by kyjoyo

a reflection of you.

[kyjoyo]

missing college a little. missing valley a lot. home away from home. a daydream in of itself, birdsong and soft breezes through windows. big clouds and pink skies and fresh air. grass stains and wildflowers and spring peepers. the smell of hyacinth in the garden in march, the blooms on the magnolia tree in april. paint on the floor, stained mugs and paintbrushes on the rug. the skull in the closet, 2 year old mistletoe on the ceiling. the sunporch, the big porch. i’m nostalgic. 

[kyjoyo]

erin, under the cherry blossoms 

[sweetestsecrets]

“…but as to how to preserve your soul from rotting, you have nothing to learn, but something to practice. You in your folly are the world you condemn.”

— Henry David Thoreau, from a letter to Harrison Blake featured in Familiar Letters (via violentwavesofemotion)

[kyjoyo]

creation is no perfect process. it is a destructive process. a seemingly chaotic process. it is the messy kitchen, flour all over the counter and water on the floor, and dirty, used dishes by the sink. the tilling of soil before building a garden, tearing up the stillness and crumbling the stagnation of the earth for new things to come forward. it is the endless eraser shavings that litter a sketch that has been erased and redrawn, reframed, darkened and lightened. watercolor stains on a blank piece of paper, brush swipes of acrylic across a tattered pair of jeans. creation is the dirt on the bottom of ones bare feet after a day spent outdoors, the tangles and knots of one’s hair after letting the wind run through it. it’s the way a bedroom gets messy before it gets cleaner, how a paper is written and rewritten, a new book is highlighted and underlined and the margins become free ground for pen ink commentary. 

I have learned from nature that in order to become, things must die. for the flowers to bloom and the leaves to grow, they must fall back to the ground in autumn. for the beach to be sandy, rocks must be eroded. for the bush to fill into a new shape, it must be cut back. for the universe to exist, the Big Bang had to occur.

this is my reminder to embrace the process. this is my reminder to not place expectations on form or appearance. that perfection doesn’t exist - it is relative. it is subjective. it is completely dependent on the individual’s experience. creativity and creation are not supposed to be perfect - the tree doesn’t grow to look a certain way. it does not look in the mirror and judge the way it bends, gives and curves. it simply grows toward the light, and it is admired. 

- a reminder to self. only you can give something the power of being perfect 

[ambermozo]

[a-melin]

[loveserum-deactivated20191021]

anyways. When can I start screaming

[kyjoyo]

I put too much pressure on myself to make things run in such a way that they could compensate financially..... note for those who need to hear it: don’t 

[kyjoyo]

sunrise in maine, september 2019

[kyjoyo]

vermont camping trip 2020

[kyjoyo]

colors of fall in vermont, September 2020

instagram @kyjoyo​ 

[kyjoyo]

jess and sarah in vt, september 2020

[kyjoyo]

dreaming with our eyes open, down in the valley

[kyjoyo]

the sea and a sunset. my favorite pair 

[kyjoyo]

the winter. the stillness. the silence. gentle, yet heavy. an endless slumber wrapped in a crystalline cocoon. we are resting, stripped to the bone of our layers, naked in the quiet. It is vulnerability, hope in the face of perceived destruction. winter is death and rebirth all in one, a delicate balance that lies within the ebb and flow of all-that-is. yin and yang. from our wounds comes the ability to heal; it is darkness that allows light.

[kyjoyo]

the autumn. the release. all that has once served, now letting go. warm days that bring a sweat to your brow. cool nights send a shiver across your skin. shedding layers of ourselves, a fragile form underneath, yet bundling up and coming together. how trees let go and leaves fall, only to feed the earth once more. A time of connection, of gratitude, of reflection. allowing yourself space with a sense of grace. 

[kyjoyo]

sweet summer, salt on your skin and a sip of iced tea tea. a soft peach brought to your lips and warm sunshine on your skin. lavender spills across evenings skies as the clouds blush and the sun says goodbye. a sense of freedom - a borderline carelessness and a deep, honey laughter that drips from your lips, outlined in golden sunlight. we are blooming, full in our being. filled with life and soaked in love.