february
2014
With so many humans, and so many hidden talents, I see everything as a creative outlet. I am proud to say that the people surrounding us within this world, are the people who contribute to COLLECTIVE. For artists of all kinds, all with forms of their own creation, COLLECTIVE, is inspiration from the inspired. __ Editor Izze Rumpp
photo by Erika Astrid
contributors
Jenny Bowler Miguel Almeida Nicole Lagers Tj Hughes Vincenzo Barkasy
logo created by
cover work by Miguel Almedia
Jenny Bowler Boise, Idaho
I am a lover of mediums. The camera, ink, words, and movement, both physical and emotional. The medium I present today is that of the pen. I have always been a writer, but with the help of the challenges set forth by my peers and superiors, I have come to a place of exploration in my writing, and present here an abstract nonfiction meditation that was written purely on the spot and has not been touched since. I don’t wish to edit it for now, and present it to you in it’s initial raw format, rough and imperfect.
Nubs on the Blade
To be touched, embraced by the curling ridges of a finger’s print. You memorize each edge, each curve. They drop like caverns, a bellow of rushing water running along the depths of the cliffs an opus you could play by heart. In that touch is a paint that colors your skin, a series of spots and lines left by its oily base. A dilution of soft pink from your bottom lip swirls into a blotch of plum on your cheekbone, speckles of midnight black trailing your neckline. A flush. A daub. Ink from the olive tips of a wandering hand, a supple kiss. Not the washable kind. In the end you are a marked lover, a smeared canvas, left incomplete. Then the mirror is wiped, the steam from a heated embrace gone. Look at the hues, the blush and the bruises – and the ripe red from your desperate scrubbing. Futile, wasteful. If only this kind of paint was acrylic. The world around cannot see the stains, but you are marked, body and soul. A freckle, fickle. A tear, torn. You retrace the lines and dots and flecks and detach the two sensations of touch on your own body. You feel your ridged fingers tickle the sensitive flanks. You feel a touch on your arms, a hand you imagine is not yours. They are yours. You try to peel the flesh from your muscle, relinquish the coat that covers you. You want to be skinned alive, feel the yanking of epidermis come undone, tendons like weak stitches unfit to hold its fabric together. But you also yearn for that touch again, the painter’s brush, the gentle cradling. You are a secondhand store China doll, slipping from the hands of a reckless playmate. In a hall of mirrors all you see is pain divided. In a single mirror you see a multitude of agony. The turve is topsy, the clouds graze through stalks of weeds while the ocean roars above your head. You look up and see the frothy breaks recede and feel not one drop of water fall upon your head. How can it be? How can we be? How can you be? For a split second you see the world for what it is: a sea of particles that never separates. They hug each other tightly. Your toes can levitate from the ground but somehow still touch the earth. The thought creeps through your body like a worm and you want to strip and scour yourself free of the foul creatures, bubbling on the surface of permanence. See the bubbles boil into eyeballs, float to the top of the glassy crest and pop into oxygen. First your nails go, then the fingers, elbows, breast and torso, all the way down to your polished toes. You are an infinite mass of bits, flowing through the soft breeze like cotton in the summertime.
From the air you see yourself – you are a cinematic gesture. You are the dove that hovers above the storm, for you are Hope embodied. You are the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. You are the gale’s song, the crumb’s devourer. So you fly through the chest of your effervesced body, whoosh through the molecules, straight past the heart. Come back, you tell yourself. Come back, sweet dove. But your dove cannot perch upon a soul unbound. Hope cannot live among debris. So find the wreckage, you tell yourself. Find it and mold anew a body not untouched, but a body unharmed by the colors of touch. Wear it like a bodice of crystals, sparkling with imperfect reflection. The particles burst and melt into one; you grab your arms, hug yourself, and dare to never let go again. You trace the same lines and dots as they were once marked your skin, but the ink is gone. The hues are transparent. The warm sun touches your cheeks. The breeze blows through each hair on your head, a blast of air that raises bumps on your forearms. Let the earth touch you, feel the earth embrace every nook of your form, behind the ear, in the little alcoves you never knew you could feel before. The oxygen will resurface, but only in the blood of your veins, and you will float as if you took a sip of Fizzy Lifting Drink and made it through the glass ceiling. Willy would disapprove, but then what becomes of you? You are one body, flying above the rest of us. You are the dove and the human, the soul without need of a perch. But the feeling fades. You descend from your imaginative dream. Your eyelids are closed but they might as well have two iris-shaped holes in the middle of each cap. You see it all and the darkness does not take it away. There is still the memory of touch, and a sensation that your ever-dutiful brain will not let you unleash. You have been blemished by passion and naiveté and uncertainty. Did you mean for it to happen? If you didn’t, are you still the rightful receiver of Guilt, or is he a shadow without sun, following a body to which he does not belong? Is he worthy of taking away those rays of energy? Because you have shriveled into a raisin, stuffed in a box, and hauled to somewhere, just waiting, fearful, for the next buyer to throw you into his shopping cart. The box is not of red and yellow cardboard; it is a cage within you, the place where Hope should perch. But that dove flies to and fro as it pleases. Calling the dove is for naught. It will reappear when you feel the air escape your lungs, teetering off the edge.
When the bird comes back, you are left, still, with the same painted skin. You still stand in front of the steamed mirror and see the marks. But you think to yourself, maybe one day I’ll sprout wings that will hide the patterns beneath, and then I will be free to fly and feel the wind graze each feather as I go. I will be carefree and soar above plains and mountaintops capped by fresh snow. I will see the creatures below with spotted and striped furs and smile sweetly and look from my right side to my left, ruffling both wings midflight. Then I will have the choice of where to perch myself, whose soul within I can sing my tune. I will be pure white, no pigment to be found. As you stand before that mirror, you do the only thing you can: you pick up a brush and dab it in a neutral tone and paint over the pinks and plums and blacks and reds. Though you know the strokes by heart, can feel the hair on your body rise again as you remember the rough tips that put them there, the concealer hides each trace. Nobody can see that you are tainted, a spoiled good. And after you finish the job, you wash off the brush, see your own saddened eyes looking back at you, and release a heavy sigh. The quiet world hums, and then a rapping at the window jolts you. Your blurring vision refocuses just in time to see a white bird tap twice on the thin pane. It flutters away and your routine resumes.
After you dress and eat, warm the car, its gears aching in the cold, grab your bags, and head out to face the world again, you throw your purse into the passenger seat, turn up the heat, and lean back against your own cushion. A discomfort pushes you forward and you reach to touch your back. It’s smooth as can be, but as you lean back again and put the car in reverse, you swear you can feel the slightest hint of two nubs forming on each shoulder blade.
artwork by Jana Lepejova
Miguel Almeida Caldwell, Idaho
My creative focus revolves around inspiring others, to maybe trigger them to think about something they wouldn’t normally think about. These drawings are a series of pieces about the beauty of creation, questions about life, and feelings/thoughts Explore the unthinkable and create the unimaginable
Nicole Lagers Boise, Idaho
In Sweet Repose My neighbor, who is ashamed of his balding pulls his cap down, averts his eyes and jams the toes of his sneaker into the dirt. “I always wear hats” he says, “I’m balding.” His confession is saccharine and the solid ground underneath him melts. Copper arms, evidence there’s been a war here, shoot out of the mud stitching patches of earth together Or maybe ripping them apart. All that is left of a failed real estate conquest; a man-made pond and ducks bloated from bread. Some good things were left, Blackberry bushes and fungus “I used to be a drug addict,” my neighbor says. I follow him to a massive tree whose guts and grass and roots emerge from a pile of broken cement. “I see so much more now,” he says.
photos by Tanya Pavlis
Tj Hughes Boise, Idaho www.pushdocumentary.com
Skateboarding has been a part of your life for so long, what inspired you to share your love of skateboarding with others? The feeling of giving back to something that has given you so much in life is incredible! I started skateboarding at 12 years old and it consumed my entire life. I didn’t grow up with much material things in life, and I wasn’t much into team sports like most of my friends. Skateboarding is such an individual sport that allowed me to do it whenever and wherever without relying on a team to participate in the sport I loved.. it also had the best people that accepted you for anything because we are all apart of the same family… skate and destroy haha. As a skateboarder there is nowhere in the world you can’t go without finding someone with a common interest that will befriend you. My goal in life is to spread that open door to finding a future and friendship through our skateboard community because it has proven to be the most positive thing to happen in my life. If there is one thing I have learned throughout all of this is that our community is more
connected and helpful than some of you may think!
Favorite part about skating from Idaho City to Rhodes skatepark?
My favorite part of the skate was when I saw my friends at the church off Warmsprings ready to skate the last 3 miles of my journey with me! If you have watched the video you know that before my friends got there I was DONE! There was something about them showing up that gave me a fresh start. I could barely push before they showed up but they pushed me to finish. Thanks Dillon, Lucas, Jacob, Riley, Mike, and Tyler‌ you guys are amazing! Also everyone that met me at The Crux after! My family was there with open arms. That day changed my life!
I’m sure you have more than one favorite story, but is there one story in particular, regarding helping others to become a part of the skateboarding community, that really has stuck with you?
Hands down the most inspiring story is the one at the beginning of the PUSH video! I met 9 year old Nasibo on Christmas Eve 2011 at the Family Dollar on State St. I ran oven on my lunch break at The Boardroom and noticed this young kid with no shoes following me around the store. He came to me and told me how much he admired skateboarding and wished he had one. I told him to come over to The Boardroom and check out the boards. He came over later that day and was in awww of all of the options. I could see the passion he had for skateboarding and felt it was up to me to provide that for him. I went in the back room and grabbed my skateboard setup, handed it to him, and wished him a merry Christmas. I posted it on Facebook and it gained so much attention where people wanted his shoe, shirt, and pant sizes. The next time he came in, he came with two cousins that were just as excited! As a community we set all three kids up with skateboards, shoes, and t-shirts. Merry Christmas to everyone that helped! Nasibo still comes into the shop weekly to visit‌ friends for life!
You have already inspired so many people to think outside of the everyday box, and it seems as if the possibilities with this project are endlessly rewarding. Do you have any sort of plan for what this project will become in the future?
My goal is to show the world that even a little skateboard punk from Boise, Idaho can inspire kids that have talents to use them to inspire our youth. No matter who are are or what you do I can guarantee that there is a child that looks up to you for something. Our youth is our future so let’s set them up for success. Let’s reach out a little extra to at-risk youth because they are the ones that are surrounded by negativity and bad role models.. it seriously takes one of you to do something to change someones life. They need us to reach out to them. I would love to open up an organization like the Boys and Girls Club but more focused on teens and helping kids into college/ helping kids migrate to adulthood. The most vulnerable years of your life are high school and that can be a great thing or a horrible experience!
Is there a final mantra you want to leave the readers with? I want to leave the readers of this to question, “Are you doing your part to help our future?” and honestly it’s more than that… “Are you reaching out to kids that truly need some positivity in their lives?” What I see is so many kids in our community that are pushed aside because they don’t have good grades, they cause trouble, or they aren’t like the other kids in the class. These kids need the extra hand and I feel like we as a whole don’t do enough to help guide these kids towards success. Within your busy life try to find a couple hours to make a difference. There are thousands of ways to help so get creative and be apart of making a difference. You will feel the reward from it I can promise you that. Helping someone in need warms a human from the inside out. Lastly I want to thank Crooked Fence Brewing for taking this project to another level. This would never have happened without these magnificent people! Also Tanya and Ronn from Sidewayz films… these are the most compassionate people I have ever met and continue to blow my mind with their amazing work.
how to become involved…
TJ Hughes: Progressionss@hotmail.com Kelly Knopp: kelly@crookedfencebrewing.com project coordinator You can donate by visiting www.pushdocumentary.com the website has all the information on the different sponsorship levels, also has a paypal on the site. Also if you have any new or used skate goods laying around the house please let me know. I am always gathering gear and helping kids out. I donated a few boards to Hays Shelter Home for Christmas and happy to hear they are using them! Thank you Boise skaters!
photo by Andrew Zhou
Vincenzo Barkasy Bellingham, Washington
As an artist, I always try to build in emotion and drama into my work and always strive to achieve credibility. It’s the subtle details of facial expressions, scenery and body gestures that really get me excited and emotionally invested in a piece. I have always adopted the philosophy of adventure into my life, and by doing so, aiding me into bringing more believable elements to tell a richer story. I am always experimenting with different mediums and style, striving to expand visually and technically. My goal is to work my way into the entertainment business as a visual development artist, along with further developing my technical skills through collaborative projects, freelancing, and experimentation.
jeannine.bowler@gmail.com www.jennybowler.com http://www.flickr.com/photos/8592074@N08/ needsmorewax@gmail.com instagram @miggggle instagram @nicolemarge TJ Hughes: Progressionss@hotmail.com Kelly Knopp: kelly@crookedfencebrewing.com project coordinator You can donate by visiting www.pushdocumentary.com vbarkasy123@yahoo.com https://www.facebook.com/VincenzoBarkasyDesign http://www.flickr.com/photos/37542870@N08/
C
ONTACT
the collective editorial team:
izzerumpp@gmail.com instagram: @theinspiredcollective facebook.com/theinspiredcollective theinspiredcollective.tumblr.com theinspiredcollective.squarespace.com