Inspiration Log: Caravan Palace, Obama's 1995 book, Japanese storybooks, a poem, and ceramics class

After a two month break, I am back! 
 Inspiration log is my weekly collection of 5 things that have touched me creatively. 

1) Listening to Lone Digger by Caravan Palace

Thanks to my brother for sharing this artist with me - it's in a style of "electro-swing," and sounds like an instant-pick-me-up in my ear. 


2) Reading Dreams from my Father by Barack Obama

I decided to get this book after reading an essay by Ta-Nehisi Coates published in The Atlantic, titled My President Was Black. It's so jarring to read the writing of someone famous before they became famous - he was in his 30s, not yet senator, and decades away from being President of the United States. It is drastically different from his varnished public persona. I'm only 1/4 of the way through, but I find his writing thoughtfully provocative - with themes that I can especially relate to.  

imgres-3.jpg

3) Minimalist paper art storybooks by Katsumi Komagata

I stumbled upon Katsumi Komagata's artful children's storybooks while doing my own research. I'm so in love with his minimalist, spare graphic style - subtle and gentle, yet powerful and potent in its simplicity. 


4) This poem I read in January

 
Screen Shot 2017-02-08 at 4.52.45 PM.png
 

5) Taking ceramics classes (at 92nd street Y

I've never imagined myself taking ceramics - it veered into a world of 3D and craftsmanship that I never felt comfortable with. But it's one of the most nourishing, healing art forms I've ever done. I feel like each class teaches me some life lesson -- in finding my center, in not letting the clay push me around, but applying consistent pressure to the clay with my whole being -- and so forth. At the end, you're creating a vessel, something that can hold other things, instead of worrying too much about "expressing" something unique. As an art form, it feels egoless, I might even say. So much more to say on this, but signing off for now... 

Kening Zhuinspiration log