self portrait
(into the mist)
Justin Sonny Eagles
Here I stand, alone, peering into it. Here I stand with my brush Nina.
Peering into it, peering into the painting before I paint, peering into the movement of Nina before she dances between my fingers, peering into the pigment before Nina lays it upon the emptiness, the void.
I’m peering into the void, emptiness like the mist, the mist which swims through the whispering voice.
I like the mist. Truth lives within the mist, hidden in the quiet. Here I stand in the mist, peering into it, peering into everything, everything I have become and everything that has made me.
Here I have no age, because age is only of this world, and I do not belong in this world, I do not live in this world, I never felt I belonged here. I only peer into this world, as I peer into everything I am.
The memories. My family, the car accident, everyone hurt, hurt bad, everyone but me. I’m untouched. Did I die that day, did I crossover, did I peer into another and now I feel it, feel the other side?
Death I am peering into. Death in which I cannot wait, for then I will get to go home. I just wanna go home. I don’t belong here, I never have, never will.
Peering into it, peering into the painting before I paint, peering into the movement of Nina before she dances between my fingers, peering into the pigment before Nina lays it upon the emptiness, the void.
I’m peering into the void, emptiness like the mist, the mist which swims through the whispering voice.
I like the mist. Truth lives within the mist, hidden in the quiet. Here I stand in the mist, peering into it, peering into everything, everything I have become and everything that has made me.
Here I have no age, because age is only of this world, and I do not belong in this world, I do not live in this world, I never felt I belonged here. I only peer into this world, as I peer into everything I am.
The memories. My family, the car accident, everyone hurt, hurt bad, everyone but me. I’m untouched. Did I die that day, did I crossover, did I peer into another and now I feel it, feel the other side?
Death I am peering into. Death in which I cannot wait, for then I will get to go home. I just wanna go home. I don’t belong here, I never have, never will.
The memories. The good. The fall, I like the fall, the fall in Connecticut, where my Mother took my brothers and I. The colors, the sweet smell of the leaves, the old stone wall, the apple orchid.
The good. My parents having success in their business, moving to Colorado. The good. The laughs, smiles, enough to allow me to forget for a time.
And the bad. Their business going under, hard times returning. The wait on long lines for assistance, not enough money, bill collectors, lawyers, debt, my Mother, and the look on her face. She is scared, she is worried, what will happen? My father, fearless, tough. He will kick my ass if I fight and do not kick ass. He is tough, but he is helpless against the courts, against the lawyers, against the system.
And I’m peering into the darkness. I see it will win in the end, I see this in my dream.
And the demon. I’ve known him for too long, long enough I have grown comfortable with him. He visited me as a child and remains with me.
The chaos, the anger, which feeds me.
And I hate what I am, what I was.
But this is my darkness, my demon, chaos and anger, as my hell is my hell, as my scars are my scars. They tattoo my body, they remind me, they never let me forget.
But these are for me, and no one else. And so I don’t wish to peer into them much.
The good. My parents having success in their business, moving to Colorado. The good. The laughs, smiles, enough to allow me to forget for a time.
And the bad. Their business going under, hard times returning. The wait on long lines for assistance, not enough money, bill collectors, lawyers, debt, my Mother, and the look on her face. She is scared, she is worried, what will happen? My father, fearless, tough. He will kick my ass if I fight and do not kick ass. He is tough, but he is helpless against the courts, against the lawyers, against the system.
And I’m peering into the darkness. I see it will win in the end, I see this in my dream.
And the demon. I’ve known him for too long, long enough I have grown comfortable with him. He visited me as a child and remains with me.
The chaos, the anger, which feeds me.
And I hate what I am, what I was.
But this is my darkness, my demon, chaos and anger, as my hell is my hell, as my scars are my scars. They tattoo my body, they remind me, they never let me forget.
But these are for me, and no one else. And so I don’t wish to peer into them much.
I’m peering into the faces. The faces of my brothers, the faces of my father, and my mother. The faces of friends and even strangers. They do not understand me. No one understands me, I do not belong in this world.
And I can read their faces. I am a freak. I am lost, I am alone. I learn to hide, hide myself, hide myself from even my closet friends. And I’m running, searching and running, and drowning. I cannot swim.
I am frightened, I am not my father. He is fearless, I am full of fear. I am full of so much fear. But the fear is good.
I am peering into art. Not a subject though. A being, a spirit, a living entity, like the mist, existing all around us. Art, saving me, caressing me, calming me. And I owe art my life. I owe art everything. I must defend art, I must give back, I must be true and dedicated.
But I am afraid, but fear is good. Fear creates focus. Like a high-wire acrobat with no net below, the fear forces focus. There is no backup plan, no other option, no net to catch me if I fall. I am an artist, I am a painter. Fear is good.
And I can read their faces. I am a freak. I am lost, I am alone. I learn to hide, hide myself, hide myself from even my closet friends. And I’m running, searching and running, and drowning. I cannot swim.
I am frightened, I am not my father. He is fearless, I am full of fear. I am full of so much fear. But the fear is good.
I am peering into art. Not a subject though. A being, a spirit, a living entity, like the mist, existing all around us. Art, saving me, caressing me, calming me. And I owe art my life. I owe art everything. I must defend art, I must give back, I must be true and dedicated.
But I am afraid, but fear is good. Fear creates focus. Like a high-wire acrobat with no net below, the fear forces focus. There is no backup plan, no other option, no net to catch me if I fall. I am an artist, I am a painter. Fear is good.
And here I stand, peering into the mist. Peering into everything that I am.
I do not belong here. I am only a vessel for art to channel itself through.
I wish to become nothing, to become the void. I wish to become the art. I wish to melt away, to ascend into art. For my body to dissipate and for Justin Sonny Eagles to become just my art, just my paintings, nothing more.
And here I stand peering into everything that I am. And everything my art is.
the fear is no more.
And here, I am my painting...
I do not belong here. I am only a vessel for art to channel itself through.
I wish to become nothing, to become the void. I wish to become the art. I wish to melt away, to ascend into art. For my body to dissipate and for Justin Sonny Eagles to become just my art, just my paintings, nothing more.
And here I stand peering into everything that I am. And everything my art is.
the fear is no more.
And here, I am my painting...
Justin Sonny Eagles
