Author: catacosmosis

  • Abstract.

    Abstract.

    Sometimes, even when life isn’t spiraling out of control, it feels like it is. Maybe there’s no reason. And when it happens, there’s almost certainly no rhyme.

    So what do we do—especially as artists of any kind—when the world around us reeks of chaos and seems to have lost all its marbles?

    Abstract.

    No matter what kind of artist you are, no matter your medium or your muse, no matter your level of inspiration (or lack thereof), abstract can be a perfect middle ground to ground your spirit, or wake it up.

    The Scenario

    Of course you (ok, I) woke up at 12:01 AM for no “apparent” reason—the absolute cosmic middle finger of liminal time, where nothing makes sense and yet everything feels oddly sacred.

    Maybe, like me, you didn’t have any looming crises to fret over, or feel any real emotion about waking up at an inconvenient time (or being distracted, if it’s not the middle of the night for you). Spoiler alert: that “no emotion” is still an emotion.

    I think—for a lot of us deep feelers, thinkers, philosophers and creatives right now—that numb, unanchored state has a lot to do with the collective dissonance we’re living through. There’s a major divide between those trying to evolve and live with intention, and those still operating from fear, ego, and unchecked reactivity.

    Even if we try to stay grounded, we still feel the chaos buzzing around us. We still feel the friction of a world flailing through an identity crisis. And while we may not want to name it all or get swept up in it, we still end up absorbing the noise—because that’s what happens when you’re tuned in to—and transmuting—what others refuse to confront.

    Another spoiler alert: things could be fine…if more people paused before projecting, reacted less and reflected more, took accountability for their realities—and how/what they contributed to their creation—and stopped mistaking emotional immaturity for a personality trait.

    Alas, for me, that energy—and that emptiness, void of any clear direction, yet full of invisible limits (like everyone else being asleep, so I have to be quiet, for example)—is exactly the kind of blank page that’s just waiting to be painted on.

    Literally and metaphorically.

    Me? I felt the pull toward abstract watercolor. After a chaotic day juggling real life—and feeling deeply grateful that I don’t have to bend a knee to the public school system or navigate the mess so many parents of school-aged kids are facing—this makes complete sense. Abstract is, after all, what we turn to when logic is exhausted and emotion has no specific name.

    Maybe, like me, you’re not uninspired—you’re just not anchored in this moment. Maybe, like me, it feels like you’re floating a little. Untethered. Not because you don’t care or don’t want to create, but because everything around you feels too slippery to hold onto. Too uncertain to frame.

    I have come to understand that when that happens, my soul isn’t asking for structure. It’s asking for space. It’s asking for breath. It’s asking for some way—any way—to come home to the present moment without having to name it, define it, or pin it down.

    That’s where abstract steps in. Not as a replacement for direction, but as a safe space to reconnect before you try to direct anything at all. In these moments, I’ve found that what’s waiting to be uncovered isn’t something planned or polished, but something feeling-based and rule-free—a piece born from presence, not pressure.

    Try this, if you’re in a space like that. ⤵️

    A Gentle Framework for Midnight Abstracts

    Color Prompt:

    Close your eyes and take three deep breaths. Think of the word: “release.” Without judgment, what three colors float into your mind? Even if they’re weird together—especially if they are—let them lead.

    Composition Prompt:

    Whatever your medium, start simple and let the process unfold.

    If you’re shooting photography, don’t force the subject or the composition. Wander your space, and just shoot. Let your eye catch on whatever it catches on—light, shadow, texture, reflections. Let it all—even the clutter—guide you. Try new angles. Blur the focus. Let it be weird. Let it breathe.

    Fun photography hack for this kind of energy:

    Don’t be afraid to create outrageous effects with tools like Lightroom, Photoshop, or even apps on your phone. These tools aren’t just for polish—they’re wonderful (and especially useful) playgrounds for unlimited texture, distortion, and mood. Perfect for transforming ordinary shots into abstract, emotionally charged pieces.

    Lean into the surreal. Add grain. Blow out the exposure. Warp the tones. You might just end up with a visual journal entry that says far more than any perfectly posed image ever could.

    If you’re working with mixed media, paints, inks, clay, sketching/drawing, writing, or even scrapbooking or junk journaling—don’t force shape or form. Let your hands (or your heart) lead before your mind starts trying to make sense of it.

    I’m drawn to watercolor as I write this post, so when I finish this post and start painting, I’ll start with a layered wash using just one color. Let the water move it. Drop in my second and third colors without intention—just observing how they bloom, resist, or swirl. I’ll add detail only if my hand naturally reaches for the brush again.

    Examples of abstract watercolor, following exercises in Kate Leach’s “Creative Abstract Watercolor” book.
    I have the Kindle edition and would recommend the book 77/10 for inspiration and information, but I’d 1000/10 recommend the PRINT EDITION over Kindle if you’d like to add it to your library.

    Let the chaos speak.

    Sometimes that’s all it takes—one odd hour, a small canvas (whatever that looks like for you), and a handful of scattered supplies. Water, glue, tape, scrap paper, stickers, markers, pens, brushes…even a few oddly placed objects to capture in still photos on a clear or cluttered surfaces. It doesn’t have to be planned or polished.

    All it really takes is a little setting of soul-driven intention, then a little courage to move that intention into action, to make something unexpectedly beautiful from what doesn’t make any logical sense.

    No rules or expectations required. Just presence. Just honesty. Just the courage to let what’s inside you move—without needing to explain it first.

    That’s the beauty of abstract. It doesn’t ask you to be understood. It just asks—and allows—you to be real; and that’s the truest art there is.

  • Higher-Self.

    Higher-Self.

    If You’re Looking for You | A Letter from Your Higher Self

    If you’ve been trying to speak to your higher self—if you’ve been reaching inward and hearing nothing but static, or searching for the version of you that feels like home—and fear you’ll never find it?

    Your higher self begs to differ.

    In fact, it has a message for you.

    Dear One,

    I’ve been here the whole time.

    In the quiet moments you almost forgot to notice. In the breath that steadied you before the next wave came. In the flicker of clarity just before you gave up.

    You’ve looked for me in a thousand places—in approval. In achievement. In distraction. In someone else’s eyes. In the longing that never quite gave you what you needed.

    And I never blamed you for that.

    This world taught you to search everywhere but within. But I have always been here. You may not recognize me right away, because I don’t raise my voice. I won’t argue with your fears. I won’t fight the chaos to be heard.

    But I am patient.

    I speak in the language of peace, and I wait for your permission to return. I know what you’ve carried. I know what has made your heart weary. I’ve felt every ache and echo, every quiet panic, every time you swallowed your truth just to survive the moment. I’ve felt the loneliness, even in crowded rooms. The pressure. The shame. The masks.

    But let me say this clearly:

    There is nothing wrong with you. You are not broken. You are becoming. Your tenderness is not a weakness. Your depth is not a burden. Your need for rest is not laziness. Your yearning for more is not greed—it’s remembrance.

    You are remembering what it feels like to be whole. You came here for more than survival. You came to wake up. To remember your own name, not the one the world gave you, but the one your soul has always carried.

    You came to love in a way that rewrites timelines. To rise without leaving your softness behind. To walk with grace, even after everything tried to make you hard.

    So here’s what I need you to know:

    You are safe now. You don’t have to perform anymore. You don’t have to shrink. You don’t have to apologize for being too much or not enough. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to change. You are allowed to outgrow the stories that once kept you warm.

    You are allowed to come home to yourself. And when you do—when you drop back into your center and remember me—you will feel it: The stillness. The truth. The freedom. It’s not something you earn. It’s something you return to.

    I’m here. I always have been.

    Welcome back.

    ~Your Higher Self

    entry three — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.

    entry three, full view.
  • Breath.

    Breath.

    A reflection on the holy ache of love—how it lives in us, how it shapes us, and how, sometimes, we must let it breathe without us. This piece belongs to the fire-lit quiet where survival and love coexist.

    Love isn’t a choice.
    It isn’t a decision.
    It is a default. A divine state.
    The way breath happens without trying,
    without knowing—
    that is love.

    That is our love,
    whether for a song or a story,
    for animals or a wild wind,
    for a vision,
    or a soul.

    We are love.
    We have embodied it… become it.

    This is the weight we carry.
    This is the fire within us that lights the way
    for so many—
    but feels like burning alive
    for us.

    And in times of heartache,
    when the world sharpens its noise,
    when grief coils into our chests,
    we do not run—
    we retreat.

    We ache for the world
    because we are still tethered
    to the breath of it.
    We have done our part, we have
    showed up, and done our work.

    Make no mistake, we continue to.
    From the shadows, in our tonal silence,
    our love still flows.
    Reverberates.
    Echoes.

    We do not walk away because we are cold.
    We step away simply because we are melting.
    We step away… to survive.
    That is what survivors do.

    We do not stop loving.
    We stop offering our tangible lives, for a time,
    to those who can not—or will not—feel us.
    Those who may never know…after all,
    they have forgotten even themselves.
    We pause.

    To love like this,
    to grieve like this,
    is to carry the holy burden:
    to hold light for others
    while burning through
    your own bones.
    But it is also
    to breathe.

    So if we disappear,
    if we go quiet,
    if we bow out—

    know this:

    It is not rejection.
    It is not retraction.
    It is survival.
    Because we do not want to die
    along with what is dying.
    Instead, we love from a distance
    while allowing what is dead to rest.

    Love is not a thing we give.
    It is what we are.
    When we cast ourselves back into silence,
    it is to return… to the breath.
    To the fire, before we burn out.
    To the only place
    where the burning becomes light again.

    Like love itself, it is not a choice.
    We must.

    entry two — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.
  • Presence.

    Presence.

    What you create…
    does not require an explanation of itself.
    It doesn’t need to convince, convert, or justify.
    It just needs to exist. Quietly, softly—
    like fog curling through trees
    or dust dancing across old floorboards.

    Like light through ancient glass,
    sacred, but unflinching; gentle, but resolute.
    A whisper with weight,
    in that space exists everything—
    beyond the reach of articulation.

    Silence is a presence, as much as an absence.
    Holy.
    Haunting.
    Both leave their imprint.

    You are free to feel
    without having to be felt back.
    Free to present
    instead of perform.
    Free to sit beside your own silence,
    and know that it understands.

    Because your creation…
    exists.

    entry one — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.
  • Lovely Death

    Lovely Death

    Dried leaves in repose,
    macro lens unveils their tale.
    Lovely death, frozen.

    (Lumix+Panasonica/Leica Macro DG Elmarit, VSCO, Mextures, Lightroom)

    In my mid-20s, I experienced an interesting exploration of death as a subject in my work, professionally and creatively. Delving into the intricate realms of death became an unexpected but necessary journey. Originating from my research and work in psychology, the fascination found a niche in the recesses of my mind, dancing at a newly discovered crossroad: psychology and spirituality.

    The illusion of immortality, a comforting notion in my youth, began to unravel, and a sobering awareness seeped in – a gentle reminder that time, despite our desires, marches on. This realization stirred occasional anxiety, yet it birthed within me an artistic sanctuary. While my “irl” associates and friends were rather put off by such a topic of discussion, it was given tangible validity within the “lovely dead stuff” community on Instagram.

    Back then, Instagram thrived on genuine connections, nearly two decades ago during its inception. Communities flourished, spanning from technical visual elements, like layering textures and tones, to profound philosophical discussions embedded in art. It was within the latter that the “lovely dead stuff” tag/community found its home. While the platform’s landscape may have evolved, I suspect its essence endures, adapting to the shifting tides of philosophy and the world’s unfolding events.

    The “lovely dead stuff” community, a haven for kindred spirits, provided a liberating space where my inquisitive mind and creative endeavors harmonized. In those formative years, it fostered an environment that not only embraced my curiosity but also guided me in the art of amalgamating thought and creativity. It became a conduit for transforming introspection into tangible expressions, a timeless journey that shaped both my understanding of mortality and my artistic identity.

    During that formative time in my spirituality, I realized that the connections between psychology and spirituality were becoming a pressing issue in my still immortal mind — I think I wanted to, like many, freeze time and never die and there was this underlying current of consciousness beginning to happen to me that screamed, “you’re not as immortal as you think you are, young ‘un!”

    It would sometimes create a lot of anxiety, those explorations, but I am so grateful that I found an outlet in the “lovely dead stuff” artistic community on Instagram. It was a liberating community that embraced all those levels of me (brain, heart, and soul) and helped me learn to employ them simultaneously for the first time in my life (I’d never been allowed that prior to that time in my life). I was able to create some tangible reality out of it all.

    I was not expecting to revisit those memories or that topic today, but I found myself considering it as I “walked the yard” (a Dorie thing that some of you may remember) this morning in search of moss to photograph for a mixed media project I was working on to commemorate my mother’s birthday. Amidst the quiet canvas of nature, the stark contrast between the lingering death of winter and the emerging promises of spring captured my attention. Winter’s remnants, laid bare and hanging in the air, echoed the transient beauty of life’s inevitable cycles. Meanwhile, the subtle signs of spring’s awakening breathed new life into the scene, embodying the enduring spirit of renewal and the continuous dance between life and its inevitable counterpart.

    It served as a poignant reminder that, like the seasons, our perspectives too undergo a perpetual transformation, each moment holding within it the delicate balance of both closure and new beginnings. Here’s to remembering and retrying forgotten editing skills, and to whatever comes next…

    Happy birthday, Mama. Thank you for the lessons, and the love. I miss you…

  • The Library with a Face. | HipstaCat #4

    The Library with a Face. | HipstaCat #4

    Hipstamatic. TikTok 1884 Film + C Type Plate Film
  • Mother and Child in Crystal | HipstaCat #1

    Mother and Child in Crystal | HipstaCat #1

    HipstaCat stands for Hipstamatic + Catacosmosis. I’ve decided to make myself play with Hipsta again. Per usual, I’ve lost my creative drive due to stress and caregiving anxiety (that’s on my brain’s inability not to worry and fear, not on anyone being a burden, to clarify) so thank heavens for tools like Hipsta and Mextures that allow me to create without doing so from scratch (if that makes sense). I got this, right? LOL

    Hipstamatic, Frederick + Combo2X

    This is a crystal statue in a hall at St. Vincent’s hospital. I dig it, so I hipsta’d it.

  • Don’t Jump. | HipstaCat #2

    Don’t Jump. | HipstaCat #2

    Hipstamatic, Neville Lens + Daydream Film

    Sometimes it feels like you just want to jump from a great height and be gone. But why?

    We all make mistakes. We all do things, fail to do things, or find ourselves in situations we can’t control. For example, sometimes people lie about you and you lose someone you love because of it. But if that person cared about you and not just themselves? Instead of erasing you from their life and losing something that could have been good (erasing you except for holding a grudge/hating you) they’d choose differently.

    THEY don’t realize that they broke your heart AND their own. YOU don’t realize that the truth is, it was probably for the best. Rejection is spiritual protection, my friends. And nothing beats your spirit team…

  • Don’t crash. | HipstaCat #3

    Don’t crash. | HipstaCat #3

    Hipstamatic. Penny Lens + Liberty Film

    Pro tip: be careful when driving (I’m not driving or I wouldn’t have taken this photo – I’ve seen too much and learned my lesson).

    I hope everyone is ok.

    Don’t crash! Be safe out there in this crazy world.

  • Fall Flowers 

    Fall Flowers 

    I love fall flowers…I love how they feel like summer’s last hoorah, or perhaps Mother Nature’s final gift before the long, cold winter…

    When the season of death is upon us, both literally and figuratively, in nature and in life, I think we are often give this gift but tend to take it for granted.

    I suppose that’s why I shoot so many details, and so many natural things…I wish to bring them back to the consciousness of those who live a sadder life because they’re forgotten them…or just become too complacent to see the gifts and the beaut that is always right before them.

    Enjoy these flowers, and have a blessed and beautiful day.

    *all images processed using Mextures

    2015-10-15_14448680282015-10-15_14448680122015-10-15_14448679922015-10-15_14448679712015-10-15_14448679542015-10-11_14445742372015-09-27_14433647082015-09-25_1443219447