+theshotshot. | high-impact portrait art.

i have been feeling guilty for not updating the blog recently, so this is what is happening:
somebody (me | amber) is in the studio all alone today and i cannot seem to stop watching these two videos.
so… i’m curled up on this couch with the space heater on my feet and enjoying some studio alone time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

if the boys were here, i don’t think they would want to listen to it on repeat, so it’s a good thing they’re not here.

 

enjoy these gems:

unbelievable “star witness” cover.
mini hipsters.

also… happy halloweenie

 

so… check it. we have goals in the studio. obviously. who doesn’t?
we wanted to be able to make something where we could write our goals.
chalkdoor?! ABSOLUTELY.

nate told us we weren’t allowed to make it too cluttered, so obviously i had to draw smiley faces and hearts.
and then we put the board up when it was still wet, so they bled. and dripped… onto the couch. oopsies.

sometimes a delicious poem is so good for the soul. and today is a feel good day.
if, after reading this poem, you feel like coming to sit in this lovely chair to read more, you can.
we’ll take a picture of you doing so.
enjoy. you’re welcome.

have a good weekend, lovers!

Poem For People That Are Understandably Too Busy To Read Poetry

Relax. This won’t last long.
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there’s a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he’ll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you’re busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it’s sex you’ve always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party’s unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don’t think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don’t know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it’s needed. For it’s apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I’ll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don’t give anything for this poem.
It doesn’t expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case
or in your house. And if you’re not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:

Good. Now here’s what poetry can do.

Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There’s an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You’re beautiful for as long as you live.

- Stephen Dunn

i whip my hair back and forth.

 

well… we had fun monday stroll

hi. this is the day ben and i were told to leave the studio and have a remote day. we went to panera with $60 and then to caribou coffee. we had lots of ideas. we also walked around with the camera a little too. cool day. BYE!

ignore the nails i bite.