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I've gotten pretty tired of successful writers, journalists, and creatives talking about how hard you need to work in order to get where they are, without realizing how lucky they are. Going into this industry is scary, and empty encouragement from people who have already made it doesn't bring me much comfort. </div>
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I've decided the trick is to be attached to the craft of writing itself, and not so much the identity, or the idea that it's your occupation. That's what I tell myself. Because, that way, if I have to be an insurance salesman or something, everything will be alright as long as I still have time to write.<br />
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I honestly can't picture myself ever <i>not </i>writing, and I'm not just saying that to sound pretentious or super passionate or anything like that. I've been writing and telling stories for as long as I can remember and I don't see that stopping. I'm not always a good writer. As I'm writing this right now, I can feel the embarrassment of my future self. But it's just like a natural response. Sometimes words just have to be said (or written). </div>
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I've been fortunate enough to have had several great mentors throughout my career, and have been given some great advice on how to succeed in journalism, but I think realizing that there are no guarantees has been one of the most beneficial things for me. I create for myself now, and I make things I'm proud of, not things that I think will be impressive to other people.</div>
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Writing is subjective. There's no scoreboard. You'll never know if what you wrote was actually bad, or if it was just seen by the wrong people. Or, conversely, if what you wrote was actually good, or if you were just lucky to have caught someone on the right day. You have to trust yourself. You have to be self-reliant. Cliche as it sounds, you have to please yourself first.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-67156853911945378092019-11-15T21:56:00.000-08:002019-11-15T21:56:06.899-08:00that great consciousness of life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was younger, I thought I would eventually develop into the type of person that loves adventure, and road trips, and getting out into the world and finding myself or whatever. As it turns out, I'm not going to write the next <i>On The Road</i>. I don't even drive. I'm a homebody through and through. And, most importantly, I had already found myself, so an adventure to do so sounds pointless and tiresome.<br />
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But I'm not completely dormant either. I still want to see the world, and meet interesting people, and that's the part of this childhood fantasy that I can't let go of, because it's become a part of myself. I didn't realize this until I was in New York this summer. </div>
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I had never thought of myself as independent or courageous. I was always insular, introspective, quiet, and I thought being independent and courageous were traits reserved for people who were loud and combative and charismatic. But my roommate this summer told me that it was brave to take this job, brave to meet with all the editors I was meeting with, brave to take the subway by myself. She said that my life was something out of Gatsby, which made me laugh.<br />
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I'm no Gatsby, but I know what I want and what I need to do to get it. I honestly think that's probably why sailing across the world to find myself just isn't an attractive idea to me (even disregarding the classism present in that statement). I've never been at a loss for what to do.<br />
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That's not to say that I haven't switched career paths. I went from wanting to be a novelist to wanting to be a museum curator before finally settling on journalism. And I'm still open to possibilities, and I'm granting myself the freedom to change my mind. But when I wanted to be a novelist, I was <i>going </i>to win the Nobel Prize. And when I wanted to be a curator, I was going to be a curator at the Met. And I still fully plan on one day being an editor for The New York Times.<br />
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Does my talent match my ambition? No. But it's important to me to have these far-fetched goals and treat them as though they're within my grasp. That's been what drives me. That's my life-changing road trip. Shoot for the moon, right?<br />
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I think some people are the opposite. They are creatively fueled by the not-knowing, the uncertainty. It's not like I think I'm brilliant or too good for that sort of thing. It's just that unpredictability and spontaneity like that gives me anxiety, so I have to have these prestigious goals that I convince myself are concrete. <br />
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I've also always had a strong sense of style and clung to that for comfort. Bonne Chance Collections, who made the beautiful dress I'm wearing in these photos (which was modeled after the dress the main character wears in the film adaptation of<i> Children on Their Birthdays</i>), has been one of my favorite brands for about 6 years which is actually mind-blowing. Anyway, regarding style, I've never had much urge to experiment, because if it ain't broke y'know?Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-67274592425986227742019-11-08T18:44:00.001-08:002019-11-08T18:44:28.516-08:00that is my physics, that is my metaphysics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes people tell me that my work seems a little egotistical and self-indulgent. In some cases, I don't disagree. I really only take offense when it's aimed at my interviews or articles, because I intentionally try to reduce my role in those stories (of course, you can't escape yourself and I show up anyway, but still I make a conscious effort and that should count for something). But when that sort of thing is said about my self portraits, or this blog, I don't think much of it, because what personal blog is not self centered? Isn't that the whole point?<br />
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I like to think my photos have more weight than just making myself look good. I've really tried over the past year to create things that are more laden with symbolism. Even though I'm not the most proud of my Photoshop skills, I think I am proud of the intention behind my self portraits. Still, even though they might have more depth than the selfies I post on my Instagram stories, I am literally at the center of them, I am their anchor. I am the focus of myself.<br />
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But whenever I am the subject of someone else's work, it is never seen as superficial or self centered, even though they often have a much less nuanced understanding of me, and were likely only interested in how I looked, my style, etc. I have often been used. My image has been exploited to tell other people's stories. They do not understand me, they conceptualize me. I am by no means a model, and I've talked before about how I don't really consider myself pretty, but I guess because I have blunt bangs and listen to The Velvet Underground, I have found myself being called a "muse" by male photographers/artists who are really much more interested in how I make them look rather than who I am.<br />
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This is very bothersome. I run for the hills whenever a Male Artist looks at me, starry eyed, and says "You're my muse." Not "You inspire me," or "you have great style" or "I find your presence comforting," but "I'm your muse." It baffles me how anyone could consider that a compliment. It creates an unequal power dynamic, first of all. It implies ownership, the phrase "my muse," as though my sole purpose is to be the centrifugal force in your art, that I must uphold the idea you've created of me because it's my only concern.<br />
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But also, it showcases a refusal to take responsibility on part of the artist. You're putting the weight of inspiring you unto me. That's a heavy load. I don't want to be responsible for your poorly-written love ballads, your titillating ink sketches, your "artistic" film photographs. I don't want to be responsible for anyone's bad art except my own, and I think everyone else should want that too.<br />
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So how is it that someone arrogantly using me-- warping and bending me to fit the role of muse --as the centrifugal force in their work somehow <i>less</i> egotistical than me using creative outlets as a way of exploring myself and finding myself? I am thankful if I inspire people, but I create mainly for myself these days, and I certainly have no interest in being anyone's muse. Because I'm already taken: I am my own muse.<br />
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I remember one time, I was at this boy's house, and he took a photo of me and said, "It's a great one. I think I really captured your essence." He flipped around the camera so I could see. And I didn't see myself, really I didn't. I saw a girl who's black mascara didn't match her brown eyelashes, but she piled it on nonetheless, who was wearing her boyfriend's Kinks shirt, and looking at the camera with doe, bedroom eyes, exactly the sort of girl this boy would want to take photos of. I was not, and am not a photographer, but I though then, at that moment, that in the future I might want to have some photos that really reflected who I was in a deeper sense, and what I mean to myself.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-3547428798359712012019-11-02T23:13:00.001-07:002019-11-02T23:22:36.724-07:00lost to the world he had known as a boy<br />
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Something I get told a lot is "You would be so pretty if you tried." What an interesting comment! Let's unpack that, shall we?<br />
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On the one hand, I get where it's coming from. Although I have always expressed myself through what I wear, beyond that, appearances didn't really matter much to me. In daily life, I genuinely don't think about the way I look very often. My body functions properly, it gets me where I need to be, I have no reason to ask it to be <i>pretty </i>on top of everything. I seldom wear makeup. I often can't be bothered to pluck my eyebrows (I genuinely like the way they look untamed). I don't go to the gym. So, for all intents and purposes, I don't necessarily <i>try </i>to be pretty. </div>
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But it hasn't always been this way. I honestly don't know a person who hasn't had a turbulent, everlasting personal journey with self acceptance, and I'm no exception. Even though I know that people who make comments like this are probably in the throes of their own battle with self esteem, it's never really acceptable to comment on someone's appearance like that. Back when I did try to be pretty, remarks like that would really get to me, and I'd spend hours thinking about what else I could do. </div>
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But in the end, you have to give yourself a break because society never will. I could work out at the gym and spend hours on my makeup or even go under the knife and there would still be something ugly about me in the eyes of someone else. Of course, there are some insecurities I can't get away from, and certain things I do for myself. I think a lot of people make assumptions about me based on my own personal style decisions and think that I am prejudiced against people that choose the opposite. But I would never judge someone else for wearing makeup, or getting in shape, or getting plastic surgery. We all gotta get through life our own way. </div>
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I still don't really know how to react to that comment, or how they want me to react to that comment. Do I say thank you, and be grateful that I'm not one of the poor souls that could NEVER adhere to fascist beauty standards, even if they tried? Do I drop everything and promise to do all that's within my power to become beautiful? Do I ask about the process to becoming pretty? I think the only way to win is by walking away.</div>
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I've finally reached a point in my life where I've accepted my looks, and I'm no longer allowing myself to be sent into a tailspin based on the insults of people that don't matter. I'm aware that these photos may not be the most flattering of me, that this outfit is perhaps not suitable to my pear shaped body, but I felt good when these photos were taken, and that's really what I wanted to capture and remember.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-40895089336073242282019-10-18T20:12:00.001-07:002019-10-18T20:12:11.067-07:00midsommar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey all! It's been a while. I did this photo shoot a few weeks ago to celebrate <a href="https://hellogiggles.com/reviews-coverage/female-cult-leaders-movies-tv/" target="_blank">this article</a> I wrote about <i>Midsommar </i>going live on HelloGiggles.<br />
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I wrote the article this summer while working in NYC as an academic assistant at the School of the New York Times, and the article finally being published gave a sort of finality to my return home. I spent my summer in my favorite city, surrounded by the most ambitious and talented people. When I tied up the loose ends on the creative endeavors I started while there, it felt like letting go of the last remnants of summer.<br />
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Returning home was much harder than I thought it would be. I'm in a much better place than I was last year, and I've learned to embrace the phase of life I'm in, but I'm still pretty isolated, and the transition coming back to my sleepy hometown from such an overstimulating place was jarring.<br />
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For the past few months I've struggled to find my creative motivation again. I've mostly been scraping by, publishing pieces that I'd written months prior. I had to adjust to small town life again, and the process of creating things in this space, where it can be harder to find inspiration. But lately I feel like I've come into my own once again.<br />
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The thing that's brought me the most comfort is remembering that my time here is temporary. I mean, life is transient of course, but my time living here is <i>especially </i>temporary. I'm moving next year. It's a double edged sword though, because that's also what makes it hard for me to form relationships, knowing that I'm leaving. I miss a time when pursuing friendships and relationships here seemed worthwhile.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-14486056665393462782019-05-23T21:01:00.002-07:002019-05-23T21:01:31.777-07:00birds don't sing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Long time no see! These are basically 8 different iterations of the same photo, but I was quite proud of my Easter outfit-- so much so that I just had to share it with the world, even if I'm doing it about a month too late. </div>
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School is out now (thankfully), and I'm feeling even more reflective than usual. Truth be told, this school year has not been my best. Academically, I've flourished, but socially, not so much. I suppose college is a tumultuous time for everyone, but freshman year was particularly unkind to me. </div>
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I've watched my friends from high school find new friends, and job opportunities, and romantic partners at their respective universities, whereas my life felt stagnant, quiet, monotonous, and unchanging. It was hard to hear about the new experiences my friends were having; the pangs of jealousy and the immediate, subsequent wave of guilt got to be too much to handle, and I regrettably fell out of touch with a lot of people. The predictability of my daily routine began to depress me. As a freelancer, I had little excuse to leave my house, so I often didn't. I went days without interacting with the outside world, shut away in my room, crouched over a computer. </div>
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I tried to compensate for my bland personal life by working, and although I am proud of what I have accomplished this year (btw I have a new <a href="https://www.blurb.com/b/9487542-wittgenstein-opens-inwards" target="_blank">book</a> out), most of the time, I felt stuck in a rut creatively, and it was hard for me to muster up the strength to create anything, knowing that it wouldn't live up to my impossibly high expectations. I also spent a lot of time sprawled out on my couch watching reruns of <i>How I Met Your Mother</i>. I was consistently dissatisfied with the work I was able to produce.<br />
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Lately though, my mindset has changed and I feel more creatively motivated. Truly, it wasn't any sort of external factor that made this year difficult. It was me. Ultimately, cliche as it sounds, I'm only in competition with myself, and I need to internalize that sentiment. There's nothing wrong with taking things slow, and giving yourself time to produce work that you're actually proud of. It's so easy to get caught up in the rat race.<br />
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I still think it's important to move on from your past successes and not rest on your laurels too much, but only concerning yourself with producing more work and never taking a step back to look at what you've accomplished is unhealthy. You're not giving yourself an edge, you're being self destructive. It's sometimes hard to strike the balance between pushing yourself and overextending yourself, but I've learned to take a moment and breathe before moving on to the next project.<br />
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On June 1st I'll be heading to NYC to work as an academic RA at The School of The New York Times, a program I've talked about on here <a href="http://theavantgardetweener.blogspot.com/2018/08/obligatory-new-york-travel-post.html" target="_blank">before</a>. I applied for the job thinking I wouldn't get it. I thought I bombed the over-the-phone interview. Even my family told me it was a long shot, given my age and relative inexperience. Last year when I was in NYC, I swore to myself I would get a summer job there. I'm not sure I believe in manifesting your dreams, and I'm certainly not into the philosophy spouted in <i>The Secret</i>, but I don't view this as just a blessing, just some unbelievable stroke of luck. I'm incredibly grateful to have this opportunity (and to be privileged enough to be able to take it), and though I'm sure luck played a role, it's also something that I have worked for and that I have earned. I'm allowing myself to take some credit, for the first time.<br />
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That doesn't change the fact that I'm incredibly nervous to take off in about a week, to navigate the city by myself, and to be in charge of children for the first time. But reminding myself that I am capable, somewhat (maybe) talented, and deserving helps to ease those nerves. This was the year I learned to give myself a <i>break</i>.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-5098707927993922742019-02-18T17:06:00.000-08:002019-02-18T17:06:01.342-08:00the life changing magic of saving all of your stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My friend and I were discussing <i>The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up </i>and Marie Kondo and our mutual dislike of it. Although Marie Kondo as a person seems lovely, and I respect her entrepreneurial prowess, I disagree with her philosophy as a whole. My friend and I were able to come up with logical reasons for our dislike, the inherent classism of the concept of minimalism, the way that tidying up, particularly in the Netflix series, seems like a band-aid delicately placed over the bullet-hole wound of much deeper emotional issues.<br />
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While these are valid concerns, at least for me, I think what it really comes down to is that Marie Kondo's advice clashes with my lifestyle. Contrary to what the photos of my bedroom look like, I don't mean that I am an incredibly messy hoarder, or that I'm simple close-minded and unwilling to change my ways and throw out that moth-eaten sweater that I haven't worn in years.<br />
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What I <i>mean </i>is that I understand the world-- and myself --through preservation. Not everything I keep sparks joy, but it is representative of a certain aspect of myself, a time in my life, or a person, and having a physical reminder of that is beneficial to me.<br />
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That's not to say that my entire identity is hinged on the material objects that I own. But I like the sort of involuntary memory that occurs when I rummage through my room, even though it might be unpleasant sometimes. In many ways, it's my job, as a writer/journalist/curator to document, save, and catalog everything, and the way I live my life reflects that.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-55244625760805345582019-02-09T17:18:00.000-08:002019-02-09T17:39:35.240-08:00tell me it's not just a sad dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Many people think that my artistic sensibilities/writing/work are frivolous, which is something that used to annoy me, but now I accept it. Who wants to take themselves so seriously anyway?<br />
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I won't pretend to be something I'm not. I've talked a lot on here about how I like pink, and HelloKitty, and dresses, etc. and how none of these things make me dumb, or less of a feminist, or not deserving of respect. </div>
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That said, I <i>could</i> sacrifice my excessively feminine personal style to be seen as more professional (I shouldn't <i>have </i>to anyway, but that's the world we live in, and if I really wanted to be seen as smart and businesslike I would conform to the ideal of what a professional woman should look like). </div>
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But I'm not willing to do that, so clearly being perceived as put-together by others is not a huge priority of mine. Now I think it's funny, the assumptions people make about me. I used to be angered by them, but I think true self-confidence is putting less weight on what other people think.<br />
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If anyone bothered to have a conversation with me, they would quickly realize my intellectual prowess, and I'm not interested in the opinion of anyone that won't even have a conversation with me.<br />
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Conversely, I've also noticed that, because I don't incorporate too many trends into my own personal style, many cool, stylish people will also criticize my style as not being hip enough or indie enough or what have you.<br />
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I had a friend (her style, at least at the time, I would describe as classic alternative kid) who confessed that before she knew me, she and another friend would make fun of my excessively twee style. She said, "But then I realized you were doing what I was doing, just wearing what you wanted and not worrying about it."<br />
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Although I am glad my friend had this revelation, I wonder why it took her so long to arrive at the conclusion that <i>most people pretty much wear what they want</i>.</div>
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-83649516444513191492019-01-25T21:55:00.000-08:002019-01-25T21:55:07.273-08:00And the moral of the story is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Recently I've been enjoying some <i>moderate</i> success in terms of journalism and writing; this week I published three articles on <a href="https://vmagazine.com/contributor/hannah-hightman/" target="_blank">V Magazine</a> and will hopefully be writing more for them in the future. Although I am proud of the work I've done, at the same time, I also feel <i>undeserving</i>.<br />
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I am lucky to have discovered my passions pretty early on in life, and, for better or worse, I decided to pursue them as soon as I could. I've been talking to editors and pitching publications since I was thirteen. I have more rejection letters than I can count.<br />
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At some point, emailing/pitching people became a habit, a mindless action that I did without expecting anything as a result, until I got an email from <a href="https://hellogiggles.com/author/hannah-may/" target="_blank">HelloGiggles</a> saying that they wanted to publish <a href="https://hellogiggles.com/teen/how-i-learned-to-embrace-the-teenage-dream/" target="_blank">my article</a>. This was at the end of my freshmen year of high school and I was ecstatic. But I was also no longer sure if my work was worthy of recognition, because I had forgotten that when you submit work places, it might get accepted, and I worried that maybe my work was never meant to be published at all. I knew rejection was part of the process, but I had also sort of romanticized the idea of being rejected but persistent and I imagined getting my first writing job years and years later after I had been sufficiently scorned and discarded, so that I could really <i>earn </i>the title of writer.<br />
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I had a similar feeling this week. I am still awestruck people want to read my writing, let alone publish it. I have impostor syndrome. I'm terrified that someday someone will realize that they have no reason to listen to me, to hear about what I think. But the only solution to this is to continue working, to try to gain expertise and validity.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-39238907207418887602019-01-12T15:16:00.002-08:002019-01-12T15:16:42.153-08:00from every branch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been thinking about <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/7511-i-saw-my-life-branching-out-before-me-like-the" target="_blank">this</a> quote by Sylvia Plath. It seems particularly apt at this point in my life. I can't decide if it's blessing or a curse that my life is undecided. </div>
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Although I am proud of the work I've been creating lately, I can't shake the feeling that I would have had more opportunities if I had made different decisions in the past. Consequently, I have a lot of anxiety about making decisions right now. </div>
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And not necessarily big decisions. I worry that, through the butterfly effect or whatever, what I eat for breakfast will somehow effect the trajectory of my life. It's not that this kind of thinking is invalid, but it's not really the best way to go about day-to-day life. </div>
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I think the severity of this anxiety will subside soon, but that also scares me. I made the decision to not go to a four year university out of high school in part because I wanted to lengthen this small window of time where my future, prospective adult life can be whatever I want it to be.</div>
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Just a little over a year from now, when I transfer schools, I'll have to start limiting the number of things my adult life can branch into. I'm fortunate enough to have discovered my passions from a fairly young age, and I am thankful to have this direction, and excited to be heading down a path to hopefully achieve my career goals in the future, but it's hard not to feel like I'm losing something.</div>
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But it's a double-edged sword, because I can't help but think that by choosing to continue to live in this netherworld between childhood and adulthood, I have also missed out on opportunities and connections. Being from a small town, I've always felt like I'm at a disadvantage in terms of finding reliable collaborators and freelance work that would look impressive on a resume. It's hard to further the professional opportunities I have had from a distance.<br />
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As a result, I tend to want complete creative control over my projects. I've been given the chance to be a part of small publications just starting out, and I always rejected them for fear that better things would come along and I would start to feel overwhelmed. It didn't make sense to me to spend my time and energy on something when the people that started it would flake when it came to doing the actual work and later swoop in and take all the credit. To be honest, I'm not much of a team player.<br />
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There is the other facet to this issue, which is that most of the work you do as a young person starting out is unpaid, even if it is for a prestigious company. I find this genuinely disheartening. When I was fourteen, I was paid to write for HelloGiggles, and that was a very pivotal moment for me. I was not given much, but I felt that I had legitimacy as a writer, and it gave me the confidence to pitch other publications and to continue to pursue a career in journalism. Of course, now I'm a firm believer in self publishing and putting stuff out there in whatever way you can, and not necessarily waiting for the creative validity that comes with being published, but I also think you should know your worth and know when you're being exploited. I'm still figuring that out. </div>
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I also know that I'm not always going to be able to be top dog, and I should take any opportunity to hone my skills as a writer or creative or whatever, and that sometimes it's okay to be paid in exposure (depending on the circumstances), as long as <i>you're</i> okay with it and recognize what that means. I'm trying to change my self-isolating, control freak tendencies. I am thankful that the internet can help to elapse the distance between me and various collaborators. I do have a lot of exciting projects coming up. I recently accepted an unpaid position at a small publication, and I'm hoping it's a good experience, that it's a gamble that pays off. I think that by doing more and taking on all that I can handle, my anxiety about missing out on things and making the wrong decision will subside and be replaced with pride in what I <i>am</i> doing and what I <i>have</i> decided. </div>
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Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-78502302288417772482018-12-27T22:28:00.002-08:002019-01-08T18:45:43.839-08:00Aeba Suki Suki<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hairclip - Sanrio (from Japan)|Jacket - Sanrio (sold out)|Dress - Bonne Chance (sold out)|Tights - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005TLLWWK/ref=oh_aui_detailpage_o03_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1" target="_blank">Amazon</a>|Shoes - <a href="https://www.drmartens.com/us/en/p/12916001?gclid=Cj0KCQiAjZLhBRCAARIsAFHWpbELqPjaphj8YfTgbLrd8TlqJS-6voE5MovhYQzVCxgpivFuTHchht8aAhRpEALw_wcB" target="_blank">Doc Martens</a></td></tr>
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My Melody is a feminist icon-- she always supports her sisters and spreads positive energy wherever she goes. Recently I've been rewatching <i>Onegai My Melody </i>and I have to say that Melo is absolutely my inspiration for 2019. </div>
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Speaking of which, for most people, the end of the year is a reflective time, and I am no exception. Last year, I did a little year-in-review post, but, although I've done many other New Years posts for this blog, I've decided to resist the urge of doing a formal "here are cool things I did this year" essay -- for fear of glamorizing a year that was not my personal best. And, truth be told, I never really felt a sense of pride when I listed off my accomplishments for the year-- it always makes me feel guilty because it's like, do I really need to publicly stroke my ego that way in order to feel like a year was worthwhile? Does anyone even care? And it wasn't really the big moments that mattered anyway; in retrospect it's all the little things the year was composed of that I remember-- not the projects I completed. And anyway whenever I rattle off what I've done there's always the lingering sentiment that I should have done <i>more</i>. </div>
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So instead, to commemorate this New Years, I'll talk about what I want to <i>learn</i> in 2019. For one, I'd really like to know when it's appropriate to "cut someone off," whether you have to give your reasons for said cutting off, and when you know something is worth holding onto.<br />
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I'm famously bad at letting things go. It's a double edged sword. There's the obvious benefit of having an extensive collection of collage materials as a result of my hoarder tendencies, and the perk of being persistent and courageous. But this trait manifests itself in stubbornness and a general lack of flexibility and being clingy etc too.<br />
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I'm not really prepared for how that will affect my relationships, so in general, I keep to myself. That said, unexpected events transpire sometimes. In 2018 I had several romantic entanglements, the aftermath of which I was-- and still am --unsure of how to deal with. If things ended amicably is it still best to distance myself from them on social media, just for my emotional health? How will that be received? Is that considered being melodramatic? Am I a horrible person for wanting to stay in contact with a former *~* lover *~* solely because he could be a good contact to have later on?<br />
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What about friendships? How do you even end a friendship? How do you know when you've outgrown a friend? Or when a friend has outgrown you? I find maintaining friendships to be far more complex than romantic relationships, perhaps because friendships are more varied in nature, I guess. I've been told strong friendships can withstand long periods of absence, but are friends really worth keeping if they're not there for you-- or even trying to be there for you?<br />
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It's hard to figure out what's self care and what's extreme narcissism. On the flip side, it's hard to figure out what's just <i>being a good person</i>, and what's a result of being manipulated. I always thought that you should stand by people even if they don't always stand by you, but now I'm questioning that. I don't expect 2019 to have all the answers.<br />
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But with any luck it should offer some clarity. And there's only so much you can find out about through books... I suppose my New Year's resolution is to stop isolating myself and try to interact with the world more.<br />
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But even that opens up a whole new line of inquiry-- interacting with the world more than it's necessary to, particularly in this cultural/political climate, can be detrimental to one's mental health. Even so, New Year's resolutions, at least in my eyes, have always been about forcing yourself to do things you don't necessarily want to do in hopes of becoming a better person (eating healthy, exercising, cleaning more often), and that's why people seldom follow through. But each year, we try again, and so, in 2019, it will continue.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-78957947979439328192018-12-16T23:56:00.000-08:002018-12-16T23:56:23.003-08:00dry and worthless monument to our love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm working on a poetry book at the moment. It's not especially fancy, and I'm not even necessarily proud of the poems. Most of the poems included in the collection were written during a time in my life where I felt like I was living how a young person should live-- rebelling against ambiguous causes with actions that had no direct correlation to the entity (or whatever) I claimed to be reacting against and were much more in service to personal pleasure/hedonism (which I suppose is revolutionary in itself?), going to parties, and, of course, forming short-lived relationships with people I pretended to "know" but really just conceptualized.<br />
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At the time that I wrote the poems, they felt very <i>real </i>and <i>visceral </i>and <i>raw</i>. But once that time in my life ended (it was quite brief-- I'll get into that later), they became more distant and diary-like. I hung onto them as a way of preserving something I deemed worth remembering. The first time I shared one of the poems with a friend I couldn't help thinking I'd made a terrible mistake. She was kind and gave me incredibly useful feedback-- but somehow sharing the poem felt like a betrayal of my past self's privacy. It was public now; it was <i>observed </i>now, and, like Schrodinger's cat, the outcome (the purpose/function of the poems) was somehow changed.<br />
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It wasn't mine anymore. The poems didn't have a single definite meaning that I assigned to them-- that was now in the eye of the beholder. But my friend's reaction to the poem also made me realize that I did want to publish them-- for what reason I'm still not sure --but now that they <i>felt</i> public anyway, I might as well make them public.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beret - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Landana-Headscarves-Ladies-Winter-Beret/dp/B07J68T2WM/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?ie=UTF8&qid=1545032364&sr=8-1-spons&keywords=red+beret&psc=1" target="_blank">Amazon</a>|Coat - Modcloth (old)|Dress - Modcloth (old)|Tights - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/HDE-Womens-Opaque-Microfiber-Stockings/dp/B00CWEVYQ6/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?ie=UTF8&qid=1545032833&sr=8-1-spons&keywords=red+tights&psc=1" target="_blank">Amazon</a>|Shoes - <a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/WOMENS-RETRO-CUT-OUT-FLAT-BUCKLE-T-BAR-PUMPS-SCHOOL-ROUND-TOE-LOW-HEEL-SHOES/173230406386?hash=item2855563af2:m:mMx7RqIblI1QpGl-TZyXAzg:rk:1:pf:0" target="_blank">eBay</a></td></tr>
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I began to look at the poems through an <i>editorial </i>lens, and they lost even more of their original meaning-- and once again it felt sort of wrong. They were no longer <i>raw</i>, now they were aged and needed attention to look presentable. Saying "this works, that doesn't" to something that had been a pure and spontaneous work of emotion is almost disrespectful. But also necessary, I suppose. The few friends I had shared my poetry with <i>related </i>to it in some way. Even if it wasn't the intended purpose of the poems, I think I'm choosing to publish the collection for them.<br />
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Putting together the collection has also made me reevaluate that period in my life. I've definitely glamorized it. In retrospect I was able to look at that era and the relationships that I formed as something that I should have done more of. But the <i>past </i>me that wrote those poems was an emotional wreck. Those relationships, that lifestyle (if it could be called that) took a toll. I put up with it because I thought I was supposed to do these things and disregarded the damage it caused to my mental health.<br />
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I'm not extroverted. I don't like going to parties, or getting off my face, or even socializing in general (I'm fully aware this makes me sound like a reclusive hermit). I'm not casual-- I don't dress casually, or speak casually, so I'm not sure what made me think that casual relationships were a good idea.<br />
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It took me a long time to really accept these aspects of myself, and make decisions based off of them/what's best for me, because these things are in deliberate contrast to the version of youth that was described in books and TV shows and movies (and for good reason-- I wouldn't watch a teen movie about a girl who lies in bed and watches Netflix all day either) and to a lesser extent, by my friends.<br />
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There are still times when I think I'm living life wrong and not making use of my maybe-moderately-pleasant-in-a-certain-light looks, my lack of responsibility, my physical health, etc. When my slightly younger peers describe to me their escapades at homecoming dances and football games I'm hit with thoughts like, "I didn't take advantage of high school while I had it and now it's gone and I have no real, typical high school memories! What will I tell the kids I don't plant to have?" I have similar thoughts when my friends tell me about college parties and all the new experiences they're having. I feel this sort of sense of urgency like I have to go out this very instant and experience whatever it is I'm supposed to be experiencing, even though I know my expectations are impossible to meet because of who I am as a person.<br />
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I hold out that I could change in the future. Maybe when I encounter the right circumstances, the right group of friends these activities that felt forced and uncomfortable will be natural and organic like they are for the people I'm surrounded by. But I'm not going to get that by conforming to some vague standard about what my life has to be like at this age. I'm happy where I am now, and open to what the future holds.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-73416286612754422912018-11-27T22:56:00.001-08:002018-12-27T22:38:02.300-08:00it's a jungle out there <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These photos were taken in a little storage cubby I have in my room. The family that lived in the house before my family did had a daughter that loved to paint murals. When she ran out of walls to paint, she painted fantastical scenes inside cubbies and closets. She often painted in secret, as her parents became annoyed with her hobby (it did cost them their walls).</div>
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I have been thinking a lot about the things that might have metaphorical value in my life. The artist of this jungle mural (in addition to the mural itself) is certainly one of them. Sometimes it feels like I'm retracing her footsteps. We went to the same schools. One time I checked out a library book and discovered that years earlier she had checked it out too. It feels like her past self is alive on the walls.</div>
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Sometimes my life feels like a movie, or a book, and I really wish there were an audience for it. Not because I want the attention, but because I want someone to figure out what things in my life <i>mean</i>. Yes, there are things I've encountered that I've assigned significance to, but there's also aspects and objects in my life that I <i>feel </i>the importance of, but can't quite pinpoint what it is they represent.<br />
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Wouldn't it be wonderful if someone could watch or read your life and tell you the things that matter, the lessons that you're supposed to learn, in other words the symbols and themes? I often think about this. I don't really want to know the future, or how I die, or even what I'm supposed to do, but I am interested in figuring out what matters right now.</div>
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I guess that's a pretty common desire. But my life doesn't have an audience. And I'm not a character. There's no objective party watching me, assigning meaning to objects, figuring out the gravity of my actions. I have to create these meanings myself. </div>
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And normally, I'm very happy to have complete control over my life. But this mural reminds me of the things that are beyond my comprehension, not even in a great philosophical or cosmic sense, but just at surface level on the scale of my own life. What does this mural and this artist mean to me? Is she a testament to creative perseverance, her beautiful depictions of nature relegated to cubbies I can barely fit into anymore? Or is she the passage of time, nostalgia, the way that where we've been bears the marks of who we are? Or is she representative of something else entirely, a manifestation of my own anxieties regarding change?</div>
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Sometimes I think that if I really wanted to, I could look deep inside myself and figure it all out-- psycho-analyze myself into revealing the meaning of all these objects of mysterious power that I collect, the way Gatsby's green light loses its meaning once his fantasy became a reality. Maybe I could even take this a step further and try and track down the artist of this mural, see where she ended up and determine what meaning <i>that </i>has. And sometimes I think that would be a very rewarding process, to know myself completely. </div>
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But of course I never do, because there's a risk there: the risk of losing magic, something that I've decided is worth holding onto, when appropriate. This mural, although not expansive, has meaning that feels so immense-- to evaluate its meaning would only reduce it. I don't want to know how things ended up. I am content with my daydreams. </div>
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I know this is not always a good approach, to divorce from reality and live in a world of endless possibility-- there are real issues we can't ignore. But I think it's also important to retain a little mystery in one's life. I have a good enough sense of self now, so I'm comfortable leaving a few things unsaid, a few stories untold, a few parts of me still unfinished, a few artworks undissected.<br />
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-18197733699040915582018-11-23T19:45:00.001-08:002018-11-27T22:56:40.902-08:00don't be sorry if you know that i'm lonely<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello all! Thanksgiving weekend has been super productive for me so far. I have a few projects (video work, interviews, my third book!!) that should be coming out soon and I'm super excited to share them with the world. I wish I could focus on creative projects but with finals coming up, most of my time is devoted to studying.<br />
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Luckily, my studies haven't been too boring. My favorite class this year is philosophy. It's just an introductory course, but we haven't read too many canonical works. Although I can definitely see the need for reading well-known works to build a good foundation, because I'd already read <i>The Republic</i>, <i>Either/Or, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, </i>etc, I welcomed the chance to read more obscure texts. </div>
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This week we read <i>Life's Too Short to Pretend You're Not Religious </i>by David Dark. In the past I've been very critical of religion and spirituality, and while I remain very skeptical of organized religion, through works like this, I've been able to accept a broader definition of religion: the routines we have, the inspirations we turn to in times of need. </div>
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<i>Life's Too Short to Pretend You're Not Religious </i>brilliantly articulates on this sentiment and how we can use it to apply to our daily lives. We often forget that our inspirations, our knowledge, etc. is a collaborative process. We got all that from <i>somewhere</i>. And it's our duty to continue to add to the ongoing list of interpretations of and desires for our world and the human experience, which Dark calls "attention collection." He writes, "We live off the generosity of those who pay heed. Will we answer the call to do so ourselves?" Those two lines perfectly describe my outlook on everything, from art to my journalistic philosophy.</div>
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Although I was not yet familiar with Dark's work, last year I wrote about this sort of thing a lot in my personal essays for college applications, explaining why I was passionate about journalism and telling people's stories (and my own). I often think that I haven't changed very much over the course of my life, because I honestly look like I did when I was a kid, and my interests have pretty much remained static. But writing those essays last year and reading Dark this week reminded me that I have changed in considerable ways. I used to be quite jaded and protective over my interests. In fact, this blog stemmed from that sort of desire to set myself a part. It should have started because I wanted to share my interests with the world, which would've contributed to the sort of attention collection Dark speaks of, but instead it was much more about marking my turf, saying I was here before anyone else. </div>
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For those same reasons, I went out with guys who said I was "not like most girls," regardless of the fact that they were using that line as a way of isolating me so that they could take advantage of me. I was a self declared feminist, yet I took this phrase, which reinforces the patriarchy in the most dangerous ways, as a compliment. This was, of course, because I feared social rejection, and it was easy to imagine this abstract concept of pumpkin spice latte sipping, yoga pants wearing normies, and to superimpose that over my (in reality much more three dimensional) peers, than it was to actual say hi and form a genuine connection with the people that surrounded me. My plan was to reject them (or the concept I'd created of them that was so easy to reject) before they could reject me.<br />
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This, of course, was incredibly stupid for many reasons. Firstly, Dark is right, we get our interests, our passions, our hobbies, our knowledge from other people. I learned about all the indie bands I listened to, artists whose work I slipped in the cover of my binders, movies whose posters were plastered all over my room precisely <i>from other girls</i>. By definition, I <i>am other girls</i>, because I'm a combination of the interests and traits of other girls who I admired. And even by the standard of normal-girls-watch-rom coms-and-go-to-Starbucks, I <i>like </i>rom coms and Starbucks, and I always have! Sue me!<br />
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Anyway, reading Dark reminded me of how much I now reject that sort of hipster culture. It also helped to redirect me to practice my definition of religion better. Now I use this blog and my various other platforms to share my interests in a very genuine sense of the word, and contribute what I can to the ongoing conversation and collaboration of sharing influences, inspirations: religious practices (as Dark might say).<br />
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I've been much happier and more successful with this approach than I was in the beginning. I am fully aware of the fact that I don't have much of a following -- in fact, any following -- but publishing my work on here is a spiritual act for me. It's allowing my personal life to become accessible. It's making my story part of a much bigger story. I don't care that no one reads it, the point is people <i>can </i>read it. And the few people that have told me my blog, my attention collection, has given them newfound inspiration-- well I'm eternally grateful for that.<br />
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I'd like in the future to make my projects, even this blog, a more communal process, more of a dialogue than just me shouting into the void. I suppose that would be one benefit to having more of an audience-- it would be possible to have more of a conversation. But regardless, I always love hearing what inspires you all, so please share in whatever ways you're comfortable.Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-38035933830811214542018-11-09T22:48:00.002-08:002018-11-27T23:00:46.426-08:00a new place for interviews...Hello all,<br />
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Over the past few years I have mainly been using this blog as an almost online magazine. I've been able to conduct interviews with creatives who I admire immensely, and it's been great having the opportunity to talk to such talented people. It's crazy how much the blog has grown over the past year, and I'm so thankful for all the friends and connections I've made through this little space.<br />
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But I've really missed having a personal blog, and although I occasionally post other things, it began to feel really chaotic with all the interviews mixed in with fashion/lifestyle posts. So I decided to launch another blog, <a href="https://hypezine.wixsite.com/hype" target="_blank">Hype Zine</a>, for my interviews. I plan to do everything exactly the same as before, just in a different area so this blog looks a bit cleaner. Hype is all about celebrating the people that I find inspirational and just giving myself the all-too-rare opportunity to talk positively about people I fully support. You can read more about the mission statement on the <a href="https://hypezine.wixsite.com/hype/about" target="_blank">About</a> page.<br />
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Interviews that were previously published on here will stay here, and I still plan to post interviews on here from time to time that fit more with my personal career goals and interests-- just not as much. I already have several interviews posted: chef prodigy Flynn McGarry, artist/designer Adam J. Kurtz, fashion designer/artist Joe Corre... <a href="https://hypezine.wixsite.com/hype/interviews-1" target="_blank">check it out!</a>Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-30028003818995364952018-10-12T21:16:00.002-07:002018-10-13T22:22:05.975-07:00it's so cold in alaska<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lately I've been thinking about what it means to be a part of something. There are many aspects of my identity and groups that I'm a part of that I didn't necessarily choose to be in. </div>
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A few years ago, I was telling a friend how I didn't feel like I could get along with people in most of the writing programs and workshops I've been in. They were either too serious, leaving their daydreams of somehow writing bestselling novels from their isolated wood cabins suspended in the air, looming with condescension over anyone who dared to view writing as an actual possibility for a career rather than a concept. Or they were too <i>silly</i>, hungry for fame but lacking the talent to achieve it, truly believing that fan fiction had any sort of literary merit. I said that I didn't know where that left <i>me</i>, and that I would never be able to fit in with these people. </div>
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"But that's not really an option," said my friend. "You can't <i>not </i>fit with those people." </div>
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"What do you mean? They're not <i>so </i>fun and <i>so </i>inclusive that it's impossible to not get caught up with them." I rolled my eyes. </div>
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"No, I mean you don't have a choice. It doesn't matter that you aren't a cosplayer, or that you don't have a Thoreau-related tattoo. It doesn't even matter that they don't talk to you. It's not those things that make them a part of the group, it's the group that attracts those things. You're a writer, so you're with them."</div>
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<i>With them</i>. The words made me cringe. But he was right. It wasn't like we would suddenly be best friends because we all wrote, or even that we had anything besides writing in common. But giving myself the label of writer in a strange way bound me to this community even though it appeared to be a solitary act. I am one in millions of hopefuls across the world typing, writing. It doesn't matter that I haven't watched <i>Doctor Who</i> and have no fantasies about becoming an aloof novelist. It doesn't matter that I'm writing profiles and personal essays, not fan fiction and heartfelt defenses of the oxford comma. I <i>am writing</i>, and that simple fact nullified any of the characteristics I clung to to feel superior.<br />
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But then, I thought, if I <i>am </i>a part of this group, why doesn't it feel like it? Why do all of these people connect with each other so effortlessly while I am left in the corner with my own thoughts?<br />
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It was a familiar query, one that could be applied to other labels as well as writing. I often found myself staying silent while others chatted away at school functions, family parties, almost everywhere. And I suppose, you could say, with validity, that I didn't feel like I belonged because I wasn't making any effort <i>to </i>belong; the <i>superiority </i>I felt would prevent me from every becoming a part of the group. And to a certain extent, you would be right. I was acting superior.<br />
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But like most people who act superior, I didn't actually <i>feel </i>superior. It was a coping mechanism I'd developed. And no, I'm not going to tell you some sob story about how I was bullied or how some great tragedy befell me. I had an easy, perfect, picturesque childhood. I just happen to possess interests and attitudes that no one near me seemed to have. Because I already didn't fit in, I decided to not want to. If life was a series of arbitrary humiliations, then the less witnesses the better anyway, right?<br />
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The cultural narrative that those who don't feel included <i>should </i>feel superior rather than trying to make a connection ("I'm not like other girls," etc etc etc) did not help. Maybe I did develop a bit of an ego, but it developed from alienation.<br />
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But to other people, it wouldn't seem like I was isolated. It would seem like I was surrounded by so many groups of people who were attempting to understand me, and I wasn't making any effort to understand them. I began to think that perhaps this perspective was more true than my own, that maybe I hadn't really tried to connect with anyone, still sore over minor rejections and dismissals in <i>elementary school</i>.<br />
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And so after that conversation, I tried to build communities around my interests, and connect with the communities I was already a part of as a result of certain aspects of my identity. And I didn't fail. I met people who I could be intellectually challenged by, who could make me laugh so hard that my laughs no longer had a sound, who watched the same movies and shows as I did and shared my philosophies. But I still felt like I was missing out on something. Even though I loved my friends, whenever they would describe their experiences with other friends or in different programs or groups, it always sounded so much <i>bigger </i>than whatever I was experiencing. I wanted the ecstasy of wandering around the streets at midnight, and the serenity of gazing out onto my city's skyline with people who understood me as completely as anyone can understand someone else. I wanted to be, I wanted to feel like I was a <i>part </i>of something. I still want to.<br />
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There have been a few brief incidents when I thought "This is it. This is what I was missing out on this whole time." Telling scary stories in a friends' parked car at a local park and watching the windows fog up with the condensation of excited breath til streetlights became abstract shapes shrouded by a prismatic glow, eating tacos at a friends' house her room crammed with the entire neighborhood (the door open to welcome more) and leaving her bed littered with the debris of the evening (mostly shredded cheese and olives), swinging on swings meant for children (emblematic of the childhood we were about to outgrow) in Central Park with a group of kids I'd only known for mere days though we hugged each other as if we knew every tragedy and heartbreak the other had experienced-- in these moments I felt I understood the human experience with more beautifully poignant clarity than I had ever before.<br />
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But I have a lot to catch up on before I will be given more of those ordinary luxuries. I still don't know why I often find myself unable to talk to people the way other people can. I still don't fully understand how to connect with people. But I want to.<br />
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Oh lord, I want to.Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-66534296756226755592018-09-08T22:19:00.001-07:002018-11-02T23:05:13.592-07:00An Interview with Jake SilversteinIf I had to cite one magazine that most inspired me to go into the journalism industry, it would be <i>The New York Times Magazine</i>. I think I was initially drawn to the sort of brand name of <i>The New York Times</i>, but what really piqued my interest about the magazine in particular was that, as an extension of the<i> </i>newspaper<i> </i>but also a separate entity, it didn't really have to sell itself, which gave it a distinctive quality that enamored me.<br />
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When I visited New York this past summer (through the <a href="http://theavantgardetweener.blogspot.com/2018/08/obligatory-new-york-travel-post.html" target="_blank">School of <i>The New York Times</i></a> no less), through relentless emailing, I had the chance to talk with Editor-in-Chief Jake Silverstein. Prior to taking over the magazine in May of 2014, Mr. Silverstein worked for <i>The</i> <i>Big Bend Sentinel</i>, a newspaper based in Marfa, Texas (and later published a partially ficticious memoir <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nothing-Happened-Then-Did-Chronicle/dp/0393339947" target="_blank">Nothing Happened and Then It Did</a> </i>based around the early years of his career). As an aspiring journalist living in a relatively small town, I was especially interested in getting his perspective on how small town newspapers differed from world-renowned publications.<br />
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Below we discuss how an issue comes together, what qualities a young journalist should develop, and the difference between having a lesser but direct impact as a journalist in small communities versus having a larger but more abstract influence working for a company as prestigious as the <i>New York Times</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.subtraction.com/2015/02/20/behind-the-relaunch-of-the-new-york-times-magazine/" target="_blank">via</a></td></tr>
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<b>First of all, I was wondering if you could describe the process of putting together an issue?</b><br />
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It's like a form of organized chaos really. There's not a straightforward routine that we use every time. Obviously, an individual story goes through the same sets of steps [every time]. It's edited, it gets sent to the photo department, or the art department to figure out what the visuals will be. It gets copy edited. It gets fact checked. It all gets put together, and then re-edited to make sure it's smooth and perfect and seamless. And then it's read a few more times after that. So that's just a standardized sequence that every single piece that's in the magazine-- no matter how large or small --goes through.<br />
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But as far as how all of those pieces come together into a given issue... it's not the case that we design issues really far in advance. We make assignments for stories in some cases very far in advance, and in some cases the very shortest would be 6-8 weeks in advance. And then we have this very big inventory of stories. And the inventory has some stories that are like ready to go, and some stories that are not quite ready to go, and some stories that are really not ready to go. They're all at varying levels of readiness. The fundamental fact of a weekly magazine is that you're just burning through you inventory all the time. It's very different from a monthly magazine in that way. And as we chug through the year, we're just kind of constantly grabbing what's ready in the inventory.<br />
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Usually it starts with what the cover story of the issue is, because obviously there are fewer of those than other kinds of stories, and an important part of the issue is what's going to be on the cover. So you kind of work outward from that. You don't want three or four politics stories in an issue. You want to have a nice balance. Often one big story that has to be in the issue, either because it's a cover story or because it profiled somebody that's pegged to like an album coming out or whatever, will start the process. And then we figure out what would pair well with that.<br />
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It's funny though because the thinking that goes into putting together an issue and figuring out what stories will be part of it is all very much about what makes a good print magazine, because, in print, they're all clustered together and turned into this package. Online, they just scatter completely. The same sort of thinking wouldn't really apply if we weren't focused on a print magazine. But we do still think about what's the right mix for the print magazine. That determines what goes out on a particular week.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://twitter.com/nytmag/status/770592324845993984" target="_blank">via</a></td></tr>
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<b>What draws you to the print magazine medium?</b><br />
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We're an interesting magazine because we're a part of a newspaper, and that's what makes us different from our peers at <i>The New Yorker </i>or <i>Vanity Fair </i>or any other big magazines. We're the only one that's part of a newspaper. It makes us different in a whole bunch of ways, one of which is that we're not on the newsstand, which is a huge, huge freedom that we try to take advantage of by running covers that aren't really commercial in nature, but might be creatively really interesting or visually very powerful.<br />
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But it also means that we're within an organization, <i>The New York Times</i>, that is rapidly transforming itself into a digital organization, as they should. For them, shedding the print product and really focusing entirely on the digital product makes a lot of sense because newsprint is purely a delivery mechanism. People have nostalgic attachment to it, but that's just because it's what used to exist. It's not because it's better than, like, a phone. If you want to get the latest Donald Trump story from <i>The New York Times </i>it's better to get it on your phone. There's no way around that.<br />
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But I don't know if that's true for magazines, because a magazine isn't just a single story, like we were talking about earlier. It's a package of stories. It's like, smaller ones in the front, and then you build to the big stuff. It's like a meal. It's designed in a certain way. The material product itself is special. It's on glossy paper, the photographs are reproduced very nicely. And if the magazine is big enough, it's perfect bound and it doesn't even have staples. It feels really, really lasting in a way that a newspaper never does. So, the value of a print magazine is a little different from the value of a print newspaper and it's not as easily surpassed by the value of a digital version of it. It's harder to throw aside the print magazine and embrace the digital future.<br />
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That said, obviously we are equally about our digital presentation as we are our print presentation. But we're a rare department in this building that still focuses very hard on print. The rest of <i>The New York Times</i>, it's a badge of honor if you don't really pay attention to print. I'm kind of exaggerating, but it's encouraged to put your emphasis on your digital product, and the print product is what they call downstream from digital. Here, we can't quite do that because the magazine has a certain special value in print that I think is likely to be there for some time.<br />
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All of that said, your question was what attracts me to the print product. I mean, I think it's some of the stuff I was just saying. It's that as a reader, when you're reading a package of stories in the print magazine, you get a real sense of who the editors are and what their sensibility is, how they pair things together, and how they think about how a reading experience might go out of casual small stuff in the front to bigger stuff in the middle. And when you just read an individual piece in a sea of content online, you don't have the same experience. You don't feel like somebody's created an experience. I often say that a good magazine experience is somewhat theatrical. It's like you're sitting down in a theater, and somebody is putting on a show for you. First they come out and they do a little small thing for you to get you comfortable, and then they like bring you the main attraction. That appeals to me as a reading experience, and it appeals to me as a type of product to create as well.<br />
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It's something that's fun to create, to think about the mix and to think about what balances well. Not just in editorial terms but in terms of art as well. We constantly talk about things, like if two of our stories in a given issue have two portraits of people on the beginning pages, we definitely need to have a third story that's got an illustration or that has an environmental shot of a landscape. Creating a package every week that's rounded, and varied, and feels complicated and complex is part of the fun of working in print media.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://spdarchives.org/2016/11/cover-of-the-day-the-new-york-times-magazine.php.html" target="_blank">via</a></td></tr>
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<b>You've experienced both extremes of the publication world. What are the good and bad sides to both?</b><br />
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<i>The Sentinel </i>is a small town newspaper that serves about 2400 people, at least at the time that I was working there. It had a really small newspaper staff. I was one of two reporters and then there was an editor basically. Because of that, we wrote all the stories ourselves. I would probably write five stories a week, and sometimes more. So that in and of itself was kind of interesting, just because there were not beats. You just did everything.<br />
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And also, it's not that the stakes were low. Obviously, in some ways, the stakes could not possibly be higher, because this was the news source for this town. But on the other hand, because of the size of the staff, there was no working your way slowly up before you got a break to cover the city council meeting. You were just thrown in the deep end every single week. It was always learn this, learn that. Learn about border patrol. Go down to Mexico and do a story about crime, immigration, what have you. There was just huge opportunity for a young journalist to learn about so many different aspects of, in this case, small town Texas life. I was 24 when I went there.<br />
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But I think what has stayed with me the most from that experience isn't so much the fast learning curve or the ability to write a lot of stories, but the relationship with the newspaper to the community it was a part of. You don't have the sense, when you're participating in producing <i>The New York Times</i>, that you're creating a paper that's for the people around you. I mean, it is, sort of. But it's such a crazy, huge, diverse town that it's not the same. And that's true for pretty much any place. Whereas, with the small town paper, you write something, and you're likely to see the person you wrote about at the post office the next day. For a journalist, that's a valuable lesson. Too often I think we imagine we write stories and publish them, and it's not that the subjects of the stories aren't real to us, but they're somehow far removed from our lives.<br />
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So starting out my career in Marfa and literally writing stories sometimes about touchy material, like, there was a drunk driving accident and some people got killed. You write that story up, and then the uncle of the person that was driving that car and was drunk is in front of you at the checkout line. Did you tell the story right? You better hope so, if you're standing next to the guy's uncle. And that was a really good lesson. Not just about sensitivity, but how important the newspaper or any type of media can be in a small community, or a large community, but you really see it at the level of a small community. You know how important it is for people to get information from that paper. It came out every Thursday, and people spent time on Thursday reading it. They would often come in to the newspaper office, buy the paper for fifty cents, and just stand around reading the paper. I think it's different now because there's more of a web presence than there was back then for the paper. But back then it was really like a moment for the week, everyone standing around reading the paper, and they'd be like 'ok, got the news!' That's something that really stayed with me.<br />
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And if you fast forward to here, obviously <i>The New York Times </i>is a completely different type of operation. The size of the platform is thrilling and exciting. You get to do a tremendous amount of stuff and the resources are off the charts. I think of this as the greatest job in journalism. There's no but in that sentence. It's not like I'm going to say "but I missed seeing my subjects in the checkout line." That's actually not the case. But I think that it is valuable to have that experience, and it does sort of inform, in some ways, the way I work here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/10/magazine/re-walking-new-york.html" target="_blank">via</a></td></tr>
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<b>What do you think is the most vital skill for a young journalist to develop?</b><br />
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Having a sort of combination of natural curiosity (which I imagine that anyone who at some point decides they want to be a journalist has), tenacity (like you're going to get the door slammed in your face but you're going to keep knocking anyway), and then also having an innate ability to know when you're being lied to. Or when you're being told 85% of the truth. Something like that. Because it's not that people are always going to lie to you, but people are always going to shade the truth when they're speaking to you.<br />
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I think one of the things that journalists who are really good at their jobs have is just this ability to be non confrontational with subjects, but deeply skeptical at the same time. Because if you're just an asshole, and you just go around accusing people of lying all the time, they're never going to talk to you. And obviously building trust with sources and subjects is a huge part of how you get good stories and good quotes and great moments and scenes and all of that stuff. But if you're too cozy with those people, then either you're willingly deciding to not press them for the truth, or you're just kind of a fool and you don't realize that they're soft pedaling stuff. So having the ability to both win people's trust but also maintain a level of necessary skepticism about what they're telling you, and push them further, and being able to combine that with a tenacious streak and an innate curiosity about the world, I think that's the magic combination.<br />
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Obviously, there's a huge number of technical skills that are necessary now and like personal brand building, but I tend to think that's secondary to the core qualities of being a good journalist. A really good journalist is somebody that has sort of a preternatural ability to not care so much about how a story turns out. They just care about getting it right. So if your own personal politics are liberal in nature, but a particular story leads you down a path and you realize the liberals in this particular story are wrong and the conservatives are right, you don't care. Because what you care about is getting it right. Having that natural instinct to subordinate your personal beliefs in the service of figuring out exactly what happened. It's not right to say that you don't care, but the part of you that cares is not involved in the making of the journalism. That's a particular talent, and it's a particular talent that's in short supply now because there's so much advocacy journalism, and a lot of journalism that doesn't even call itself that because advocacy journalism is journalism. That neutrality that's not a soft neutrality of "this side says this but this side says this and I don't know," but goes hard at the truth no matter what, that's really important.Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-8268823134941523142018-08-25T20:34:00.000-07:002018-08-25T20:46:31.178-07:00An Interview with Dweeb City<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Earth, prepare to be rocked by the cyberpop tunes of the neon-clad, glitter-drenched girl band Dweeb City. If their melodies sound otherworldly, it's because they traveled all the way from their home planet, Dweebtopia, to the human world, armed only with the dream of winning Eurovision. The group is comrpised of Suman, Taxman, Steelman, and Scabman-- all of whom bring their own unique alien superpower to the table. </div>
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What started as a spur-of-the-moment decision to enter a uni band competition has now snowballed into elaborate gigs complete with costume changes, visually stunning music videos, and--most importantly-- their debut album, <i>Dweeb City</i>. A delightful mix of the wildly personal ("Spent A Year in Bed Watching Degrassi Jr. High"), hilariously fangirlish ("Nico the Unicorn We Miss You"), and universally poignant ("Duckie"), it proves that these extra terrestrials have an uncanny ability to understand what it is to be human. Perhaps that's because they give up all pretensions in the name of fun, entertainment, and having a positive impact.</div>
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I've been following the band since before their win at the music competition (before the fame hit) and it's been such a pleasure to watch them come into their own as musicians. I've always believed in these dweebs, but it's been so incredible to watch them develop a distinct style into an impressively diverse yet cohesive, must-listen album. In the transcript below, we discuss the album, their journey to Earth, and everything in between. </div>
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<b>Hannah: </b>What are the origin stories of your nicknames?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>While I was in art school I had to do this stupid exercise where we had to put cardboard boxes on our head. My friend wrote "Taxman" on my box, and I didn't know because I had a box on my head. So that's how I got Taxman.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>In high school I got Suman and there's no real explanation for that, other than it just happened.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>She was like Susman at first I think.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>Yeah, I had a nickname; it was "Susman," and then it turned into "Susnanny bitch" and then that was too long. So it just reverted back into Suman.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>In high school, we had this friend that used to scream at me "Scabigail Angel of Death!" I had an early 2000s emo aesthetic and I guess she took that to heart. Scabman kind of came from her calling me "Scabby Abby" and "Scabigail Angel of Death."<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>Princess Sally gave Steelman her name because she loves Steel Panther so much!<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>How did you come up with the name Dweeb city?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>Well, we only had like an hour before it was due, so I just wrote Dweeb City because I didn't know what to write. I think in art school there were a lot of people trying to be cool, and we just kind of did what we wanted to do.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>I was wondering about the origin story of Dweeb City. I know you entered a competition and stuff, but can you describe your rise to stardom?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>On our home plant Dweebtopia, we were trained to be the Eurovision champions. We would grow up watching Eurovision, except we're 20 years behind. So we were coming to Earth to win Eurovision, but we went to the wrong place because Dweeb City is not that good at making technology.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Taxman ended up at art school and was like 'oh no! How will I win Eurovision now?'<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>And then I found out about this competition and it wasn't Eurovision but we entered anyway. And we won! To the dismay of some of the other bands.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>I think that some people were a bit like 'aw this is funny!' But then, when we won, they were like "Fuck those guys!"<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>What was the best show you played?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I really loved Psyfari. It was a bush doof. I don't know if that's a thing in America.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>What is that?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>It's like a party where you take lots of drugs and like listen to rave music. We don't take lots of drugs though.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>It's like a psychedelic dance party basically.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>And they make a mess.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>It's a bit gross.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>You could spend a long time talking about the problems. But the cool aspect is that they set up amazing lasers that bounce off the trees.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>Huge sound systems in the middle of nowhere.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>And there's artists that design the stages. It's really cool.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>And then there's like adult jungle gyms.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>Anyway we played a really hilarious gig at Psyfari. We were on at like midnight.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>It was so cold. It got down to like -4 degrees Celsius. It was like below freezing. And we were in our tiny costumes onstage.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Because it was so cold, the strings got really tight and they were so high pitched.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>And we were on for like an hour, so we just put lots of dance breaks.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>We had like this ghost buster's dance break. And some people came up to us, and they were like "Your set was really good, but then it got really dark and scary and I had to walk away."<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>There were a lot of people that were like, "We loved it, but it was just too much."<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I had this person come up to me a couple of months ago that was like "You guys exist? I saw you at the bush doof and I didn't know if you were real or not!"<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Personally, when we played with Toy Death for the first time, that was just a nostalgic moment. Because they play with old toys, and we really looked up to them in high school. They were-- and they still are --like, the coolest people. We wrote them this fan letter that was like "Hello, we are from Dweebtopia and we've loved you since we were teenagers." And they played with us! And they turned out to be the nicest people ever.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>What's your favorite song on the album?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>It changes every time I listen to it. I really really really love "Clementine." I think that one is a total bop.<br />
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<b>Suman; </b>That was one of the ones we recorded in the actual recording studio. So we had some help with making it sound more like real music.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>The first time I heard it, it glitched. So it was playing at like 4 times the speed.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I just had really bad, broken speakers. And it wasn't really finished yet.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>"70s Stairway to Hell" was a really good song. Steelman wrote that.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>It's got that "Hello Moto!"<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>I really like "Drogo." It's got so many layers.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I like all of them for different reasons.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>My parents' favorite is "Mrs. Pink."<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>Who are your main musical inspirations?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I reckon The Shaggs are a pretty big one for me. Abigail and I also listen to lots and lots of early 2000s indie pop music.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>I really really like Sufjan Stevens, like weird atmospheric stuff. And The Flaming Lips as well. Like when you can hear random sounds but they just really work together. I love that stuff.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I also really love like the eighties. So like Devo.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Cyndi Lauper, The Strawberry Switchblade Sisters. Oh my gosh.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>What's your favorite music video you've done?<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I had so much fun when we filmed Luna Luna. That was so cute. Because we went to Luna Park. And it was just such a fun day. We just went around dressed as aliens and everyone thought we were part of the theme park attractions.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I love Luna Park! It's a very derro Australian theme park that's like really tiny.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>It's in the middle of the city and they've had a lot of noise complaints, so they've had to make all the rides miniature. It's very derro but very cool. It's very old too. It's like Australia's version of Coney Island.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I can't watch Duckie anymore. I was so sick [when we were filming].<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I like the bedroom scene in that. I watched it the other day and I was like "That's so cute." But I agree that was a rough day.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>How did you develop the visual aesthetics of Dweeb City?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>It's all based off of what you can get really cheap at Kmart. I go to supermarkets and to shops and buy stuff. I really love neon. You have to find neon stuff which is a task.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Any inspirations?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>My inspirations are outsider art, so like all those crazy people that build epic houses and stuff. I really love Harajuku and that layer on layer on layer, pop culture, trashy aesthetic. So there's a lot of nostalgia, mixed with outsider art, mixed with 60s sci-fi. And whatever you can find at Kmart.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>Retro futurism meets Kmart. That's what our aesthetic is.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>What's next for Dweeb City? What are your plans for the future?<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Eurovision.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>Eurovision.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>We have music videos we're halfway through. We've got other songs we've already written that we'll put on the next one.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>But not for a while.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>We really want to go to Japan and play a gig there.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>We were talking to Toy Death about it and they said we could potentially go together.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>Using an analogy, how would you describe your creative process?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>For me, it's a bit like putting everything into a microwave and microwaving it until it explodes. That's how I roll.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I feel like it's like poking at a calculator that makes a beeping sound endlessly, and just going "Yeah, I like that!" Is that an analogy? I don't know if I really identify with my analogy.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>I feel like [for me it would be] spicy shaker fries.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>Do you guys have shaker fries?<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>No, I've never heard of that before.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>They're like McDonald's fries, and they give you a packet of seasoning. And you put it in the bag and shake it.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>Sometimes you get like too much flavoring on a chip, but you're just like "Cool."<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>Yeah you're like "I'm in Salt City but I'm loving it."<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>What's an analogy I don't know!<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>Shaker fries! She shook me to my core. Suman did most of the mixing and mastering on our album. It took a million years.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>We kept having these, like, riots in the car where we'd be like "We'll listen to the album!" And then we'd be like "Oh no. We can't send it off. Susan, what do we do? Back to the drawing board." And she'd just like fix so many songs. She's definitely the mastermind of the shaker bag.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>She's the shaker for sure.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>How long did the album take to finish?<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>A year and a half. It took us a long time.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>It was worth it though. When you actually get the CD in your hand, you're like "IT"S WORTH IT!"<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>When did you decide to get serious about your music?<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>I'm not sure we're totally serious even now. Like, we are in some aspects. We really love playing music and playing gigs and stuff. But in terms of the music we write and the lyrics we write, we don't generally take it too seriously. Well, some of them are quite serious. It depends.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I think that the fun is still there. Some of them are very personal.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>The stuff that we write on our own is more serious. More rooted in real life.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>We were never like, "Ok, we are very serious now. Get it together friends!" It's fun.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>Even if we do have a serious song that deals with a serious topic, often we'll add a weird instrument or a weird sample or something that makes it a little more accessible.<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>I guess, for me, when I started taking it seriously was when other people started saying I should take it seriously. I was like "Oh it's just this silly thing me and my friends are doing." But then the guy who ran the band competition was like "No, this is actually really good." And I was like "What?" I didn't realize what we'd done was actually affecting people and I thought that was really cool. When I was thinking of making a band, I saw a lot of bands that took themselves so seriously that it was like the audience didn't really exist, and they were just playing for themselves, which is fine. But I saw bands that were really engaging the audience and making really accessible music and I was like, "That'd be really fun!" And, of course, Toy Death really puts on a show for people to enjoy, so that was a big influence for me.<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>We've had some experiences where people would come up to us after gigs and be like 'I really needed that." Or "That really changed my life." Or "I was having a really bad time and you guys just made me feel so much better." When I heard that kind of stuff from people, [I realized] that our music has the power to help people in a way and make them feel good. That makes you take it a lot more seriously.<br />
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<b>Hannah: </b>What's been the best moment since forming Dweeb City?<br />
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<b>Suman: </b>The novelty check [we got from winning the competition] was pretty great.<br />
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<b>Scabman: </b>I think just all the time spent with friends. I don't really have one epic moment personally. It's just like hanging out and having tea. And eating junk food. Just a collection of really hilarious memories. I'm just like "Life's just really nice."<br />
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<b>Taxman: </b>And I think that having Dweeb City means you have to meet up and you have to hang out and you have to do stuff. At our age, people kind of drift apart a little bit. But we can stay aliens forever.<br />
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You can listen to <i>Dweeb City </i>on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/artist/4h7oC68pzoFWav1z2lA1Ft?autoplay=true&v=A" target="_blank">Spotify</a> and all other streaming services!<br />
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All photos via Dweeb City's <a href="https://www.instagram.com/dweebcity/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-45190865206877123422018-08-19T22:35:00.001-07:002018-08-19T22:35:59.782-07:00An Interview with Chris UphuesThe world needs the vibrant heart(s) of Chris Uphues. The artist and designer (he co-founded the shop <a href="https://chrisuphues.com/collections/all" target="_blank">Beautiful Days</a> with his wife, Jen Koehl) is not only a huge personal inspiration of mine but has become a cultural phenomenon over the past couple of years. Best known for his bright-eyed cartoon hearts, Uphues draws from an eclectic range of inspirations to create his iconography. He simply and beautifully distills his "spread love" philosophy into imagery that's attainable rather than elitist, welcoming rather than exclusive. This is especially true of his street art, which is not only accessible in terms of medium, but also possesses an almost aggressive luminosity, so energetic it's infectious, impossible to ignore. Inspired by Keith Haring, he is well on his way to entering the pop art cannon himself. And for good reason. In the current tumultuous political and cultural landscape, we need the vigorous cheerfulness of his work.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://paddle8.com/work/chris-uphues/51203-you-cant-stop-love" target="_blank">Image via</a></td></tr>
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<b>What work are you most proud of?</b><br />
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I don't think I have a piece I'm most proud of . I think my answer changes every time I make something new. Mostly I just really enjoy getting in the studio and continuing the work everyday. That's where the real action and fun really is.<br />
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<b>Who do you think the most creative person alive is?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
One of my favorite creative people is theoretical physicist Michio Kaku, most well known for his work on string theory.<br />
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<b>What is your favorite color combination?</b><br />
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Anything that vibrates when you set them side by side -- like a fluorescent over a pastel.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://cassiestephens.blogspot.com/search/label/chris%20uphues" target="_blank">Image via</a></td></tr>
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<b>What's the best advice you've ever received?</b><br />
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"Leap and the net will appear." - zen proverb<br />
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This is the one piece of advice I find to be completely true 100% of the time.<br />
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<b>What's the strangest thing you've painted on?</b><br />
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I once painted on these giant bins in a farm in Montana to look like great big robot heads. Still one of my favorite projects.<br />
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<b>What would you change about the art world?</b><br />
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Nothing. It's perfect just the way it is. Or actually every single thing but it's too much to list in a single interview.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/62417144819222924/" target="_blank">Image via</a></td></tr>
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<b>What's the best reaction anyone has ever had to your art?</b><br />
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Hmmm I'm not really sure , but it's always nice when people appreciate something you've worked hard on. There has been a recent wave of art teachers teaching my work in class and I really love seeing those projects develop.<br />
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<b>What was the first thing you painted?</b><br />
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That's a hard one... I think it was probably a water color of a bowl of fruit in my very first painting class. LOL<br />
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<b>What do you hope you'll be remembered for?</b><br />
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I used to have big ideas about this but now I just hope I brought a little joy into the world and more specifically, to my wife and family, and I hope they know I love them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://chrisuphues.com/products/lil-jackson-sticker-set-of-5" target="_blank">Image via</a></td></tr>
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<b>Using an analogy, how would you describe your creative process?</b><br />
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My creative process is like a galactic cloud of gas. The molecules in the cloud gather and collide, and gather mass until they start forming planets, suns, and star systems of ideas and imagery.<br />
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<b>Lastly, if your body of work were an animal, what kind of animal would it be and why?</b><br />
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I genuinely can't pick just one... so all of them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://martha-porter.squarespace.com/blog/2015/1/27/valentines-with-chris-uphues" target="_blank">Image via</a></td></tr>
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<br />Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2336503700498439136.post-53045139596557625562018-08-16T19:28:00.000-07:002018-08-16T19:32:21.565-07:00An Interview with Suka Mo<br />
Suka Mo's pencil drawings have an endearing simplicity to them (which also makes them easily translatable to the coterie of other memorabilia she makes, from pins to plush animals) that at once both supports and disguises the message of poignant optimism behind them.<br />
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At first glance, her childlike characters look like they could be coloring book drawings, with their uncomplicated expressions and their three-stroke figures. But upon closer inspection, Mo's drawings are more than just cute motifs. They depict the intimacies of friendship, embrace femininity, and promote body positivity with a subtlety that's rare amongst similar cartoonists. She conveys a multitude of commentary with just a few pencil lines. She was as succinct with her words in this interview.<br />
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<b>What work are you most proud of?</b><br />
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I am most proud of my drawings. I gradually draw pictures. Besides drawing pictures, I also deeply appreciate crafting.<br />
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<b>Who are your artistic inspirations?</b><br />
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I like Leiko Ikemura. I don't just get inspiration from artists, but also everyday life. From weather, seasons, smells, time, etc.<br />
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<b>What advice would you give to your younger self?</b><br />
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Follow what you believe in, enjoy being crazy as much as you like. Treasure yourself without comparing yourself to others.<br />
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<b>How did you develop your artistic style?</b><br />
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I just did what I wanted to do. I would like to live with good faith and in freedom from now on.<br />
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*Please note that these answers have been translated from Japanese.<br />
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Images via <a href="https://www.instagram.com/suka.mo/" target="_blank">Suka Mo's Instagram</a>Hannah Hightmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958181321368710034noreply@blogger.com0