Notes On "The Voice of Dead Poets" by Lluvia

When I sat down to draw this piece, The Voice of Dead Poets, my mood was somber. This was only a few days ago when I began to discover new truths about my friends. I had no thought as to what object to draw, but I wanted drab yet living colors for the most part.

However, the purple lines of the arrow were the first marks on the paper. In my heart, I felt love and, even more, loyalty to my friends. Somewhat betrayed sentiments drew my hand in linear, angular directions. For months, I have felt in the midst of great conflicts not knowing at whom or what I aimed.

The orange and yellow membrane suffers the pierce of the outward attacks from within. Even conflicted toward the stranger(s) I thought I had met, the "one" who betrayed me, betrayed me not, I did not like that I had to attack at times in order to preserve my dignity, way of life. The higher reasoning of putting aside personal feelings for the purpose of self-preservation seemed not animalistic, for my only attacks were defenses (save one and it was never referred to again). Yet my reasons did not seem quite human. In some ways above humanity, but in others less than (denial of emotions). The heart has felt extremely torn in a way that has been difficult to ignore.

The mission, the objective, therefore, are represented by the olive green and grey, muted negative feelings of heartbreak that are second to the sense of duty to myself. These colors as well as the slightly brighter green, dark brown, and grey of the sea creature/graveyard, are colors the military use or have used for various combat uniforms, further reiterating my sense of mission.

The circle shapes represent different concepts. The orange yellow cirlce is being stretched by the piercing. This is a natural effect, and the membrane is more stretched the closer it is to the puncture point. Some events hurt worse than others, especially when people close to me are involved.

The drab green/grey circle serves as an eyelid of sorts, but it also represents a reinforcement around the membrane that keeps too much damage from hurting the creature. It also resembles a launchpad for the purple/orange arrow, a missile, with yellow/orange flames shooting out as the missile takes off.

The fleshy, grey lumps on the sea creature's face symbolize ugliness: ugly lies, ugly truth, ugly self-concepts, ugly. The rich brown and brighter green, however, suggest natural beauty beneath the skin tags. The tags double as the tombstones of dead poets. Most of the tombstones touch grass but also mud as the lives of many poets are not traditional. The choices, including poor ones, that poets make are usually acted upon by what they feel in their heart, their soul. And when they display their heart and soul for others, the soiled and tainted are just as evident as the innocent and sacred.

The purple/orange missile is also the voice, singular to represent poets' fraternity. The voice never dies and will show itself to life and to the living again and again. The voice may change pitch, rhythm, or amplitude. In my case, the voice on all sides was strong, powerful, militaristic at the time. But if you notice, the missile is not pointing directly at its (my) target, the blue castles. Blue symbolizes friendship and loyalty, but the orange windows stand for breaking of trust, of rules, and for discord within the closeknit castles. Castles represent wealth or a fairy tale existence; yet their foundation is a mound of sand, unseemingly touched by the ocean's currents.

There is also an "orange" connection between my missile and my hidden foes (friends). I, too, broke some rules of interpersonal relations. These missteps are uncovered, though, open, glaring, even sexual in nature. The masculine phallus represents my donning of a more typically masculine attitude and approach in dealing with my problems. The castles, on the other hand, appear to be mostly male with at least one female in the level of hierarchy with whom I interacted.

At the time, the blue castles still did not recognize my soul, although they did recognize my outward appearance. They fooled themselves by focusing too much on my flaws and not enough on my talents. They also failed to listen to my pleas, my acknowledgements, my advice, my warnings. Therefore, they are pointing their own missiles in another direction, completing missing their target. Instead, the castles point to unseen (they see not the inner me) ocean waters. The waters are bluish green for they saw me less a friend and more an enemy during this phase of the battle. Their membrane has weak reinforcement, merely more of the same sand packed in tight at the base of the castle facades and at the base of the mound. Like the sediment of the New Orleans' levees, they did not withstand the storm as the residents had assumed they would.

If I drew a similar picture now, any remaining missiles would be lowering and would have rounded heads to symbolize a battle ending. I would also change the shape of the purple/orange missile's shaft. The cylinders are more sexual, while the edged prism and head are more damaging. In some ways, I did feel violated, and I think that is another reason why the missile tearing through my membrane has sharp edges. The castles appear to do no damage to their own core, but they did not see themselves hurting themselves or each other as they were focused mostly on me.


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