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By Rhetoric Date: 2002 Aug 28 Comment on this Work [[2002.08.28.18.19.30599]] |
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Artist's Statement When you grow up the daughter of military father and a beautiful, dejected mother, there seems to be lots of room for improvement. However bright my emotional future loomed, it was clear that any form of verbal expression was not to be rewarded around my dwelling. Consequently, early on I found that letters, arranged into words, would free my mind from the life I hated to live. With a dull butter knife, I would carve a single verb or noun (e.g. love, hate, kitten, blah) into the undersides of bleak, wooden furniture. I would practice speaking any random phrase while loading the dishwasher or heating soup for a snack. At eight years old, these were my outlets for expression. Once my misery caught up to my adolescence, I could disguise my wordplay as homework assignments and foolish teenage angst. I wanted to write with the power of Sylvia Plath and the eloquence of P.B. Shelley; all at age fourteen. However, how does a girl so programmed to lock it up tightly ever ask for help in crafting a phrase? So, I never did. I went through each of my English courses miming the thoughts in my heart, spilling the invisible white pain onto crisp, white papers. I never thought to ask, so they (those smiling and caring teachers who fill you with the plumpness of their love) never thought to show me the way. What a waste of opportunity on my part. I studied under brilliant women who made their life's work out of guiding pathetic young girls towards careers in the Literary Arts. However hopeless my dreams of breaking the codes in my hand became, I continued to write at each spark of thought. Sometimes, just a phrase would pop out and I would have to see it in ink. Other moments, I relished in the soft grayness of a secret written in #2 lead pencil. It has not been until recently that, I have ventured into the light with my written emotions. Now, I actually share my pieces of glory with those closest to me; those that need to read what I cannot say aloud. Now, more than ever, I want to chuck all the work I have laid down towards a promising career in public health on the pursuit of poetic bliss. Achievement of this goal is most certainly dependent upon my will to accept myself as some form of artist and my constancy in learning and growing my talents. With every life's dream, there must be some aspect of thrill and wonderment. There must also be a sound voice tempering all that excitement into reality. It is not my future to become the next Frost, Parker, or Wilde. However, it is my destiny to let Jennifer into the light for all to see and hear. To date, the forces that molded me and created my mind have just recently decided to relinquish their control. Given that gift of freedom (at 27 - better late than never), I plan to explore and titillate all my senses until every syllable is plainly audible and each word is dangling from a purposeful thought. This is my immediate goal. But, if all else fails, I will still have my looks. Jennifer Kayrouz Newly Crowned Artist-in-Training |