a few years ago, i remember cursing out the fact that i had no choice but to have my wisdom teeth removed on new years.
what kind of sick punishment was that, huh doc? 
i knew it was going to be the worst new years i had ever experienced; i thought that it would be the worst new years i ever would experience.

welp, today marks yet another (always overrated) new years.

after waking this morning to a four hour drive (cruise control-less and cramp-footed because of it, mind you), working a seven hour shift, collecting none of the ninety-nine dollars i had made in tips, driving in swarms of downtown city traffic, watching the clock turn from one year to the next while sitting in the driver’s seat of an empty car, getting momentarily lost in the vehicle i borrowed from my mother, potentially illegally parking said vehicle, leaving a party that i was clearly in the wrong mindset to attend, and having a scenery of nothing but drunken beings indulging in sensational nights:

as i sat myself in front of a train, awaiting its passing, i realized how horribly incorrect i was in thinking that my “wisdom-teeth-extraveganza/new-years-from-hell” could not be beaten on a shit-scale rating. 

needless to say:

here i am, spending new years in the company of only myself, with the exception of nine burning wicks surrounded in bottomless baths of candle wax and the soothing voices my computer emits through its itunes software as it plays low-key DJ for the night. 

here i am, spending new years alone, in an unmade bed atop a fortress of undressed pillows.

here i am, spending new years alone, in christmas tree pajama pants and a pair of mismatched, fuzzy crew socks.

here i am, spending new years alone, stuffing my pie hole and PMS belly full of over-salted pretzels, each smothered (seriously, nearly drowning) in an individual masking of peanut butter.

yet,
i have so much hope for the year that just began:
with the beginning of its life also comes the evermore fulfillment of mine. 

you know how they say that however your rang in your new years is some sort of foreshadowing for the year that is about to come for you?
complete load of shit.

if your new years wasn’t all you had hoped for:
be determined to have the entire coming year make up for it.
head up, shoulders back. 
the only direction to look is up, buttercup. 

this one is tough to write…

sometimes relationships end.

and the bittersweetness that an ending always brings can serve as an immense eye-opener of one’s self. almost as if it induces a self-evaluative nature.

it has been an interesting revelation; it has been a difficult exploration.
finding the person inside of me that i had been subconsciously longing to find; finding the person inside of me that i was not aware i had the potential of becoming.

being alone has brought me an immense amount of discovery.
being alone has brought me an entirely different view and way of thinking.
being alone has taught me an incredible deal about myself. 

of course, there are days where it is tough.
and i am fully aware: there will continue to be days where it is painful.

dealing with the aftermath of a relationship is much more difficult when the ending is brought about maturely; it is difficult when you have to choose to let go of an individual that you deeply, sincerely care about: when you care about who that person was, who that person is, and who that person will become. 

and it’s quite irritating.
not being able to pick up the phone simply to bullshit for an hour to a person who knows every nook and cranny of your soul.

and it’s quite irritating.
to miss the hell out of your friendship.
to have all of these memories to keep.
to constantly wonder how you are doing.
to selflessly wish nothing but the best for you. 

and it’s quite irritating.
when failure prevails and there is nothing and nobody to blame.

and it’s quite irritating.
knowing that you both tried your hardest, yet somehow managed to lose.
that upon the ending of a relationship, all you seem to notice are lovey-dovey songs and happy, starry-eyed couples surrounding your single self.

but it’s quite true.
that one needs to be alone in order to truly discover themselves.
their interests, their likes, their dislikes, their hopes, their bad habits, their wants, their needs, their desires, their hobbies, their love language, their ways of thinking, their past, their personality, their sense of humor, their pet peeves, their emotions, their strengths, their weaknesses, those they surround themselves with, their heart.
simply: them. 

and it’s quite uplifting.
to feel those findings and strengths slowly brewing inside of myself.

and it’s quite uplifting.
to be (for the first time) living for me, just me. 

ugliness is just as important of a teacher as beauty.
the struggles are just as important as the effortless happenings.
times of strength are just as important as times of weakness.
and, usually, all compliment one another and go completely hand in hand.

and to the boy i have not conversed with in quite some time:
i respect you, i appreciate you, i admire you, and i value you. 
you are a really wonderful person.
and don’t you dare forget that.

imagery and diction:  © alexis collins.

it’s 4:32 in the morning.
i have class in a mere three hours.
yet, here i am. awake. lighting candles and jotting down thoughts. 

i have learned so much in the last few years of my life.
some of it positive, some of it negative; all of it necessary.

i cannot sleep because i am far too eager and excited:
i have been longing for awhile now; longing to make a difference.
i have been longing forever to write a book; i have been longing forever to produce an exemplary body of photographs; i have been longing to combine the two into a series that i could feel personally successful about. 
i have been longing to do something for me. 

i have been trying to force a series idea into my mind for months it seems.
& now here it is, arriving in a completely unexpected fashion.

based upon the reminiscing and evaluation of the knowledge i have acquired, the mistakes i have made, the lessons i have learned, and the people i have met, an idea has approached me tonight. 

this particular idea will give voice to not only myself, my diction, and my imagery, but this idea will also give voice to individuals that i value on a personal level as well. and, hopefully, the result produced will reach others that i have not yet had the pleasure of meeting. perhaps it will even have the potential to help someone in struggle.
 
i have learned from growth.
i have learned from change.
i have learned from mistakes.
i have learned from challenges and i have learned from struggles.
i have learned from progress and i have learned from stagnation.

i have learned through a repeatedly broken heart.

i have learned from others. and so have you.
and, through handwritten words and photos taken upon sheets of film, that is exactly the ideal that i hope to and that i intend to share. 

imagery and diction: © alexis collins.

there is so much simplicity living within the house of happiness that we each subconsciously build around ourselves; much like a zone of comfort, this metaphorical home is like a calming storm of warmth.

lately i have been realizing how much of my personal “home” is composed of and should be accredited to others. i have been purely blessed and authentically fortunate to have met some of the most intriguing and truly selfless individuals over the course of my small and humble years.

i am so grateful to have always been blessed with a surrounding overabundance and overflowing multitude of love and support, and i would only hope that i, too, can give that to somebody in need; i would only hope that i will forever posses the positivity to return the encompassing indulgence of joy that i have felt, and continue to feel, to well-deserving others.

life sincerely is about those that we choose to surround ourselves with. 

there are far too many thoughts bouncing around in my mind tonight as i try to sleep, ricocheting around my emotions and competing with one another as if they are determined to prove themselves more worthy than the next of a champion title in a lousy game of pinball. 

amid a candle and a slumbering roommate, i’ve listened to the same thought-provokingly beautiful bon iver song 24 consecutive times; i cannot seem to pull myself away from the significance of the lyrics and the beauty of the sound’s raw emotion tonight.

“i told you to be patient; i told you to be fine.
i told you to be balanced; i told you to be kind.”

so much fails; so much succeeds.

imagery and (most) diction: © alexis collins. 

photographers are always speaking about “the experience of looking” when conversing about and fluently describing and/or analyzing images. taking this ideal one step further, i aimed to document a photo series that deals directly with this “looking experience”.

the sequence that the photos are represented in is meant to be an adventure for the viewer. the image series begins with windows, as if the viewer is peering into a building with curiosity. the series then creeps its way to the building’s interior, where cluttered messes are revealed rather closely. lastly, it is as if the viewer has stepped back to view the area as a whole, as more of the architectural structure is present within the final image of the series.
the ascending size enlargement is an intended metaphor; as the viewer grows closer to the building, the comfort he or she feels in accordance to that particular space also enlarges. 

this series was intended to make the viewer feel alone. the physical objects within the images are decrepit homes and cluttered items; these objects are meant to be concrete representations of items left behind. aside from physically, these objects are also meant to represent the metaphorical items that humans leave behind them. for example, the houses represented have obviously been neglected and unloved: with the loss of their owners, they began the loss of themselves. as for the uncleanliness of the scattered items, it is clear that they, too, have been both ignored and abandoned. 

imagery and diction: © alexis collins. 

inconsolable. 

imagery: © alexis collins.

reunited and it feels so good.
six months later, and we have now been apart for nearly the same amount of time as we were given to spend together.

imagery and diction: © alexis collins.

today’s agenda: visit some old friends.

one year ago, i was initially hired to teach, mentor, and tutor a group of thirty-two beautiful second graders in an exceedingly diverse public school located in the core of downtown minneapolis.
as the school year progressed, it grew into so much more than just that simple-sounding task. 

it didn’t take long before i developed close-knit relationships with each child; it didn’t take long for me to fall into adoration over their uniquely charming characters; it did not take long for them to put their trust in little old me.

quickly, i discovered who they were and watched as they reciprocated.
many of them have had hard lives; some of them were incredibly artistically gifted while others resembled little einstein smarties; a few of them challenged me often; all of them effortlessly made me fall in love.

it would hurt my heart to hear of their troubles, but it would amaze me to observe the courage they managed to continually display.

i hope and pray that i positively altered their lives in some minuscule, pocket-sized, shred-of-a-way.
but in the end, i am positive that i was the one who gained the most knowledge, and it was all from the little lovebugs themselves. 

the beauty of it all is this:
they will never understand how they have changed my life and character, because it was all accomplished in their utter unmitigated innocence.

today i went to visit.
in fact, i have decided to volunteer, guide, offer help, and visit routinely.

i just simply cannot bear the thought of letting them out of my life; i cannot bear the thought of no longer hearing their tiny voices utter the four-syllable phrase “miss alexis?” in my direction regularly.

cheers to both of the school years i will be participating in this year. 

imagery and diction: © alexis collins.

a word or two on technology:

this is where my thoughts started:
it seems silly, i am aware. but had this painting been computer generated, i would not have felt the same connection to it as i do now. after endless hours shared together, it is only to be expected that a painter becomes attached of some degree to his or her painting.
of course, this applies to many other aspects of creation, as well as the bigger picture of life.

and this is where my thoughts developed:
as for text messages, wall posts, online chats?
all are such impersonal means of communication, yet they have somehow managed to consume our society.

the world that has made us can no longer contain us.

instead? perhaps we should focus on the old-fashioned means of human interaction and communication. having said that, i am not certain what it is, exactly, that allows a simple mailed letter to effortlessly contain so much affection and involvement between its personally scripted lines of text.
in fact, i am not certain that it’s even necessary to know; i think i would rather not peer into the depth of it all, and instead sit back and indulge in the utter, undemanding amazement it entails. 

this morning it dawned on me: write a letter, you idiot. so, in an effort to rekindle a friendship that has felt devastatingly lost lately, that is precisely the action i executed. 
it was interesting, the way the words seemed to unobstructedly leak from my pen. rapidly, they flooded the lined paper with scrawls of blue ink.

and just like that, i mailed away much more than a simple handwritten letter scribbled upon an unkempt, tattered scrap-piece of notebook paper, the bothersome frayed edge still attached to its left border; just like that, tucked into a petite envelope, i mailed away my heart and soul.

the often forgotten and regularly neglected truth at hand is this:
computers will never replace good old-fashioned human interaction; technology will never replace good old-fashioned human warmth and compassion.

“nothing is so dangerous as being too modern; one is apt to grow old-fashioned quite suddenly.” -oscar wilde

imagery, artwork, and diction: © alexis collins.

a brisk morning and a drafty afternoon in a downtown studio apartment.
an afternoon filled with research and paint, compliments of a tall white hot chocolate, the day’s chilling airflow, an abundance of natural window light, and a contented female.

fall is on the horizon.
cheers to today.

imagery and diction: © alexis collins.

remember that book from childhood?
alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

the one where the minute he wakes up and finds gum in his hair, alexander can sense today will be a horrid drag. he trips on a skateboard; he drops clothes in his sink; he is forced to eat lima beans for supper while watching people kiss on tv.

oofta.
to imagine how terrible that all used to sound to me as well.

i would give anything to use those misfortunes to accurately describe the most terrible days i’ve had to experience. 

now, bad days are characterized by alternative catastrophic events. 
like money, emotions & nerves, deadlines, tasks, living situations, survival. 

the other day, we set a date and time to tour two adorable dreams of a home that our eyes had been stuck on for quite some time now (pictured above), only to find out that we had been conned. the woman we met with ended up showing us a few dumpy shit holes that were sorry, overpriced excuses for living quarters (to put it rather kindly).

i thought of that precious, witty little book.
alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
alexis and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad realtor experience.

that book used to be a reminder to child-me that everybody encounters bad days and that i would too, but it would be an okay thing. 
today, the mere consideration of that book is still a reminder to adult-me. 

i would assume that, currently, life is aspiring to teach me this:
the bad must be weaved through for the anticipated good to be appreciated to the extent that it deserves.

although the clock is ticking: what is meant to be will be; what is not meant to be does not contribute to what will become in the way that another possibility can, could, and eventually will.

oh, how i wish i still owned that book, and oh, how i wish that the north dakota flood waters had never taken it away from me. 

imagery and diction: © alexis collins.