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In light of a recent conversation of being “cool,” a good friend of mine and I defined a person possessing this ubiquitous adjective as one less related to the Regina George type, and more toward the well versed, off-beat, passionate end of the spectrum. A person unafraid to explore unknown territory in both themselves and in subject matter, and confident to show their knowledge, or lack thereof, with the world.

Alas, the mid-year resolution to become “cooler” incepted.

These are a few pictures I took a year and a half ago for my Ann Arbor street style blog, Wolverine Wear Daily. Here’s to giving the portfolio another go, pursuing underdeveloped passions, and being cooler.

This week TEDxUofM, the student organization that organizes the annual TEDx Conference at Michigan, is continuing a new initiative called TEDxSalons. A Salon is a small gathering where attendees can eat, discuss, brainstorm, and connect in a more intimate atmosphere than a standard TEDx event; think of it as a loosely facilitated discussion. The Salon will be a chance for new people to meet each other and share ideas in a relaxed, engaging atmosphere. The goal of these events is to create a conversation that isn’t widely being had on this campus, and to get people thinking about these various topics. Don’t think of it as a class discussion; it is informal and enlightening! The event this week is called “On The Streets of Ann Arbor: A Conversation on Homelessness.”

This theme focuses on the status of homelessness within our community. The discussion will hope to speak about homelessness in a sensitive and respectful manner within a group of individuals learning to understand more about the topic. Discussion will include the growing gap between wage earnings and the cost of living which leaves hundreds of families and individuals (in our community) unable to make ends meet. Understanding homelessness is more than mere statistics. We witness the individual faces of homelessness on the streets, but the larger community struggles are often unseen. Untold stories of the men, women, and children without homes. How often do you stop, and how often do you take the time to hear the story?

TEDxSalons revolve around the idea that conversationing is an art; that talking to people, and sharing ideas is a form of artistic expression. The Salons are a unique space because they ask attendees to engage in a respectful, committed discussion, without the pressure and unnecessary limitations of a class or grade. People attend because they are interested in learning simply for learning’s sake. By focusing on relevant issues that are going relatively unnoticed, TEDx is asking attendees to channel this energy for interaction and learning into important and challenging topics. Above all, the Salons series is a hope that, at one point, the University of Michigan becomes a campus that embodies the TED mantra “Ideas Worth Spreading” every day of the year.

Event Details:

“On The Streets of Ann Arbor” A Conversation on Homelessness

Wednesday, February 27 at 7:30pm (Conversation starts at 8pm)

East Conference Room, Rackham, 4th floor

Refreshments will be served.

Okay.

Really quickly – what do you feel when you first see the following painting?

Joy. Bliss. Vibrancy. Color. Beauty. Happiness. (Yes, ‘color’ and ‘beauty’ are feelings.)

A smile.

That oil painting, my lads and lassies, was created by Leonid Afremov, whose rise to fame struck me as interesting. A few weeks ago, I spoke of Sergio Albiac whose domain is digital art, where he fuses painting with computer programs that results in futuristic and hauntingly amazing pieces of work. Afremov isn’t a new kind of artist the way Albiac is; his medium is as traditional as they get: oil paintings. However, his recognition and success is due to the harbinger of change in our technology-oriented society. The Internet.

That’s right. Before eBay, Afremov was the very picture (ha ha get it? He’s an artist.) of the stereotypical struggling artist. However, with eBay and other online means of vending, Afremov shot to fame and monetary success. And, if I may say so myself, justly so. He’s spectacular and his works fill me with a special fondness for the classic, romanticized Europe. Yes, the resplendent, almost magical, places he depicts do not exist in the gritty reality we live in but they do somewhere in our soul, our dreams. And when I gaze upon his work, I become uplifted with nostalgia, though I have never gone anywhere even remotely resembling such a place. Or maybe I have.

When I first saw one of his paintings, I thought it was some radical French painter from the centuries ago, maybe because . Nope. This man has a deviantART account. That’s right, muthafuckas. The man whose paintings seem to have popped out of old-world Europe has his paintings available for sale on deviantART (at the time of writing this, all the paintings on his deviantART account are for sale, so… go get ’em!). I admire The Internet to the fullest extent. Amazing things and people and art like this have always existed but The Internet spreads awareness that they exist, at a faster pace and to a bigger audience than ever before. A man who may have died with no one knowing his name is now an inspiration.

As a ballet dancer, the painting above tugs at my heartstrings.

Here’s what Afremov says on his deviantART profile:

Every artwork is the result of long painting process; every canvas is born during the creative search; every painting is full of my inner world. Each of my paintings brings different moods, colors and emotions. I love to express the beauty, harmony and spirit of this world in my paintings. My heart is completely open to art. Thus, I enjoy creating inspired and beautiful paintings from the bottom of my soul. Each of my artworks reflects my feelings, sensitivity, passion, and the music from my soul. True art is alive and inspired by humanity. I believe that art helps us to be free from aggression and depression.

Preach.

.

#Blasphemy

I am greeted almost daily with red. Royal angry velvet-smooth. Apple red . . . darker: rose red. Red rose. Read rows. Rows, streams, rivers and roads, pool in water that is sometimes urine. Sometimes feces. Today clear but tainted–wine red. Unholy, Bloody nose.

Intense. I swear I’m not. I simmer down low over 2 or 3, electric–no flame–coils morph like snakes but not at all. Or perhaps I boil. Either way. Stimulus with humans and vocal cords necessitate two reactions, a third unspoken–play dead. The chef’s nightmare: tepid water–Conversation.

Pumpkin carriage scares me into sleep. Wherever I fall I call home. Ma maison is always close, right below my feet, always almost within reach. When I arrive I’m already away. Gone to wander old classrooms, play old games, read old books, my childhood lays old beneath my eyelids to disappear as I see time dissipate into dreams. Midnight.

Midas touch without the gold. With air, some would say. Not even my touch–more of a button. Silver grey today. Tomorrow my eyes might not be my own. Makes living more palatable, more scrumptious. A whole meal in itself that fills the belly with exhales of machinery. Soda water.

Ripped thoughts, torn canvas, soiled trees. Worse than dirt my fingers smudge continually as I apply more lotion more pen more neon more soap. Lemon soap. Citrus cuts through words like . . . my eyes through sentences like chronology through linearity. Ha. Book cover.

Like a deck of cards with no heart. Just diamonds, die minz, dye mends my hands and brain and ears. Silver rubs off, cheap. Glass breaks. Queen and Kings pay for this for birth, or rather just Kings. Queens still kept silent as their 13th century counterparts did. Ate hundread yirs dew nuthing two hour stand-herds. Herds. Thats all we are. Connected through one shepherd. iPhone.

Alarm set for 30 minutes earlier than the day before or the day after, instead of music it drips brown, caramel syrup that fills the void in my morning ritual. It wafts into every space be it nostril or ceiling or itself and finally into the depths of my self. Coffee Addict.

Wafers from heaven, moist manna wet from yesterdays [not] rain and snow. Clings to my clothes like dust bunnies. Frolicking in meadow’s dew when the sun cried last or when the moon got too clammy. Tender Buttons.

Wake up with a failed conversation and  midnight soda water left over to spill onto my coffee addict of a book cover, or so the stains prove, to catch my blood from my nose as I type away on my iPhone, “tender buttons. stop. help. stop.”

—Mn. All I know how to do is read, so why not read life? The author is dead and god is dead, so I have to make the plot myself before I, too, am dead. Live the plot. Create plot out of random instances where life seems void of content. Create something out of nothing. Destroy the tabula rasa to live a life backwards through the book so when tomorrow comes you’re not just eating celery but you’re living celery as water as life as new as day as back cover to front cover sleep as as as . . . yes.—