Perception of the Self

Bryan Lewis Saunders' self portrait drawn after using morphine.

Bryan Lewis Saunders, an artist from Washington D.C., has been drawing one self-portrait  a day since '95. 

"Like fingerprints, snowflakes and DNA they are all different, no two are the same.  For hundreds of years, artists have been putting themselves into representations of the world around them.  I am doing the exact opposite," Saunders stated. "I put the world around me into representations of myself as I find this more true to my Central Nervous System."

To aid his self-portrait task, Saunders devised an experiment which involved taking a different drug everyday to see what impact it would have on his portrait. 

Check out the link below to see the collection.

http://bryanlewissaunders.org/drugs/

Ray's Family

As far as summer jobs go, Ray’s Family Farm is the best thing I could have asked for. Anyone who has worked there for multiple years will say the same thing. It’s not solely the line of work, the people, or the experience and knowledge you gain; it is the entire chemistry of the place that makes it so enjoyable. Ray’s Farm is a second home to me. Although not everyone who works there is literally related, we are still family.

I was a freshman in High School when I started working there - six years ago now. Around that time, a few other girls got hired. We were all around the same age, close to the same years in school, and so in many ways, we grew up together. Now that we are in college and some of us have traveled away for school, a younger group of girls were hired. It’s interesting to see their relationships developing, past the initial co-worker level, the way that ours once did. 
 

Throughout all the disorganization and chaos that sometimes inhibits the farm stand, as co-workers, we work like a well-oiled clock. It doesn’t matter your age, likes or dislikes, when you work together at Ray’s, you are family. 

Back to Class

Summer break has come to an end and classes are back in session. Although students are experiencing the familiar longing for summer, they are not letting it fog their motivation. 

 

A returning sophomore to Westfield State University, Audra McMahon, had a bittersweet parting with her summer break, but is ultimately glad to be back.

“Starting classes again is certainly a huge change in routine - not necessarily in a bad way though,” McMahon said. “Turning on the academic brain can be a challenge, but then it almost feels better to have a set schedule.” 

There is a generally positive consensus amongst the returning students on adjusting to being in the school atmosphere again. Megan King, a junior, majoring in English, feels refreshed to be back on campus. 

 

“Although summer was great, it feels good to be at school,” King said. “Being here helps me stay productive and brings me one step closer to finishing my degree.”

The Westfield State University fall semester began September 5, welcoming in a new freshman class, transfers, and returning undergraduates.

Amongst the new incoming students was Marie Boyd, who just began a graduate program studying public relations for non-profit organizations.

“What I’m learning in class is directly applicable to what I do at my job,” said Boyd, who is a volunteer management intern for AmeriCorps VISTA. “Anytime you can see the direct application of the knowledge from the classroom, it is inspiring and helpful, which ultimately contributes to an increase in motivation.”

This motivation is also stemmed from the entire classroom environment. “Being surrounded by people interested in learning, and a professor who wants to share the knowledge of their field is always an uplifting feeling,” Boyd concluded.

Funky Monks

Today is the release date anniversary of the most influential album of my lifetime. Blood Sugar Sex Magik is now twenty-one. There isn’t much I love more in this life than the Red Hot Chili Peppers, so this calls for a celebration.

Funky Monks is a documentary of the band during the recording of BSSM in 1991. Gonna have it on repeat all night.

The Life of a Bench

It’s warm outside this morning. I feel a steady trickle of water running down my legs. The pressure from the winter’s heavy snow has ceased. My frame is now frail and weathered due to the lack of maintenance I have received these past few months. The dedication plaque I wear is beginning to rust. I would think that the people, whose names are engraved upon it, should have my best interests at heart.

Although I was once said to have the ability to withstand all weather, the changing seasons have caused my health to steadily decline. My once sturdy wooden frame is now decrepit and worn. I am forced to withstand the blistering ice and snows of winter, the torrential rain of spring, the searing summer heat, and whatever other challenges get thrown in my direction. It is not an easy life. 

Pedestrians have taken a toll on my well-being almost as much as the weather has; but that I suppose is just the purpose of a bench. I have been scratched up by children wearing their soccer cleats, vandalized by graffiti and gum, and have the constant concern about what my weight limit really is. For some time now I have been forced to watch those around me decay and be removed only to be replaced with stronger more agile benches. The problem with these latest models is that, come the hottest months of summer, their metal surfaces attract so much heat that the public cannot bear to sit on them. In those instances, I am the preferred seat. 

It is now getting to that point in the summer when the community would rather keep me company then the likes of the sleek yet sizzling benches across the way. I love this time of year. People are out and about around the park all day and night. Some are exercising, playing games, painting, and having picnics. The children can be seen frolicking in the fields. It is a beautiful scene. In the background the sky is scattered with kites and Frisbees flying about. I supply comfort for the children’s parents who are relaxing in the shade. The parents of the young kids playing in the field right now are talking about Jimmy and Timmy, “Oh its Timmy’s birthday tomorrow, remind me to call and see if they got the card. Wow, he is eight already? Have you talked to Denise lately? I saw she left a voicemail the other day.” Then they will get up and walk away. That is how it always is; I only ever get to see glimpses of people’s lives, whether they sit for a while, or are just passing by. I never get a long time companion. It was years ago when I used to have one; an older man about as weathered as I am would come just to sit and watch the leaves changing. 

This man would come for days on end and visit with me for hours. He would never say anything, but I gathered his story – I understand what being lonely is like. The man seemed gentle and kind as he would sit gingerly on my lap. Sometimes he would bring with him a book, other times he would just sit in solitude and gaze at the scenery. It was an entire summer that he came to keep me company. Seeing him was a part of my day to day routine. At least when fall and winter rolled around there was something to look forward to come spring – but that aspect of the summer months never came back. 

It is cold outside this morning. A stinging coat of frost covers my legs. My arthritic frame creaks as the brisk autumn wind brushes over me. The activity in the park begins to die down now as summer is over and children start to go back to school. If the weather permits, people will bundle up to venture out to the park for some fresh air. Parents will take their children here so they can play in the leaf piles. Some of the high schools’ sports teams will come and practice at the park as well. A group of girls are running by now. I hear the leaves crunching underfoot with each stride they take. A few stop to rest and stretch under the tree next to me. Two girls come over to sit while they wait for the others to continue. No words were exchanged and in a few short minutes they are on their way again. As the days continue, the park becomes more silent. It is almost time for my hibernation again – to be buried under mounds of leaves and snow.  

Now I sit planted in the frozen winter ground. I am cut off from the world by an impermeable layer of snow and ice. At times if the wind is strong enough I can catch glimpses of the outside world. Unfortunately, I imagine there must be at least a few feet concealing me at this point. From time to time I will hear people trudging around in the new fallen show. Where is everyone going? I wonder if anyone can even see that I am here. I will just have to sit and wait until spring begins again.