Grandma's ring

Some memories are questionable: is it something you honestly remember, or is it a story told to you so frequently that it starts to feel like you do?

But this story is about memories that are as authentic as any other.

I remember standing in this large room with tall ceilings, a friendly home, in front of a closet. 
I wanted something from that closet, but this large, aged woman would not allow me to get it until I did something that scared me -- ask for it.
When my desire for sweets overcame that anxiety, I finally asked for and received my candy.

Recently, that memory changed a bit, but I'm still sure it's authentic.

So, instead of a closet full of candy, my grandma is handing over a ring with a red gemstone. She tells me I'll have to grow to fit into the ring as it's too large for my tiny fingers.

Even now, 19 years later, that ring is still too large, and it's unlikely for my fingers to grow. Perhaps she meant that for me to grow would mean overwinning the anxiety of having the ring be made smaller.

But she probably didn't, as I assume she was only human.

We'll never know, as not long after the memory, she died. Any day now, I'll have known the ring she gave me longer than I ever knew her.

I wore that too-large ring anyway and broke it before ever really using it, and now, in my memories, there's no candy, and she's handing over a broken ring, as it always seemed to have been.

Art my parents hate

The title of this art piece is a lie, but it's more accurate than most real stories you love, which are either filled with falsities or cherry-picked -- this is what you want.

So, the title of this art piece is the truth.

My mom (in friendly words) keeps telling me about how she doesn't like my recent poems. What she means, and where she is correct, is that they are not great at communicating my ideas. 

It's the same reason I struggle to read poetry; it just doesn't resonate. But still, I'll keep creating poems that I likely wouldn't enjoy had I not made them.

Until I find a way to change them, and by then, she'll have forgotten that she was a big reason behind the change. 

My dad doesn't even hate my poems; he doesn't care for them at all. They mean nothing to him.

Success wouldn't mean making my mom, who studied the English language at some university, like my poems. I'm sure I could make her care. 

No, real success means making even my father, who surely influenced my indifference to language, care.

Always changing house

I've only ever lived in three buildings. The first one, because of me, we had to leave within the first year of my existence, and the second one I spent most of my life in, about 21 years. 

And that one building was many more houses than most people live in during their entire lives, to my great annoyance. And probably to my parents their great annoyance too; I don't believe they had much control.

Anytime I woke up, I had to relearn the layout -- I often had to clear out the dishwasher, and there wasn't a day where I didn't need to ask where something needed to go (and they'd always complain about having to explain the 'logical' layout).

I remember one early morning waking up and still finding my mom moving closets in the living room. I told my dad she was up early, and he replied that she hadn't slept yet, which probably indicated a stressful period, but I was too young to understand.

The weirdest part is that somehow, my apartment seems to be struggling with similar issues, though suspiciously now, I do always know where everything is.

Boy in skirt

Vaguely, I remember a boy in a skirt at one point, lying on a couch, sleeping, sucking his thumb. I don't and can't know if it's true, but lying there, he looks so unbothered by it all, just living his life exactly how he wants, at least as far as a child can do whatever he wants.

My parents try to make me believe that I used to be that boy, but I know that can't be true. I've never been so chill, not even while I'm sleeping, or at least it's hard to imagine.

I also couldn't imagine wanting to wear a skirt, but my parents tell me it's true. There's really no issue here. I don't want to wear skirts anymore, if I did, I would. 

Except that I'm scared that they took that decision from me and that I wouldn't want to, even if I tried, and if I did want to, I wouldn't do it.

But it's easier to not think about it and to do what I enjoy. It's not like I'm that normal anyway.

Looking All Ways With My Headphones On

When I'm about to walk homeward from my weekly visit, my mom, after I've just declined her offer to drive me back, says:  ""Be careful, especially with those headphones on.""

If I wanted to die, I wouldn't do it by walking off into traffic, so, of course, I'll make sure to be careful -- looking every way imaginable multiple times. 

Honestly, and please don't tell her this, it's not the headphones that are dangerous; I can hear the cars. It's the hair that, more than my glasses, makes me practically blind.

Sometimes, I make a weird turn, and all roads start going in different directions and dimensions. I still look all ways, but it's quiet, like cars never existed, for the whole 50-minute walk.

Then, the insanity inflicted on me is more dangerous than traffic could ever be. Luckily, when I'm back home, working on my art, I'll forget all about it, and my parents, and the need to look all ways.

Need To Create Something Good

Inside of everyone, presumably, is an urge to do something meaningful.

But instead, because I don't believe in meaning, I'm trying to make good art -- which, somehow, I've convinced myself is purpose.

And I satisfy this urge probably any time I finish a piece, or at least in the following days while staring at it.

If I stare at it long enough, some hate also arises, which drives me to make more art. 

That hatred never goes too deep: I appreciate what I learned and being able to see the ideas I sat on for, most likely, a couple of weeks.

I keep bouncing between loving and hating a piece until it has been on my wall long enough. Then it feels like it always was. Like it being there is a fact of the universe. 

At that point, I lose the ability to love or hate it.

Hopefully, I never make anything too good. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. 

There's no reason to repeat yourself over and over if what you've already done is as good as it gets -- which would leave nothing else to do.

Fighting Sleep (Like Valentijn)

My baby nephew Valentijn, like everyone else, gets tired sometimes. And when he does, his grandparents will prepare him for bed. 

When they do, he's always fighting them, which is ridiculous. His tiredness is unmistakable, and when he finally gets put to bed, he falls asleep instantly.

More ridiculous than that are the adults who, when they get tired, know they should get sleep but stay awake.

I'm a very responsible adult, so for me, this isn't an issue at all. I've got a job, meaning I need to wake up in time, so I'll get in bed early enough to get some good sleep.

But when I don't have my job the next day, I act just like my nephew, but unlike him, there's nobody to put me to bed except myself, so I stay awake, wasting so much of my precious free time for no good reason.

Dying Alone

"Sometimes, I feel like I only make art to upset my mom. Probably because she's one of the only people I talk to about my art. 

And honestly, I love seeing her get sad because of my art; the whole point is to provoke emotions. But I also hate knowing my art hurt her. I know she's hurt because of the reality of what I've decided to portray, not because of me, but still, I'd rather see her happy.

Regardless, a family member recently became terminally ill, which inspired this piece. We're no longer in contact, so I'll probably never see them again.

They seemed to have become quite delusional the last time I saw them, and I didn't have much of a relationship anyway, so their passing doesn't hurt. 

Frankly, they're not important enough for a painting dedicated to their passing. But it made me think about myself.

Making friends is easy, but I never want to do anything with those friends. After a while, they all learn not to invite me, as I won't attend anyway. It's not that I don't like them. Some of them are very cool people. The others are nice enough. But for some reason, I prefer to be alone. 

However, I can't help but be afraid of the future. There's a good chance that I will die alone, and I'm not sure if I'm going to regret those decisions. 

So sorry, Mom. I know it's not too late to change, but I'd rather be alone."

Bird On Ledge

I don't remember when, but at some point, during some walk, I must've seen some birds on a ledge and thought: 'Now that's a sight I must replicate in my art.'

My sister swears that it was during a walk we went on together. To make her feel special, I told her it was true. Frankly, I don't remember, and often, I need to be alone to get any ideas, so I doubt it.

It's not like my ideas are that deep. They're mainly just ordinary things. But when I put myself in a specific mindset, these typical things make me feel something, so I write them down to work on later. 

And when I start working on those ideas, I regularly forget why I wanted to draw them and how it made me feel. That's fine because I wrote it down, which means that it must be an idea worth developing.

This piece is about a bird on a ledge, looking over a larger landscape. I would love to join the bird and experience the sight.

Balloon In Tree

"Another cold day. It's not even that late, and the sun is gone already. The sun hides away before the day even starts this time of year. It's pretty peaceful out here. 

It was a Thursday, so I ate with my parents. My baby nephew, who they care for, was as loud as always. I taught him some guitar today, but I don't think he gets it yet. 

Finding what to say to my parents when I'm there is always hard. Seeing them makes me happy anyway, but sometimes it's easier to talk about nothing to strangers than to my parents. Maybe it's because I don't want to waste time on stupid topics with my parents, which doesn't leave much else.

Walking is great. Wherever I go, as long as it's reasonable, I walk. My bike also doesn't work, and public transport isn't for me, so I don't have a choice but to love it either.

So, with everything on my mind, I walked back home in the peaceful, cold, sunless world. I was almost home and pretty tired when I decided to look up, where I noticed two balloons in a tree. 

Can you imagine being one of those balloons? All you want to do is go up and travel great distances, but there you are, stuck, until maybe the wind helps you out, too far up for anyone else to reasonably get you out."

What if your sister was the Sky and so that any time you'd look at her, she'd be very different?

It means that some days, she'd be so calm, sweet, and sometimes, if you're lucky, even genius. But frequently, she would be more angry and destructive than anything else really can be in your life, destroying anything she wants to, seemingly for no reason. Would you be able to look back and appreciate the genius?

You think you know that she tries her best to be regular and often doesn't remember doing anything wrong, suffering more than anyone else could, from more than she even outwardly shows.

But it's hard to be compassionate because you have in the past, and it never works out great, even though you know that maybe you should and that you're selfish for not wanting to try.

You might have difficulties understanding who she is. It could take you decades to slightly comprehend that she is just what she happens to be that day, depending on the state of the world. Maybe some aspects are pretty familiar from day to day, but are those elements what make a person if everything else changes? 

Perhaps you'll find yourself in a loop, thinking about it all over and over, never reaching a new conclusion, only to realize that there is no final conclusion, and it feels like it's not even worth thinking about anymore. 

Could you stop yourself from disliking her, especially seeing the problems she still, and maybe will forever cause? But even that, you might realize, is pointless because she's not, maybe unfortunately so, a monster.

You can imagine that it would be difficult to trust people in general, seeing as you wouldn't even be able to trust your sister to be the same person the next time you see her, let alone be reasonable or friendly. You might learn to deal with stress weirdly, conceivably contributing to some general anxiety. 

What an easy topic to make "meaningful" art about, though. I'm confident I wouldn't trade in all my art to have grown up without her.

Parent With Child

I'm not very sentimental, or maybe I simply don't want to be.

So when I saw a woman with her child in a cargo bike, and I thought about my parents, how they carried me around the world for so long, and how now they don't. That wasn't me being sentimental: some things in this world are good, interesting, universal ideas that require capturing, which I did.

Honestly, I'm happy to be independent from my parents, and they're probably glad that I can take care of myself. I love them, even if they, understandably so, radiate stress sometimes.

But I feel I should appreciate them more than I do. It's hard to find the time to spend with them (even though it's too easy to find the time to waste on useless dopamine machines). Even when I do, it's challenging to find good topics. So many things are not worth speaking about, and so many worthy things are easy to forget.

They, or probably me, 'deserve' that extra time though;

Because, so often, while working on my art, or I suppose, in general, I still feel like that kid in the cargo bike getting brought to where I need to go by my parents.

Discover Zen Dageraad's serene interpretation of identity and reconciliation inspired by Johnny Cash's narrative "A Boy Named Sue" in a peaceful artwork.

Boy Named Zen

Inspired by Johnny Cash's stirring narrative in "A Boy Named Sue", artist Zen Dageraad explores the profound impact of a name through his art piece. The narrative unravels a young boy named Sue, whose journey through adversity, spurred by a peculiar name given by his estranged father, leads to eventual self-discovery and reconciliation. Zen Dageraad, sharing a harmonic resonance with his own name, interprets this tale through a peaceful lens.

In the heart of the canvas, a serene figure, painted in soothing red hues, sits cross-legged in meditation atop a calm blue block. The tranquility is further enhanced by his long, flowing green hair that gently falls over his composed face, as a warm yellow backdrop envelopes the scene, symbolizing a tranquil aura. This contemplative imagery presents a stark contrast to the rough tumble journey of Sue, yet holds a mirror to the profound reconciliation and inner peace found at the journey’s zenith. The interplay of name, identity, and destiny is beautifully explored, making this piece a harmonious ode to self-discovery and the power of acceptance.

Discover Zen Dageraad's captivating artwork, a gentle narrative of youthful curiosity and delight, illustrated through a warm lamp's glow against a serene backdrop.

Valentijn's Lamp

In this evocative piece by Zen Dageraad, an innocent exploration is tenderly encapsulated. At the core of the artwork lies the curious essence of a young child, embodied through the depiction of a pink hand pointing at an orange lamp. The narrative unfolds within the simplistic yet profound act of a baby nephew's constant pointing, a mere observation that carries the beauty of discovery and the endless wonders seen through youthful eyes. The lamp, characterized by varying shades to establish depth, emanates a warm, orange glow across the canvas, embodying the child’s enthusiasm in every radiating streak of light against a cool blue backdrop. The contrasting coolness of the background further accentuates the warmth, making it a tender tableau of a child’s fascinated interaction with the mundane. This piece not only celebrates the naive inquisitiveness of youth but also preserves the fleeting moments of sheer amazement in the ordinary.

Delve into Zen Dageraad's visual narrative on hope's comforting embrace amidst adversity, portrayed through a vibrant tree under a radiant sun, evoking depth and emotion.

Hope Is Everything

Exploring the profound theme of hope amidst adversity, Zen Dageraad creates a stirring narrative through a vibrant visual metaphor. The art encapsulates the artist's journey through illness and the comforting warmth of hope that eased his voyage, albeit devoid of the anticipated recovery. The piece immerses viewers in a realm where the green tree stands tall with uniquely shaped leaves in varying shades, symbolizing life and resilience, orchestrating a serene dance with depth and perception.

The ground below, illustrated with different shapes and shades of orange, holds the tree steadfast, providing a contrasting warm palette that symbolizes the bittersweet reality. Above, a sun radiates beams of light amidst a purple sky, embodying the nurturing essence of hope that propels life forward. The technique of color variance and shape diversity utilized by Zen Dageraad creates an enthralling visual depth, drawing observers into the narrative, enlightening them on the indispensable virtue of hope, which unveils a comforting perspective amidst life's unpredictable journey.

Explore Zen Dageraad's visual narrative delving into the emotional labyrinth of family dynamics amid depression. A poignant rendition of helplessness and hope.

I Can't Help

Unveiling the underlying turmoil of familial bonds, Zen Dageraad explores the emotional whirlpool encircling depression and the consequential ripple effect through a compelling artwork. The piece gravitates towards the complicated relationship between his mother and sister, subtly unravelling their internal battles which inevitably embroil him.

The visual narrative is marked by three striking figures, bathed in hues of purple with contrasting green facial accents and yellow locks, each symbolizing a member of this intertwined emotional saga. At the forefront, a sizeable figure, representing Zen, echoes a gesture of helplessness, reminiscing his nephew’s habitual shrug, mirroring his own cluelessness amidst the turmoil.

To the top left, a tear-streaked figure illustrates the despair of his mother, entwined in the agonizing helplessness over his sister's depression. Adjacently, the sister’s figure, depicted holding her legs, is stripped of a mouth, symbolizing her battle with depression that leaves her feeling voiceless.

Their melancholy is framed within a red backdrop in varied shades, sketching the heated, yet helpless atmosphere surrounding them. It’s not merely a portrayal of a personal struggle, but a broad stroke of empathy extended towards those entangled in the tender, often painful, strings of familial emotions.

Explore Zen Dageraad's evocative artwork, a celestial blend of colors and emotions illustrating a profound bond. Delve into the melancholic yet hopeful narrative through visual and poetic strokes.

Dark Side Of The Moon

Immerse in the ethereal narrative exuded by Zen Dageraad's poignant art piece, a juxtaposition of melancholy and celestial beauty. The work envelopes viewers in an otherworldly tableau, exemplified by a central moon with contrasting visages. A harmonious blend of colors narrates a somber yet sublime tale - the light blue on the open-eyed left, shifts to a dark blue on the closed-eyed right. The face, encased in a tender pink outline, releases a green tear from its veiled eye, symbolizing hidden anguish amidst cosmic elegance.

Zen Dageraad's artwork is an ode to the tranquil yet melancholic nuances of his sister's disposition, vividly depicted against a background dotted with yellow stars and blanketed in vibrant purple. The emotional resonance is deepened by the tender verses, "my sister is both the moon & a starry night, I wish I knew how to make it right." Every stroke and hue melds with the evocative lines, crafting a dialogue between melancholy and hope, echoing the haunting tunes of "The Dark Side of the Moon" that inspired this visual narrative.

Explore Zen Dageraad's vibrant portrayal of dawn, inspired by his namesake and birth card. A radiant sun, cerulean sky, and serene waters await.

Infinity Dawn

Drawing inspiration from a birth card, Zen Dageraad offers a vibrant portrayal of dawn, emblematic of his very name. The canvas is graced with a radiant sun at its zenith, outlined in a majestic purple, encircled by a soft orange halo, dotted with hints of blue. This sunlit aura is set against a cerulean sky, speckled with orange, reminiscent of the first light. Below, a lush expanse of green trees stretches out, giving way to a deeper orange reflection of the sun, mirrored in its intensity with blue dots. The scene culminates in a serene expanse of dark blue water, punctuated with orange flecks. Poetically, one might ponder.

Dive into Zen Dageraad's art: a colorful tapestry of sibling bonds & struggle, harmonizing chaos & calm with poetic symbolism.

Sisters

Immerse yourself in the profound storytelling of Zen Dageraad's evocative art piece. This poignant narrative unfolds through symbolic illustrations of his two sisters, each battling their unique storms. The elder sister, encapsulated in turbulent, lightning-touched clouds, exudes an aura of tempestuous fury, while the younger radiates melancholic moonlight, a silent testimony to her grappling with depression.

Embellished with diverse hues, the artwork oscillates between serene blues and fiery oranges, suggesting a symbiotic relationship between calm and chaos. The soft blue-green dots on the dark clouds and the moon's yellow outline against the stark purple backdrop add a surreal quality, reflecting the sisters' complex personas.

The art further unfolds with a poignant poem, "sometimes the dawn seems far away", reinforcing the themes of emotional turbulence and resilience. It personifies the sun as the ever-fierce, melting maternal figure, symbolizing hope amidst despair. The 'red rain' and 'green stars' add to the contrasting visual palette, highlighting the dichotomy of their lived experiences.

This art piece offers a unique lens to the intricacies of familial bonds, embarking on a journey through emotional landscapes of love, struggle, and perpetual hope.

Zen Dageraad's art captures the essence of family's unwavering strength amidst challenges, blending vibrant hues and powerful symbolism.

Family

Discover the narrative depths and symbolic resonance in Zen Dageraad's vivid creation. The piece eloquently illustrates a family's complex dynamic under a stormy metaphorical sky, personifying life's perennial challenges. Three vibrant, green figures are prominently featured; a representation of Zen's mother, holding an embodiment of Valentijn, and his father, brushing a radiant sun onto the backdrop. Their resilience shines, even as an overcast cloud shrouds them.

A moon in the corner weeps, reflecting melancholy and struggle, juxtaposed by a wall embellished with twinkling stars. Across the room, a purple door on another wall implies untold stories and potential exits. Above it all, the sun, bifurcated in colors, echoes Zen's personal journey, portraying himself amidst the familial landscape.

Dominating the scene, ominous blue clouds cast an expressive face upon the family, while varying shades of pink create dimensional depth, manifesting the emotional spectrum within the familial setting. This masterful blend of colors, symbols, and emotions is a testament to Zen's keen artistic and introspective prowess. Despite the looming cloud, the family persists, embodying resilience and hope, and painting their own sunshine.

Symbols

This piece showcases the power of symbols, employing them to narrate a compelling story in a simple yet profound manner.

Imagine the celestial Luna shedding tears, brilliantly juxtaposed with clouds, a manifestation of the boundless sky. These elements are not just visually enticing, but also imbue the artwork with a sense of depth and mystery. Each symbol tells a tale, and together, they weave an enchanting saga.

Venture further into the scene to discover a road, its destination shrouded in ambiguity as indicated by the sign. Is it a metaphor for life's uncertainties, or perhaps, a commentary on our collective journey? A figure, conspicuously located in the lower left corner, looks away from the road, seemingly detached from its directionless path.

Lastly, a modest chair and a tree are positioned, invitingly hinting at respite. But these aren't ordinary objects, they are symbols of comfort and tranquility, acting as a metaphorical invitation to 'sit down in the shade'.

Accompanying this visual narrative is a poem, whispering an invitation to simplicity and tranquility. The verses are a conversation, a seemingly innocent dialogue about pretending, about observing, and about embracing the ordinary. 'Have you met my sisters?', it asks, leaving us in contemplation.

This artwork is a testament to the transformative power of symbols, beautifully demonstrating how they allow art to communicate complex emotions and ideas in an easily graspable way. An intriguing blend of poetry and symbolism, it draws you in, encouraging you to delve deeper into its narrative layers.