SPOTLIGHT ON AMBER ROSE RED
We are very pleased to showcase the work of Amber Rose Red. Check out her bio and selected works, then follow her @amberosered and interact!
I'm 34. I live in California. Huntington Beach to be exact. I'm a gnarly liberal. I'm 5'3. I am a painter, a smoker and midnight joker. Sober but not somber. I try to make sense of my life, this world and looking for something I may never find. Married to handsome DJ who has two turn tables and a microphone. Two beautiful cats. An aspiring writer or literary inclined observer. I wanted to be Carmela from the Soprano's when I was younger, now I want to tell stories about the human experience. I'm blonde though my hair is almost completely white. Genetics predicted that much like my alcoholism. I've cried over every glass of spilled milk since 1983. I collect sea glass, crochet, make shirts and have perfected a recipe for chocolate chip cookies. I have had lot to be sad about and a lot to be glad about. And I hope that those two on a scale stay balanced. I long to be published. And one day, I will.
Art. Everything. Pointless. Whimsical daring bold stick figures color blotches swatches hues and clues madness worthless conformity of lines rules forward straight insanity dreams spirit revolution boredom intricate detailed corrosion of well being that seems to Neutralize when engaging In my craft. mysterious welling of creative wild abandon that explodes through my fingers eyes lips. Consuming emotions of raw hurt anger and insecurities boiling over onto canvasses wood and paper molding my being into the sensitive soulful extension of god who bestowed the gifts of talent and the never ending hunger for satiety for exploring my work and unconscious. Trash. The scary hidden dark corner i carefully open through brush strokes that i discover the true nature of my purpose. My calling. Whether i fight or embrace it, ignoring the needs for portraying all the feelings and questions i cannot name nor would care to. Artist start movements, color pavements, soften cement through spray cans and paints. Treasure. Questioning our selves and the words set in rules and in laws. Pushing envelopes and then cutting them up and using them to collage and light political fires. Finding by meaning by creating meaning. Encourage youth, turbulent impressionable youth with untamed expression of change with rhyming words which sing with the same timing of the heart beats of the brave and tortured. I know not the value of the work but the value allowing me to continue to create more beauty and thought provoking imaginings with my time. Not that we needed the validation, or monetary compensation. art is what i am made of and who I am and ultimately my existence. It is the thoughts behind my blank stares, tears and fury. Alive and inspired and discovering wholeness and through the search of love and our selves. And quiet. And that beautiful elusive moment when everything inside is. Still.
Nana. Happy birthday. I miss your Christmas sweaters and lipstick. Balled up Kleenex in every nook and cranny of everything you ever owned with a pocket. Your nails. Red or a frosty pink that seemed to draw attention away from your tan veiny hands with protruding arthritic knuckles. Your gleaming yellow gold jewelry. Your beautiful eyebrows. The way you clacked your gum while rocking in your lazy boy smoking virginia slims in an ashtray. The way you would angle your head so slightly when gazing upon children or pets and whisper, 'oh bless your little heart.' Making me over easy eggs in the morning and if the yolk failed to bleed yellow upon my plate you would always say it was an old chicky and promptly make me another. I never knew the love the way you loved me. And never will. Nothing I did or said could change it. You weren't perfect. Neither was I. We both just knew we were each other's. I was never sure of god but I was sure of you and now I am sure of him because you are with him. As I lay in bed the other night I recalled the moments when you finally left me. Your soft fuzzy cheek. The curl of your hair. Your bony hands and red rimmed eyes. The way you gazed upon me when I told you Your favorite was there. That was something I always knew. You rocked me in your chair when I was too big to be rocked anymore and my feet hung over the arms. Buying me packs of cigarettes when I was fifteen. Driving me to continuation school with one foot on the break a a the other on the gas. Everything. All those perfect moments I only realize now. Tonight at work I was watching one of the cooks in salads trying to throw pecans in the mouth of another cook and it made me smile. And It occured to me that maybe this is it. I am so busy thinking that everything in my life means nothing because I am not doing what I think I should be doing. Enjoy it! Fucking laugh! Enjoy it while I can. Fantasizing about this better life I ought to be living. I am exactly where I need to be right now. Doing this. Like I was with you. Loving you, taking care of you. It was instrumental. Like my time at work. Hopefully making lives easier an sharing my love and. warmth and humor. If I was where I thought I should be, I would have missed that. Missed the cooks' antics, and ultimately missing the gift of your final year on this earth. God has a plan. Something I realized tonight. Everything is perfect. Living my life blinded and crowding behind alcohol I forgot to enjoy so much. I regained that once I got sober but seemed to have lost it the more jaded I became with gaining all that I lost. The hunger for more. To collect things to dust to gather value so other people can buy it for more and dust it. It's the seconds in between the moments. In between losing and caring for you, and being sober I see those seconds. The ones of absolute perfection before the inevitable calamity that is life. When it's quiet. And everyone just is. I got to be there, see that, in your final moments Nana. Notice your hands. Your face. Your smile. Your quiet jibberish that sounded like a radio stuck in between two stations. While papa was taking a nap, a luxury he was never afforded due to your disease and need for constant supervision and your silent mission of storing every magazine in the fridge. But when I came home to take care of you, your face would crumple and you would wail and sob and cling to me. You remembered me. Remembered yourself. I remember you every day. Every moment. Every second. I learned the biggest lesson of all from you Nana.
I sat in the patio of a shitty car wash today smoking my vape and contemplating how and in what ways I would get my base tan for summer. In Huntington Beach you have to start early. And carefully. I've blistered, boiled and achieved the perfect tan. It's like having a second job really. I had been feeling troubled though couldn't name a reason, while waiting for my car to be washed. A giant ford long bed truck roared through the intersection in front of the car wash. Tied to the tail gate was a pole waiving a large American flag. Billowing magnificently. Defiantly even. I frowned. At the proudness of the Flag, it's haughty demeanor, it's display. I suddenly realized why. The weekend before on my own state beach a trump rally was held with seething nationalists spewing hatred and telling fellow Americans to 'GO HOME, BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM!' You mean down the street? They wore flag bandanas over their mouths and carried the flags like a badge of white honor. It made me sick to watch the footage. Immigrants settled this country. Immigrants built it. Immigrants tilled the soil, called it America and when they gave birth on this soil they gave birth to Americans. We have seemed to have forgotten this. The flag sewn by an American, born from an immigrant. My flag didn't stand for good, for hope for love or equality or even freedom. My flag has begun to stand for hate, indifference and self righteous selfishness. For destruction of a nation so beautifully rich in resources and culture. Wonderful amazing people. I could feel my arm getting hot in the spring sun and noticeable tanning on my arms. And then frowned again. As I sat in contemplation about my country and my flag.
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