Dear Diary,

Today has been fairly productive. This time I went to bed before 4am and woke up before 2pm. This is quite an accomplishment for me. I must admit, I have gotten rather addicted to Gaia's new mmorpg called ZOMG. I know, I know. It sounds like total kid stuff. It is. It's the candy version of WOW or Final Fantasy. Yes. I am a childish dork. Somehow the contrast to my constant focus on performance standards, technique, repertoire, genres, form, harmonic progression, chordal analysis, compositional technique, rhythmic patterns, and the ilk is extremely appealing. I think that's part of the reason I blog so much. Meh.

Anyway, as I was saying, today was productive. I went with my church choir to sing some Christmas music downtown at the city market. My home is such an artsy place that's so appreciative of music, theater, and visual arts. We performed/worshiped [we sang both sacred and secular songs] just across the road from an awesome art gallery. My dad, who's an art teacher, and brother popped by and we all went in the gallery to look around before the concert. It was awesome. I just love art. I love to stare at it, read about it, think about it, let it fill me.

The very first pieces I came across used bits of actual sheet music; so I got up close and started singing the songs. They were all popular love songs. The colors that particular artist used got me all fired up- really strong blues and greens and nice, thick, bold black outlines.

The next artist's section had a wonderfully ancient, abused looking journal hanging on the wall by his pieces with a worn out pen. By it, there was an explanation, along with his artist's statement [riddled with grammatical errors that made me wince.] The idea, however, was quite lovely. He was collecting visitor's dreams to include in his art pieces. I was completely fascinated. So I took the pen, and scribbled down one of my very disturbing nightmares that haunt and follow me like memories for years on end. I chose a fairly short one on cannibalism. I wonder what kind of piece it will live in some day.



Another artist's pieces really captured my attention; they used mixed media to reflect americana ideals. The rusted, twisted, grotesque caricatures were just so compelling. I was enraptured.

The final piece that caught my attention was a rather large ink and canvas drawing with anime style faces, but they seemed tesselated somehow. They filled every single space of the canvas, even upon the sides. I also remember there was a painting right to the left of it that had a wonderfully thick, shiny, transparent laquor over it that made me want to touch it. However, the colors and shapes were unappealing to me, and it was literally too far over my head to touch. Too bad I can't show you pictures, but that would probably be an infringement on the artists' rights- and I know for a fact that our local artists are already poor enough as it is, despite the massive amount of talent and ingenuity they possess.

Well, the concert turned out rather nicely. I was ecstatic that my father and brother came because my family is Catholic and doesn't really like the fact that I am now "Protestant". I got to introduce them to the woman who took me to the ER on Sunday when I had kidney stones; she staid with me the whole time and helped me a ton because she's a pharmacist and knew all the doctors. That chic also has an amazing voice; it's crazy. Well she sang some solos, and I sang a solo in a really cute song called "Parade of the Wooden Soldiers." The solo was written for a child, but since I am small and look extremely young, the choir director figured I could do it. It was so much fun! I put my hair in two braids just for the occasion. The wonderful news, though, is that my family really liked the music. I just know that will be a testimony in their hearts that not all Protestants are evil. Maybe one day they will understands and accept me again. Who knows?

All I know is I have GOT to sing. Every piece of my DNA was made to sing my soul out for Christ, and God called me to this particular church, not because it's Catholic or Protestant, or black or white, or rich or poor, but because He knew that this place would put me to proper use and help me fulfill my purpose.

I suppose this entry is long enough.



Farewell,