Blocked
In beautiful, cold Holland, Michigan, there is a college. At this college, there is a quirky, friendly art department. The art department calls an old factory building with a red-rimmed entrance home. Inside this home, there are classrooms for history lessons and hands-on learning and there are small studios for the senior art majors.
One of the unoccupied studios was turned into a little student gallery space where, for one week, students could sign up and display their work. A mini art show, a tiny exhibition, a small chance to showcase the ideas we hold in our young brains. 
Last semester, I had both an idea and a second of bravery to sign myself up for a spot in the small space. This idea was expanding in my head, one where I finally had to go execute it on a fall day in November. I took one of my friends to some trees (I’ve had some great friends who aren’t afraid of being unconventional models for me over the years) and with my sidekick camera, I attempted to copy the pieces I saw in my brain. 
I don’t know if a product will ever truly look like what the brain imagines, but I do know that the changes that happen in the formation of a piece show the beauty of the creative process and are why I love making art. 
The show is called “blocked” and the three installed pieces center around the idea of loneliness. Psychology and art are both very important in my perspective on life, hence why I am majoring in them and why I ask myself so many questions. What happens when we are too lonely for too long? What does it look like? And why is it that even people with the closest of friends feel the lurking effects of isolation?
blocked verbwhen someone or something is obstructed by obstacles placed in the waySometimes there are no answers and sometimes we fail to look beyond the other end of our silent line. 
The photo above is my attempt at digitally compiling the first piece of the show. Titled “do you even want to hear?”, the ten individual pictures span three close walls in the gallery. 
The can-telephone piece is titled “disconnected” and crosses over the entrance leading to the other end hanging over a ceiling pipe.
The final piece is a self-portrait titled “nature, nurture”. 
Sad art, yes. But not from a tortured artist. Life is life, yes. But photography is to write with light, and I’ve hidden my little cues toward light in it all.
Thanks for taking a peak at this virtual gallery space in this small corner of the interweb.~kj