#10yearsofparamore

happy birthday self-titled, you know me so well.

here’s to the people we used to be, the people we’re becoming, and the music that soundtracks our journey. here’s to paramore. 

I couldn't put in words what this album means to me so I decided to glue together parts of the past decade I've spent listening to it. Thank you for everything.

@10yearsofparamore

A decade of Self-Titled. Ten years of an album I have cried to, laughed with, and have had on in the background during my daily daydreaming of a future I feel a little braver to embrace because of the band. 2013 was an interesting year in music from what I remember, thinking about how these songs were tucked away for 7 years before I could hear them is a comfort in itself. It was waiting for the right time to come into my life, and here I am writing the future and continuing my story with this as one of my many musical guides. I made this for the 10yearsofparamore zine here on tumblr, to show my love for Future and for my favorite lyrics from the band as a whole. There's so much to pick, but without a doubt this is the first I think of when Paramore comes to mind. One I plan on getting tattooed soon. Here's to you, Self-Titled. 🌠

Here is my submission for the @10yearsofparamore zine! I put something together based on my favorite song off the self titled album :)

For more information, please refer to the FAQ or send us an ask. We look forward to receiving your submissions!  

Here's my second piece for the 10yearsofparamore zine, based off of Daydreaming and what it meant to me. I wanted to go back to the days I was a child in art class, with its paint-stained folding tables and black floors, to the cold room that seemed to stretch a mile ahead of me each time I entered. My very first art teacher, we'll call her Mrs. C, was a headstrong, no-nonsense woman whose voice bellowed throughout the classroom. It was hard to not feel intimidated by her, although everything about art as a subject was overwhelming for all of my senses back then. This was before I knew I had a great love for it. Our first lessons were in oil pastels, in blending and sorting through which colors we liked on thinnish, tanned paper. Construction paper would have to sit out for this lesson. Little me had no clue what to do with these crayons that felt like I was touching a cloud. The way they simply glided over the paper in smooth, all too quick strokes in bold, rich colors had frightened me. What was I to do? I hadn't felt this kind of freedom until that moment, and I was anxious. I couldn't put together a pretty picture, not like the others and I grew cross. Impatient and easily frustrated, I'd sit there frozen with worry weighing on my hands as I tried coming up with an idea. Mrs.C took notice, and her attempt to guide me was the first of many conversations we'd have over numerous projects. I was stubborn, and hated my lack of skill. Still, I loved the way my fingers would turn blue and green, as if I were holding onto earth a little too tightly and I would let go. I thought of the possibilities, how scary it was to make something without knowing where I'd go. I was nervously treading new worlds, until I realized I was the one laying down the path, dotting the stars in the sky, and pulling the rays of the bright yellow sun from the corner of the paper. I was daydreaming. I never felt more alive, with my passion for art and how it was a place where dreamers like me could go.