rambling
Paige Korynta, paperbump, is an Alaskan born and raised- upside down, inside out, little northern oddball. Having had experienced the push and pull of obsessive compulsive disorder and an underlying heart condition since she was 3ft tall and covered in mud, her art has always allowed for a safe place. A “secret garden” from the physical or even mental throws of existing in her body. A place where pain can sit and chat with itself for a while. Paige incorporates continual death and regrowth into her art, the warm bodies of Alaskan women and the cold soil beneath their boots. She is now 21 years old, living and healing with her parents and younger brother in Anchorage, Alaska.
I draw what's inside my head- and it isn't always beautiful.
I want to create connection. I want to enable an honesty and rawness that no one necessarily "likes". I want to make someone feel as though they are not just a blob of flesh, that they are enough of a blob of flesh to be radical, that their entire being is overflowing with a weird beauty they may not be able to see.
We are here. We exist. Whether you believe we popped into this existence because of a god, or stars colliding, or a unicorn kissing a rainbow- I can’t argue with the fact that this consciousness is something. It is something. It’s all we’ve got. Maybe there really is no true meaning- maybe we will never ever be able to find a definitive answer. But that’s okay. There’s a point when trying to discover meaning becomes miserable. Because there really, truly, is no definitive meaning to any of this. We are just alive. This is existence. The meaning we feel like we need to find, or don’t have, or feel like only old folks hold- is fluid, like sewage. It isn’t one single thing. It isn’t universal awareness. It is just... this. It is every second you have been alive. It is every second you will be alive. It is you right now. Looking at my stuff. That is meaning, because that is what our life is made of. That is all we are and ever will be truly aware of- our own experience. You are okay right now and you will be okay in the future and you were okay in the past because every bit of all of that contributes to this weird “meaning.” You will continue to grow and learn and connect. You will continue to exist in this consciousness. Inside the glorious confusion.
As someone who’s suicidal, trust me, I understand that nothing really matters- I get it. I understand that everything is horrible and there is more bad than good.
We are all only specks. We did not choose to live or die or breathe or shit, so we might as well instead choose to regain the warmth in our cheeks, the butterflies in our stomach, and the comfort behind our smiles. It's confusing, a small unimportant speck, but it is ours.
Take the small shitty speck of your life and hold it in your hand. Keep this speck safe.
The fucked up whatever- is you. But the happiness and hopefulness is also you. Every tiny second you have experienced so far has contributed to the creation of all aspects of you. Be proud of this. Realize that you are fucked up- but you are also pretty radical. You are the strength in the mountains, the delicate petals of the forget-me-not, the rolling hills and the winding streams. You are a masterpiece.
We act like we aren’t a part of this. We act like what we do and say, what we touch, where we sit, and where we shit, isn’t connected to anything else. We act like and believe we are separate. When we aren’t.
I really can’t ever understand existing, but I can recognize it.
We can recognize that what we are- is something. Connected to each other, to the soil and trees and rain and flowers and trash cans and balconies and blankets and dust, to the bird that shit on your shoulder. We are everything, everything is us- even the parts no one likes. You can't fill a hole by digging it even deeper. I spend thousands on fancy shovels and dump trucks, when all I need is an outhouse and enough people willing to use it.
Just be. You don’t have to "be" certain grades or a certain amount of money or a certain appearance to be here. Because you are here already. You’re a part of everything beautiful, and everything fucked up, in this weird ass existence.
So here's nice lil’ reminder that you’re an interconnected stitch on the massive quilt of our understanding of this consciousness. That means all of the stars and oceans and blades of grass. And yes, all of the dead rats and dirty dishes as well. That’s pretty damn awesome.
It’s okay to be a little wack, to not to be everyone’s "aesthetic". Or to not be an aesthetic at all whatsoever. It’s okay to step off the trail and get lost. It’s okay to fucking not be okay with what you are telling yourself that you need to be okay with.
It’s okay man it's all okay.
