Self Portrait in Sub-Mission by Sean Samuel Kelly

“This drawing came to me in a dream, thus the title.  I was having one of those eye-opening episodes we all have in our early twenties.  Trying to find my purpose in the grand scheme of things, the cosmic connections, the wanting heart and desperate brain.  I was feeling kind of low and inspired.

I lived in a little farming community about ten miles outside of Chico California called Capay.  I lived with my grandparents.  My grandpa was an old cowboy who was known for his little doodles and drawings that were scattered about his home and workshop.  Mainly little cartoons of cowboys urinating on a cactus or something silly.

He was watching me one day as I was drawing my self portrait.  He was giggling and giddy about it.  It made him proud to share his creative gift with me.  The piece itself comes from a deep, dark place but humor and balance are evident throughout, like life I guess.”

-Sean Samuel Kelly from Portland, Oregon

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Fact: This snow angel extraordinaire is not me.

I’m dropping my jeans this Saturday as I cruise around Manhattan naked – for polar bears.

I’m tired of the same ol’ 5K fundraisers.  Yes, these events benefit incredible causes, but I’m sick of running.  Can’t we get a little more creative in our philanthropic events?

I value the zainy element of the Naked Polar Bear Cruise, and I’m always eager to support the Wildlife Conservation Society.  Therefore, I will strip down to my tie-dyed bikini (Yes, I lied, and I won’t be completely naked) on February 27th.

The longer I endure the cold, the more moola I raise for the bears.  My pride is at stake here too.  I’m a tough girl.  I will stick it out for the full hour.

For all of you New Yorkers, come out and play naked this weekend.  Or spectate.  Or just laugh at all of us fools as we freeze our tushies off.

If you miss the boat and want to support the vulnerable polar bears, donate a few pennies or dimes per minute that I withstand the cold.  Email themathematicsofglamour@hotmail.com if interested.

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Dear Body of Mine,

I’m cutting out 20 minutes of sleep tonight. Maybe then you won’t swell in your pleasure.  Warning: I will continue to shed minutes until you are obedient.

Love, Kira

Beyond cosmetics, I was not aware of my distasteful outfit until I hit my 10th hour.  I found my uneven khaki pants and over-sized navy sweater (snagged from my Dad’s closet in 7th grade) very much present at the Toastmaster’s public speaking event.  My mind, on the other hand, was barely in attendance.

I showed up to the formal meeting as a guest, clueless of the details and meeting protocol.  As a first-timer, I was called upon to give an impromptu speech for one minute.

All confidence fell to my ankles as I realized that my spider socks were not only creeping into the non-Halloween month of February but also creeping up my leg and clearly visible to those surrounding me.

I don’t actively think about my appearance around other civilians.  I might care what my stubbly date thinks, and I might even want to impress my friends, monthly, with some effort and accessories.

I haven’t decided if I should start caring more or less about style.  How do you know if your appearance is authentic and quirky or just sloppy and disastrous?  Or does it even matter?

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Doodle by Tara Joyce of Rise of the Innerpreneur

Doodle by Tara Joyce, writer, speaker, and creator of Rise of the Innerpreneur, and Elastic Mind.

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Meet Michelle: An extremely passionate career woman. Photo Credit: www.WhenIGrowUpCoach.com

I see myself as very bright (color-wise) & energetic & quirky & welcoming, which explains the big smile & the outstretched arms.  But when I went to label things, I immediately saw the arms as ‘jazz hands’ & added that element of my personality – the musical theater performer – into the self-portrait, too. My favorite quote is, ‘Always reach for the moon – even if you miss you’ll land among the stars.’  I always feel a sense of opportunity & awesomeness when I look at the sky, so stars have always held something symbolic for me.  I had to include them here!”

-Michelle Ward, the When I Grow Up Coach in New York City

If our young men miscarry in their first enterprises, they lose all heart.  If the young merchant fails, men say he is ruined.  If the finest genius studies at one of our colleges, and is not installed in an office within one year afterwards in the cities or suburbs of Boston or New York, it seems to his friends and to himself that he is right in being disheartened, and in complaining the rest of his life.  A sturdy lad from New Hampshire or Vermont, who in turn tries all the professions, who teams it, farms it, peddles, keeps a school, preaches, edits a newspaper, goes to Congress, buys a township, and so forth, in successive years, and always, like a cat, falls on his feet, is worth a hundred of these city dolls.  He walks abreast with his days, and feels no shame in not “studying a profession,” for he does not postpone his life, but lives already.  He has not one chance, but a hundred chances.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Portrait by Jonah Trople using Acrylic, Bob Ross Gesso on paper and wood

“I am a 21 year old art student at the Evergreen State College in Olympia, WA. Recently I moved into an attic of a single mom of two, ages three and twelve. At first, I was hesitant, I’m more than down with attics – but single moms and kids? The move was necessary though, I couldn’t afford anything else and previous to this I was living out of my rusting VW Bus, anything was better.

I’ve been living in their attic for about two months now, and it has turned out this has been one of the coolest learning experiences ever. Nothing reminds you of what it’s like to be a three year old better than living with one. It’s put a perspective on everything – what an awful three year old I must have been! Since moving in with this family I have reflected on my own relationship with my parents a lot.

My parents had me in their teens, got married, and then went through college while raising me. For some reason, prior to moving in with this single mother and her two children, I never gave a thought to how much work my parents put into my upbringing. Imagine having a kid in your teens AND going through college at the same time!

I will admit, I wasn’t a typical child – I was a real problem – an honest horror story (I still kind of am…) I can’t believe how much love my parents gave to me, how awful I was, and how hard it must have been for them.

I decided to paint a self-portrait while I was still in the womb to explore (and pay respect to) the love my mother and father gave me. I painted them at their wedding and me in my mother’s stomach. After I had finished this painting I decided to paint myself at their age so I could compare how different our lives were at the same age. wow. Thanks mom and pop.”

Art and story by Jonah Trople

“This is one of my best features … soft, warm and much friendlier than the crooked teeth they hide.”

-Koko from Portland, Oregon

As a visual person, I like to gaze at my list here and there.  I often stare blankly at my words avoiding the task at hand, and other times I wonder why I wrote down “Take chances, Kira” when I did tryout for Gotham Girls Roller Derby last year without a shot in hell of making the team.  It’s okay, I’m taking skating lessons this year.  It’s on my list.

I appreciate the fact that I’m trying to be a responsible adult, and I listed, “schedule regular dentist appointments” as a resolution.  Is that a resolution?  Shouldn’t that just be life?  The idealist inside of me wrote down, “Write a book of fiction.  And publish.”  Aim high, right?

My 29th, and currently final item on my list is to “join a bowling league” which I added today … after I signed up online.  Fooled ya, ‘10.

Naysayers may suggest that resolutions are cliché.  But I think it is a valuable way to express the multiple voices speaking in our own heads: The wise-ass, The inspired, The sneaky, The immature, The immature pretending to be mature, etc.

Go ahead and get friendly with the personalities you’re dealing with in the year ahead.

And add your resolutions below.

The stories of my five friends and myself: These are telegram style.

Bob B. went to war and didn’t come back.  Bob S. got hooked on weed and is now a junky.  The other Bob S. hasn’t come around for a while.  Bob H. stole my girl and I still want to punch him.  And Bob V. isn’t named Bob at all.   His name is Joel.  My story is art is dead.  I killed it. This is my self-portrait and the self portraits of my friends if I say so.

-Patrick Waldron