#sidesight

.This was a piece I made for an assignment during my previous semester's art course. We were asked to make a collage, self portrait piece of art that was inspired by the work of Henri Matisse.

.I made this piece to represent me embracing myself, and who I am. Every aspect of my being, especially the ones that evoked joy and whimsy. Here is an excerpt from the essay I wrote:

"The stars are an extension of my soul, literally bursting out of the chest of the human figure that is meant to represent me. The variety of hues of the stars symbolize the many facets of my inner world and personality, while the saturation of the colors is meant to evoke a sense of whimsy and playfulness."

.And I think it's very important to make the distinction that, while this is, in many ways, a reflection of my other identity, it's also very grounded in the human concepts of journey and finding oneself again. Especially right now, as the culture around us is steeped in shame and hate. That is one piece of my journey to rediscovery, and ultimately my celestial return that I've already managed to figure out. Rebuffing shame, embracing whimsy.

.Because I think it that being aware and actively nurturing the parts of me that exist in human form are important. Being a celestial is a wonderful thing. I am wholly a star, that's a fact. But at this moment, I am living in a world that will impact me, whether I like it or not. I will internalize, whether I want to or not, unless I build up the strength to be who I am. And tending to my body and brain, my heart and the part of my spirit that is forever touched by the others I've shared this planet with for the last few decades.

The full essay also goes into my artistic process. If you're interested in seeing that published here, do let me know ^^.

In part, it might be that the matter that makes up my form doesn't just disappear. It disipates, scatters. My kinetic energy travels on and on until something else comes along to collect it. Then that energy is dispersed out into the cosmic landscape at large.

Maybe it's the infinity. The great, ever stretching infinity we all hail from. It, in and of itself, is a form of immortality. The science of my spiritual existence is comforting.

Even this mortal flesh doesn't simply rot into nothing. It will decay, and rejoin this planet's life cycle. And when something inevitably comes along to eviscerate this beloved terrestrial, it too, will join the cosmic landscape.

It too, becomes infinity.

And all that which I will mourn will inevitably become one with me again.

As a star, I feel very fortunate for my friends and close loved ones. I have given up much of my vulnerability to them time and time again, and have found that they seem to know me before I ever have need to explain myself.

Many of them are aware, to some level, that I am celestial and Sidereal being. Granted, a few of them aren't entirely aware of the fact that I am a star, but I have been called "cosmic" and a "star/celestial thing" before by friends who aren't fully in the know. And I cherish the acknowledgement dearly.

I know a few things for certain: I am a star, I am an archivist, and I am a wishing star belonging to a constellation of other wishing stars. I am the right hand, and dedicated devotee to the moon, and as such, I'm granted privileges and abilities related to my position and status, through our relationship. I am a deity with dominion over death, passion, and whimsy (amongst a couple of other things). And for the time being, the moniker Sirius a feels correct and appropriate.

I think it's the thing I admire about them the most. I also think it does stem from a fascination with stellar mortem, as I've been known to wax poetic about that.

And how could I not? To burn to brightly, so incredibly, that you must burn your own mass. The passion of your existence is so great, you must cannibalize yourself in order to accommodate it. Until slowly, then all at once, you die. And yes, the way each star dies relies on factors like size and relative mass and elemental composition. But the fact is, at some point, we all give way to gravity, ending our beautiful displays.

And I am in part excited for mine. Not because. I necessarily want to die. But because to burn bright, at the height of my passion, at the pinnacle of existence, is precisely what I exist to do. To die a star's death is the ultimate testament to a life lived in that exact way.