Top ↑ | Archive

maitspaints:

29 months.

maitspaints:

circa 2009 - 2010

I like taking random photos, collecting them in my hard drive and unearthing them after a few years. I have a penchant for things ordinary, mundane and those that we usually take for granted everyday.

I remember this poem by Shel Silverstein, “Hector the Collector”

Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring.
Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires,
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin’ guns that wouldn’t shoot,
Leaky boasts that wouldn’t float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn’t toot.
Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
‘Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles,
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul—
Loved them more then shining diamonds,
Loved them more then glistenin’ gold.
Hector called to all the people,
‘Come and share my treasure trunk!’
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked … and called it junk.

maitspaints:

martha graham lamentation. drawing. i swear. i really love this program!!

maitspaints:

Happy 20 :D

maitspaints:

19 ♥ 

That long hair don’t cover up your red neck.”

Jeff Tremaine’s Jackass Number Two (2006)

Study no. 45 (May 2, 2011)

All the candy canes have melted

where I’m going.

No sun, just a tempest.

A teasing one.

The kind where it’s only dark

but it never pours.

That way, we never see a rainbow.

Where I’m going

is the destination of

the children we’ve failed.

Wearing t-shirts

of failed presidential campaigns.

We turn those abstract ideas

into broken promises.

Because that’s what we do best.

All our destinations have become

dead ends.

Yet we still have no problem

getting there.

“Not much has happened since I last wrote except for my manslaughter charges, lotto win, and Ivy’s death.”

Adam Elliot’s Mary and Max (2009)

Study no. 44 (April 25, 2011)

There were love songs playing on the radio.

They mentioned you and I by name. Well.

Not really me. Just you.

I just assumed the other one was me.