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Want to contribute? Email us!Midnight Muse was created by Neebinnaukzhik Southall and Sarah Page.

All photographs and layout designs are from Sarah Page unless noted otherwise.

Who Are We?We are a small group of passionately

ambitious artists located in the

beautiful Willamette Valley! We are

awesome, and love other awesome

people. Like you! We want to become

a resource for artists of all creeds.

We are here to support, inspire, and

teach one another and everyone who

wishes to create. We represent visual,

literary, musical, theatrical artists

and everyone in between. We are a

network of infinite possibilities

of creation.

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Table of ContentsCover Art“Creationism” by Carrie Brandon

Who Are We?....................................................................................................2

Find Us!.............................................................................................................4

Artist Submissions Rinee Merritt, Wild and Domestic...................................................................................................................5

Amy Booker, Fly........................................................................................................................................................6

Samantha Hatfield, Langourous Ribbons......................................................................................................7

Alana Kenagy, Rulers Crossing.........................................................................................................................8

Nikki Brittain, Lush....................................................................................................................................................9

Nancy Jamieson, A Grandfather’s Collection.......................................................................................10

Frankie Olivo, Bullet for my Angel.............................................................................................................11

Kristin Hayes, Lady of the Deep...............................................................................................................12

Leah Palmer-Rye, Midnight Rose..............................................................................................................13

Christina Mason, If It’s Meant to Be (Easy)................................................................................................14

Brian Forrest, Abbey............................................................................................................................................15

Heidi Sterling, In Blue..........................................................................................................................................16

Laura Witham, Movement & Ruin...............................................................................................................18

Magdalen O’Reilly, Forever Avonlea............................................................................................................19

Conner Allen, Feel It All.................................................................................................................................20

Iris Benson, Dirty Words.......................................................................................................................................21

Davey Cadaver, Hornet Nest Headache...................................................................................................22

Paul Charron, Building in the Past..............................................................................................................23

Featured Artist: Carrie Brandon..................................................................24

Plus Size Fashion: The Naked Truth............................................................34

Ojibway Aesthetics........................................................................................38

The Evolution of Video Games as an Art Form.......................................40

Brittney West Exhibits her Chemotherapy Series....................................44

Sky Club Portland.........................................................................................45

ASCII and Art.................................................................................................46

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Wild and Domestic, Rinee MerrittPhotograh | Deanna Peters

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Fly, Amy BookerModel | Maile Hanani

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There is a place in the heart where only feelings reside. They are smooth fluidity, floating like silken ribbons throughout the languorous space.

Words are inadequate and clumsy, like huge concrete barricades, stalling and inhibiting.

But feeling is eminent; whether we choose the road or not. It can sometimes arrive unexpectedly, seemingly out of nowhere.

This metaphoric road is sometimes chosen for us. To illustrate, to expand, to guide. To teach.

Nearly everyone has been on an emotion-road at some point. It brings a depth of experience that cannot be explained entirely. I, am seemingly on that road. I

struggle, and I falter. I stare into spaces, and wonder about so many things.

The choices, the differences, the similarities, and the connections.

Life’s songs have been coming and flowing, and I am dancing . . . in the space that allows no words. It is somewhat uncomfortable for me. Words have been integral to my life since I can remember, much in the way music has been. Music however, was halted, but the words flow and surround, comforting me and allowing me to hide behind them when needed; allowing me to expose and share when it is time

. . .

The scientific Socratic method allows nothing for this type of situation to be analyzed and categorized. My scientific reliance allows impartiality, division, concrete evaluation of parts and taxonomic labeling. Carefully constructed analysis

that has divided and conquered; analysis which has led to logic and division.

My specialty, my training, my knowing, but moreover my heart, knows there are no rules.

In a feeling space, rules are a farce.

There is no analysis, no taxonomies, no categorizations which can be erected and placed. There are choices in life; the ribbonesque flow into and amongst us, interweaving time, and space, and heart. It is what makes us whole, it is what

completes Our circle. It is why we are human.

I sit and listen to the silence.

I sit, while the emotions flow and dance and remain.

I sit, and succumb.

I sit, and continue my silence as well.

Langourous Ribbonsby Samantha Hatfield

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Rulers Crossing, Alana Kenagy

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Lush, Nikki Brittain

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among her papa’s shellswere conch and nautiluswe used as phones to call the sea, specifically to speakto mermaids.

grains of sand got in our earsbut we could hear the gill soft-breaths of mermaids.

we asked ifthey would sing to uslike babies in a cradleshh-shh-shh was all they sang, our gently lullingmermaids.

we wanted songswith ocean notes, high &sweet and salty deepbut only sailors heard the ariasof mermaids.

dissatisfied with songlessness,mere breaking waves-on-sand,we shook our whooshing shell-phones,and thought we heard the slap, the thwack, the scale-finned tailsof mermaids.

our game was interrupted when her papa came and quick! we lay the shellsupon their shelf, nautilus and conch, as ifwe’d never called to mermaids.

A Grandfathers Collectionby Nancy Jamieson

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Bullet for my Angel, Frankie Olivo

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Lady of the Deep, Kristin HayesMake Up Artist | Kayleena CampbellModel | Candice Forsberg

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She appears suddenly in the darkness

Walking along the cobblestone path towards me as I sit under a maple tree

Leaves falling around me from the warm night wind.

Her heels echo as she steps down

The only sound in the black night that is quickly swallowed by shadows

As others toss in their sleep and children dream of fairies and magic.

She holds her head high, her back straight

A proud woman

Different from others in this sleepy town

Hair so dark it gleams in the moonlight.

Mysterious eyes full of broken dreams.

She looks like she is searching for something,

Perhaps a forgotten love or a place where she can finally call home.

She wears no color besides a one red rose tucked into her hair

A rose that gleams and sparkles with water

Glittering in the darkness

Something makes me want to take the flower

Feel the silky petals of the rose, caress it against my face and breathe it its sweet scent

Like this is the key to my salvation

Nothing has seemed more important than this strange woman

Like we have been searching for each other all along.

She is almost to me now,

Still walking in a slow pace, black dress sweeping around her making her look like she’s floating.

As she is about to pass me, she turns her head and looks me and I freeze

Her gaze pierces me, like she can see every dream and heartache I’ve ever had in my life

And my soul is like an open door to her.

Something in her gaze makes everything stop, where it’s just her and I and everything else blurs

I feel like this moment is what decides where I go in this life

And who I will be

She turns then, and melts in the inky blackness

Taking her star colored hair and proud figure

To where you just hear the echo of her heels fading like a memory

And I wonder if she was even there at all

Until I look down and look at a single red rose at my feet

Waiting for me in the golden leaves and starlight

Midnight Roseby Leah Palmer-Rye

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If It’s Meant to BeAn Original Song by Christina Mason

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Abbey, Brian Forrest

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This isn’t a getaway—it’s a getting to. A getting to the core, to lift the curtain, to

lift our eyes and voices, to be unashamed. You chose San Francisco because there is freedom here, an understanding that has deepened, that has been seasoned and intensified with the collective courage of those who have come here and dared to be themselves. This is part of why we are here—to be authentic, to be ourselves—to belong. But at first, we must find our way in. At first, we can only be two silent and small figures drifting through the sugar-encrusted hills that swell up and down the city, pregnant with life. The lace-mist floats in wisps over the rooftops and descends on our fingertips as we hold our hands out the car windows, caressing the face of the oceany night. We drive. Market Street. Lombard Street. The wide arc of the Embarcadero flowing underneath the steel thrust of the Bay Bridge. Back to Van Ness and into Little Saigon where the hotel waits—a Victorian-era building with marble and granite pillars. Our room is on the third floor. The street is old and dark. People mill around. A woman with drooping eyes and a hardened face asks us for money. We place our spare change in her dark, chapped hands and she smiles sadly and turns her eyes solemnly to the night. We look at each other wordlessly, a flicker of compassion and concern touching between us, and then we hoist our bags firmly on our shoulders and enter the hotel. The lobby is warm and smells of heated contentment. The walls are papered Victorian red—flowers, graceful swirling designs. A chandelier drips downward in a cascade of crystal droplets. I watch you write out all your information on a small 5 X 7 card—name, address, license plate number—and then hand the card to the clerk, a plump man with thinning hair, a dark moustache, and square, gold-framed glasses that slide down to the tip of his nose as he reviews what you have written.

Ah, ok, he says. Okey dokey, room number 32. He lifts a key from a set of golden hooks to his left. This is your key, he says. If you lose it, we

charge a $25 replacement fee. The key catches the low lamplight and for a moment, appears to glow like a firefly in your palm, and then your fingers curl around it, holding the light safely, and you turn to me and say, Stairs or elevator?

We take the stairs. Our breath, our footsteps, our words, echo in the antique enclosure, the hidden dimensions of a quiet building, and in the low, yellow lighting of the stairwell, your hair appears the colour of a faded memory, faded, but yet vivid, beautiful in its muted testimony to an altered perspective. When we have reached our floor, you pause at the top of the stairs, turn, and lower your eyes to me, smiling faintly, your silent smile, secret smile. You hungry? you ask. Because I could go for some pizza. I nod and say, That actually sounds really good right now. You nod back, and then we are walking down a red-carpeted hallway, glancing at door numbers etched into brass plates, finally seeing 32, a white door with a peephole like all the other doors, only this is our door—the first hotel door that has made my heart pound and my hands tremble---simple, white door, antique brass doorknob gleaming below a modern deadbolt---this door that creaks a little when you push it open to reveal the room—our room---blue carpeting, bay window facing the street, small bathroom with an old-fashioned freestanding porcelain sink and a clawfoot tub, a chest of drawers—white--a television set, a small round table, two wooden chairs---and one bed. We look at the bed quietly and my heart grows stronger, louder, in my ears. Is this---is this all right? I hear you asking as you set down your duffel bag onto the bed. I mean, if it’s not, I can ask for a different room, one with two beds…….No, I say quickly, no this is great. I smile and my cheeks turn to fire. One bed is great. I am shy, fiercely shy, all of a sudden. I fumble with my bag, smile again, clear my throat. But you won’t let me hide for long---even as I blush fire and avert my eyes, you are capturing me, pulling me out of the chaste comfort of innocence. You are taking my wrists and drawing me forward into a careful, thoughtful kiss that seems to me to move and express itself with a maturity beyond your years. I am soothed and pleasantly agitated all at once, my growing tenderness toward you steeped into

each deep drink of your mouth.

And then, as is true to your nature, you are drifting away, murmuring about pizza and hunger, and I am laughing quietly, knowingly, taking your hand, feeling the hot cushion of your palm in my palm, and then leading you back down the stairwell, white marble, glittering, and the city glittering, full, foreign, enticing, overwhelming. We take it all in, our eyes turned upwards to the tops of the buildings, or moving left and right, sweeping across the urban scenery, the night people, the cars, taxis, streetlights. We find a Pizza Hut two blocks down. Halfway there, you take my hand—our hands held in public for the first time ever. No one looks twice. Eyes are staring ahead, glazed, distracted, unseeing. We are the unseen tonight, and yet, I feel I am in the centre of everything, and only our story plays on the screen. The whole world has been condensed down to this street, this block, this patch of light shadowing over your calm face, your slight smile. Our story fills the city. Do they see?

Your grip on my hand tightens as a loud car passes by, and you switch sides with me—you on the outside now, me on the inside. You say, The man always walks on the street side. We look at each other and chuckle. When we are outside of Pizza Hut, I give you a meaningful look. And the man always opens the door, I remind you with an amused smile. Ah yes, indeed, you concur and reach over to pull open the smudged glass door for me. Thank you, I nod. People glance over. They must see this bursting, delirious feeling—they must sense it, feel it, like sun on their faces. I can hear the electric snapping of emotion, feel it tugging in my chest. It continues through every ordinary event—ordering a pizza, filling plastic cups with soda, pulling paper napkins from a dispenser. What a strange agony—this nearness, this yearning, this endless flow of sensation, heightened sensation. Everything you do, everything you say—a sensual build-up, a saturated colour. The dreamworld has flooded the real world—now the boundaries are buried under the streaming of desire. Now I am drowning willingly. Now I am in your underwater realm—all blue.

excerpt

In Blueby Heidi Sterling

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We eat our pizza—a medium half pepperoni, half olive and pineapple. We comment on the locked bathroom—a token required to use it---This you have seen in Boston, but in Arcata, there are not these public restrictions. Let the city boy show you the ways of the concrete jungle, you say proudly. But back on the street, I see the wonder and curiosity on your face, the wide-eyed look of newness rushing in. Everyone becomes a little kid again in novel situations, in unfamiliar surroundings. Everyone grows small beneath tall buildings, in the midst of a traffic rush, jostled by a stranger’s shoulders on a crowded street.

You point to the cable car tracks and say, Let’s ride one tomorrow. You want to? Yes. First thing. We return to the hotel, climb the steps again, enter the room quietly. I turn on a clock radio on the nightstand and a Smashing Pumpkins song is playing. “By Starlight.” You glance over, eyebrows raised. Everything you touch turns to romance, you comment playfully. We stand looking at one another from across the room. Without thinking, I reach over and turn off the bedside lamp, and the walls turn to hazy blue. Come here, I say. And you come. I lift your hands to my shoulders, and I put my hands on your waist, and in a low, shy voice, I say, I know this is cheesy, but……I say nothing more, my voice giving way to the careful movements of my body. Slight sway, soft sway. You follow along, a bemused look on your face. Rossetti, I don’t dance. Yes, you do. You are. You lower your chin and shake your head. I feel your body softening. I can’t believe I’m…..What are you doing to me….Leo? You draw in closer. Leo, you say. Your hands slide down my arms, move to my waist. We continue moving. I feel your mouth warm on my neck. I feel your kisses opening me so that it seems I become just the soft pulp of flowing life, rushing past your lips, offered to you to slake your thirst. There is no thinking, there is no doing, there is just instinct, the instinct and force of emotion. I see in colours—white, pearl white, your skin. All moonlight, all newborn, pale, smooth glass, untouched, clear. The blue of your eyes drift in the milky streams. Your fingers weave through my hair slowly, and from far away I hear you

saying my name again as I fall backwards onto the bed, taking you with me.

Outside people are laughing. Cars grow quieter, more distant. The curtains are drawn, crème panels, absorbing the diffused light of the city. The radio is humming low, something melancholy, something that sounds like a sigh, a yearning, something that trembles like my fingers as they touch your skin. Your shirt is on the floor, your chest above me, radiating. You are from the water, a silk creature, fashioned in a world unseen by human eyes. I am intimidated by you, your strength, your boldness. You look at me unwaveringly, studying me through your quiet lashes. Let me see you, you murmur. I am beneath you, holding my breath, face and chest flushed. I half-sit up, pull my shirt off, and lie back down, waiting. You breathe out slowly. You don’t have to say anything—I can see your eyes change—turn serious, contemplative, full of wanting. I shiver as you lower more of yourself onto me, as your hands caress my shoulders, my chest, as your lips touch to my skin. Now all the world is water and I am looking into my reflection—I am seeing my body move and join to another body, a mirror half---There is nothing in this world that is closer—nothing that can move into the blood as deeply as this. There is a knowing before the knowing---A familiarity, and yet a profound discovery—in the body that looks and responds as a mirror. There is a purity here, a natural privilege—the echo of myself in your frame—the expression of your body—male---reflected back to me---full of desire. There is no imbalance—we are on the same side of the scale. I kiss you, taste you, invite you, and nothing changes the reflection. Our hands caress, our skin heats---I close my eyes and feel all of myself drawn up into your mouth, like a thread through a needle, pulled through, stitched through. I hear your soft cries, your unsteady breath. I feel myself rising, rushing. Half-clothed, shoes still on, the rough friction of your jeans--still I feel you heating through. I find myself murmuring, then letting my voice break free—Your soft mouth is flowing to my lips, my chest, suckling me---I grow louder, and I am drowning again…….My breath is lost---then recaptured, sighing

your name. I feel you tremble as if in great pain. We are broken open, warm fountains, blood coursing through, soaked skin and hair. It is as if we have fallen from a great height, plunged into water, resurfacing, panting in our amazement as we come back to awareness—we are alive.

Your hot skin settles into me—you are draped over me, damp and supple, a tender mantle. I feel your hair warm and soft as fresh earth on my chest. We are both trembling. The night has retreated into the rolling waves of early morning and grey begins to touch the horizon. The radio is static, and the streets are muted. Your eyes are closed, your lashes dark. I fall in and out of sleep, sinking into the layers of your embrace, and I dream, but do not remember the dreams, only the feeling of them, like light—shapeless, but real.

In the morning I wake up, but my arms are empty, and the room is silent. I sit up and look around confusedly, still tasting you on my lips. Reece? And then I look down to the floor and see you curled up, half-covered with the comforter, your head supported by your duffel bag. I watch you for a few minutes, wondering why you left the bed—My heart sinks. Was this too much, too soon? I bite my lip and lie back down, my eyes to the ceiling. Too much, too soon, and I have frightened you away. I close my eyes to steady myself. This is what life is, isn’t it—beauty and pain. Accept it. Accept. I keep my eyes closed. My chest burns. I hear you stirring, rising, breathing in. I feel you waiting. Come to me….I chant this in my head. Please, come to me. Drowning again. Drowning in your blue. I will not open my eyes until I know for sure that you will stay away, or until I feel you touch my body. What will it be…..You move and the comforter rustles like an ocean wave slipping away from the shore. The sun comes through the window and through my eyelids…..I feel you standing…..I pretend I am still sleeping even as all my nerves are raging, waiting. Did I do wrong? Did you feel me last night, did you feel the desire? Just one caress, and I will know…..Just one word and I will know……

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Lightning struck the fallenphoenix’s umbrella. The bird flewinto a spider’s web and pluckeda turkey’s tail as a fishnet dream-catcher caught hold of the vision

instead of waiting for a rise.

Movement & Ruinby Laura Witham

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Forever Avonlea, Magdalen O’Reilly

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I Feel it All, Conner AllenModel | Alaska Bruneau

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A plow horsegoes west

in one long furrow.

Fingers fallow behind,stitch and sow seeds,

open buttonson a dirty cotton dress,

let the heat outswaddle a baby

to nursegrain sprouts -

Bred to work, hair short,

in overalls, not menbut girls, hidden until

their breasts growlike seeds in dirt.

Neon stems and rootscut by silica in soil,

grow tall under a sighand reach the nakedsides of salted men.

Sweat drips into doughto make bread

without yeast. Women kneadmuscles at night

and drink keroseneto feel the light,

catch TB, coughcoal into diamonds,

a tool to carvedirty wordslike work.

Dirty Wordsby Iris Benson

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Hornet Nest Headache, Davey Cadaver

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J’ville Oregon (left) and Bannack Montana (right), Paul Charron

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CarrieBrandonIssue 4 Featured Artist

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CarrieBrandonm

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q&a

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Q: Carrie...first off...WHO ARE YOU?

A: I am a freelance illustrator and concept artist. A lover of Doctor Who and devourer of epic fantasy novels. My friends often tell me I’m either laughing or smiling constantly. I try not to take things too serious and enjoy life, and I hope that attitude comes a cross in some of my art.

Q: You are insanely talented and you are still so young. How long have you been drawing? Did you/are you going to school for art or is your art education in your own hands?

A: First off, thank you so much! I think like a lot of artists out there I tend to be my harshest critic when it comes to my artwork, so I really appreciate your kind comments. I started out doing little doodles when I was around twelve years old after catching an episode of Sailor Moon one morning. For some reason a gang of magical girls fighting monsters got me inspired to draw. I still have some of those abominations in an old sketchbook to remind myself how far I’ve come.

In high school I decided to get really serious about my art, and I haven’t let up since then. I am for the most part self taught. I was lucky enough to take Drawing I at OSU back in 2009, but due to some family issues I ended up leaving school. Since then I’ve been studying on my own like crazy, in the hope that I’ll blow all my professors away when I get to attend class again. Just recently I decided to take the Figure Painting and Drawing class at LBCC. It’s really great for my improvement getting to work with a live model once a week.

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Q: From talking to you previously and just by browsing your Deviant Art, I can see how dedicated you are. How much time do you spend studying and refining your artistic skills?

A: I spend a lot of my free time studying the fundamentals of art. Art is one of those

subjects where you get as much out of it as you put in. I realized early on that I’m

not going to become the next Caravaggio by sitting on my bum so when I feel like

I’m lacking in an area, such as perspective or anatomy, I study it for hours upon

hours. The Corvallis library has several books I’ve found to be insanely helpful. I

also heavily rely on whatever materials I can find online to teach me what I’m not

getting. Once you’ve studied, things will start clicking in your mind and that’s when I

start sketching. Sooner or later it’ll all click on paper too and that’s when I move on to

the next subject that I’m terrible at. The entire process can honestly take months, so

it’s important to just keep trucking at it and not get discouraged at lack of progress.

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Q: You mentioned being part of an online community of artists before. Care to share with us how that sort of environment has impacted your growth as an aspiring artist?

A: I was a part of Sketchpad.tv. It was a streaming

website where several artists from all over the world,

and all different levels of skill and style participated.

It was honestly an extremely huge impact on my

improvement. Not only was it really exciting getting

to stream my drawings for art lovers everywhere, but

it was a huge source of constructive criticism for me.

With people watching me draw in real time, they were

able to spot any mistakes that I hadn’t noticed yet and

point them out to me, allowing me to work so much

faster. Also, when another artist would stream I could

tune in to watch and observe their unique techniques

and see how they handled those tough subjects to

draw that I hadn’t quite grasped yet. Unfortunately

Sketchpad.tv lost it’s website programmer, so it’s now

in internet limbo.

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Q: What are your long term goals as an artist?

A: To conquer the world! I want to do a bit

of everything, honestly. One of my biggest

dreams has been to just do some concept

work for a video game someday. I already take

commissions, and I hope that I’ll be able to

continue doing that until the day I die. I love

doing artwork for people who appreciate it.

Currently I’m working on producing a Graphic

Novel with a friend who is a writer. So another

dream of mine would be to finish it and

have it sell well. Other than that I’m looking

towards possibly teaching art as a long term

stable profession.

Q: Who is Lola?

A: I get this question often by people offline,

and it’s one I love answering. Lola is a very

important character who serves a variety of

purposes for me. I first created her when I was

around 17 or so. I wanted to draw someone,

but kept coming up to that block “Well who

do I draw?”. And so I created Lola. Someone I

could fall back on to draw when I just wanted

to draw for the pure pleasure of it. I poured

all of the personal and physical traits I admire

into her design. All those things I secretly

wanted to be, but never would. She was a

teenage outlet for me. As I’ve gotten older

she is now a very good reference for when

I want to see how far I’ve improved, drawing

her throughout the years has shown me how

far I’ve come and keeps me inspired in my

progress.

These days Lola is even more than that, as

I’ve passed her on to my best friend Nicholas

Browning, who is an extremely talented

writer. I gave him the basics of Lola, and asked

him to tell a smart part of her story. What we

have now is one amazing epic fantasy trilogy

that he’s writing, which is what I’m using as

the basis of my graphic novel. He’s already

finished the first book, and words cannot

describe how excited I am to share Lola with

the world under a new medium.

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Q: What are your preferred tools (for digital and traditional mediums)

A: While I’ll doodle with anything I can get my hands on, I use mostly oil paints and my

digital drawing tablet. With the oils I use a lot of pallet knives and cheap brushes and

paints. Since I tend to do my study paintings in traditional oil, I really don’t go all out when

it comes to using quality products since I’m pretty cheap. With the digital art I do I’ve been

using the same Wacom Intuos 3 drawing tablet for the past six or so years now. Currently

I’m using Photoshop CS5 as my painting program of choice. I think it’s really important

to become familiar with both traditional and digital art. The skills you learn from each

medium really support and synergize with each other.

Q: Where can people see more of your work? Buy prints/originals? Commission artwork?

(links, links, links!)

A: I try to keep my decent art on my DA portfolio http://carrieli.daportfolio.com/, with

everything else being posted to http://carrieli.deviantart.com/ and once in a blue moon to

my Tumblr at http://www.tumblr.com/blog/studiotuba.

Q: Is there anything specific you want your fans to know that I didn’t ask? Go for it here!

A: I’d like to say thank you so much anyone reading this or looking at my images in

Midnight Muse or anywhere else for that matter. I really appreciate all the support I get

from everyone. It honestly keeps me going and striving to get better. For those of you

interested in art or just getting started who feel like they’re lost, never give up! So many

people have told me they want to start painting, but they’re too old to start or they don’t

feel “talented” enough. I say poop to that! It’s never ever too late! I don’t believe in things

like talent being needed to be an artist. All you need is a passion and the willpower to

commit your time to the practice and I believe anyone can draw well.

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P lus size fashionauthor and Model | Keri atKins

PhotograPhy | liang liang of lsquare Production

Jewelry | calyPso art

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I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t

a big girl. If you wish for me to be brutally

honest; yes, I am fat and have been pretty much

all of my life. In part, due to poor choices; but also,

due to medication side affects. Perhaps it doesn’t

help that I stand at five foot nine inches, and have

excellent ‘birthing hips’. Regardless, I am a big

girl, living in a time where ‘thin is in’. Despite an

incredible movement that grows every day, many

fashion designers and media outlets ostracise a

large group of people that I am apart of.

Perhaps it is my stubbornness, or perhaps I am

doing this all for my need to be apart of a creative

team. None the less, I got into the fashion industry

and now work as a plus model and fashion stylist.

Yes, me: a girl who was always teased about her

size and bullied much of her childhood. Most of

my life I wore jeans and over-sized sweatshirts,

sneakers and my hair pulled up in a pony-tail.

Though, admittedly, even during these many,

many years of awkwardness, I would take time to

apply makeup and wear fashion accessories. That

was the one place in fashion I felt accepted: no

matter my size. I could fit into designer jewelry, I

could use their purses, I could fit into their shoes.

How can there be any doubt, that all women

and men, regardless of size, wish to wear fashion

that appeals to them? We all wish to wear our

favorite designers...we all wish to be able to try on

looks we saw and was inspired to try ourselves.

Fashion is simply the art we live our lives in. It’s

self expression quite literally worn on our sleeves.

Fashion is creativity we offer to the world, allowing

it to see a small portion of who we are. No matter

your age or size, this is a truth. No matter how little

you yourself actually take notice of fashion, it is,

none the less, a major part of your life. Yet for many

of us, finding clothing we wish to wear is hard to do.

The plus fashion industry has grown leaps and

bounds, but there are still many designers that

refuse to go above a size 8 or 10 in their sizes.

When you look at the history of fashion, you start

to see why. In the 1950’s, fashion mannequins had

the same hip measurement the average woman

had: 34 inches. By the 1990’s, the national average

hip measurement was 37 inches, however fashion

used mannequins with a 31 inch hip. America

grew by 3 inches, while the fashion industry

shrunk by 3 inches. Once, fashion marketed to

the average woman. Now, we have 6 inches

separating the average woman, and the sample

sizes fashion uses on their models. Sadly, the plus

fashion industry itself is falling into the same bad

habits ‘mainstream’ fashion has. Ten years ago, the

average plus models wore a size 14 through a size

18/20. There was diversity in plus models, meaning

diversity in marketing. Today, however, plus model

agencies ask for size 8 -14 models. Yes, you read it

correctly: size 8 is now called ‘plus size’ in fashion.

If you are a big girl like me—who wears a size 20—

you realize there are far more companies against

you then they are for you. What’s worst is being a

big girl working in the very industry that is trying

to ignore you. But perhaps I am looking at this the

wrong way. Perhaps these companies that refuse

to market to me, companies that obviously

do not want my money, must have

a secret desire. If they are not

willing to sell me clothing,

perhaps they wish for

me not to wear

clothing? Perhaps,

they wish for

accessories to

be the only

fashion on

my body?

thenakedtruthpushing the plus away.

Keri

won

‘Best

Model

Plus’ at

Portlands

1st Annual

Fashion &

Style Awards

!

Photographer | Robert Domondon

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not willingto sell me clothingperhaps they wish for me not to wear clothing? Perhaps, they wish for accessories to be the only fashion on my body?

if they are

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OjibwayAs I’ve been lately exploring the art of my

people, the Ojibway, I’ve become aware

of the substantial influence that European

culture has had on the evolution of

Native aesthetics, particularly as a result

of the souvenir industry. How might this

play out in Ojibway art particularly? In

finding an answer to this question, one

might begin by identifying and exploring

the reoccurring motifs and symbols that

typify the art.

Floral iconography became a dominant

feature of Ojibway art production, as well

as Northeastern Native art in general,

following the War of 1812. This new motif

replaced traditional geometric motifs

and depictions of the Thunderbirds

and Misshipeshus (water panthers), two

diametrically opposed and important

figures in Ojibway mythology. A

possible explanation for this shift

was the pervasive influence

of Victorian culture which

emphasized naturalism,

especially flowers

as a supremely

b e a u t i f u l

product of

n a t u r e .

In this

time period, floral motifs were not seen

the way they might be now by some,

bereft of meaning and generic, but as

the cultural apex of aesthetic sensibility.

This led me to believe that the post

19th century Ojibway aesthetic, then,

was influenced by a needed generation

of supply for a particular Victorian

demand. This was confirmed to me by

an awesome book, Trading Identities

by Ruth B. Phillips, which stated that

Native groups developed

s o p h i s t i c a t e d

n e t w o r k s

t h r o u g h

which

t o

deliver and sell products to nineteenth

century tourists seeking connections to

that authentic, natural way of life that had

vanished in the wake of industrialized

European society.

Many negative aspects of this

phenomenon became apparent as I

read more. Victorian culture viewed the

replacement of traditional design with

floral patterns as evidence of cultural

Upper and Lower Worlds, Norval_Morrisseau

38 |

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Aestheticsprogression. To the “enlightened”

minds of many Victorians, it was a

sign that the Natives were accepting

civilization. In this regard, echoing

the same creed of cultural superiority,

religious aspects of oppression had also

caused much of the Ojibway

mythos to be downplayed

in representation, as many

European pre-contact

spiritual motifs were decried

as “pagan” and

subsequently suppressed in boarding

schools, missions, and the like.

Interestingly, however, indigenous values

and beliefs saw continued expression

even through this shift. Though flowers

themselves are not centrally important

in Indigenous cosmology, oral tradition

stressed plant life as irrevocably important

as it transforms the energy of the great

manitou, the sun, into sustenance for

animals and humans. Plants also play

a prominent role as

m e d i c i n e s

and in

m a n y

ceremonies related to changes of

seasons and renewal. In this regard,

the shift from traditional motifs to floral

patterns allowed Ojibway people to

continue expression of their Indigenous

beliefs and values while creating new

art and securing a means of economic

subsistence.

For those interested in further exploration

of Ojibway art, I recommend the art of

Norval Morrisseau, also known as Copper

Thunderbird, as a subject of study. This

talented painter and medicine man, born

in 1932, founded the Woodland school of

native art, which controversially utilized

and shared many Ojibway cultural

concepts. Though met with resistance

and accused of violating tribal taboos

by sharing his knowledge of

Ojibway culture and myth,

Copper Thunderbird inspired

many other Native artists

and was himself known

as “the Picasso of the

North.”

Thunderbird Icon, Neebinnaukzhik Southall

Medicine Being from Sacred Fish Stomach, Norval Morrisseau

Written by Joel Southall

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asanART FORM

g o d o f w a r 3

theevolutionofvideogamesThe Corvallis Advocate Presents

Written by Sean Bassinger

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If you’re a fan of video games, chances are the name Roger Ebert represents more than movie culture. In 2010, Ebert made a

blog post stating that video games “can never

be art,” a continuation of statements he

made years before.

Since voicing his opinion, discussions followed

– most of which were intelligent retorts

and evidence claiming why he was wrong

– regarding the topic of video games as art.

Eventually, Ebert conceded and applauded

those who disagreed, stating “I should not

have written that entry without being more

familiar with the actual experience of video

games.”

So are video games truly art? Since these

games house an array of fascinating visuals,

musical and storytelling, most gamers and

developers say “yes.” Meanwhile, others

consider them nothing more than mind-

numbing entertainment with no further

purpose. The reality, however, is that the

question itself is very broad; both answers are

correct since not all video games are art.

The primary definition of art begins with “The

expression or application of human creative

skill and imagination.” The continuing

definition states how most art forms typically

exist to be intentionally moving. Key word,

though, “typically.” Video games aren’t

your typical medium, and the fact that any

game could move someone emotionally --

especially through use of captivating visuals

-- proves that video games qualify as art. And

if we look back through the years, it’s quite

evident that games represent art both visually

and in other ways.

The beginning bitsRalph Baer’s Magnavox Odyssey, the world’s

first interactive television game, entered stores

in 1972. Though technically a “video game

system,” the Odyssey was mostly a glorified

electronic toy. There were interchangeable

chips with different data arrangements, but

the actual televised graphics consisted of the

same series of white dots. The unit also came

with colored TV overlays to make up for the

lack of visuals. For instance, Odyssey Tennis

required that consumers paste a graphic

designed as a tennis field on their television.

Scores were also kept manually, using nothing

more than a regular scorebook to help players

keep track of the winner.

Visually, the Odyssey presented very little.

Baer’s creation was far from art, as most of

the console’s creation involved programming

the behavior of on-screen dots, and there

wasn’t much emotion or intentional design

involved. However, it’s still representative of a

pre-evolved art form, given that Baer worked

with what he had in order to recreate certain

games for the television. After all, the same

can be said about a toddler who, for the first

time, finds a purple crayon next to a blue pen

and decides to recreate a sunset. Does the

purple squiggle look anything like our sun? Of

course not, but this is still the beginning of a

very important artistic process. The child can’t

accurately recreate visuals right now, but

eventually they’ll craft masterpieces featured

in galleries and exhibits; the same can be said

about video games as a whole, only the pen

and paper are code and computers.

Like a child discovering their talent as

they experiment, video games developed

throughout the 70s and 80s. Pixels and

bits started resembling real objects, and

sound chips were improved to output more

detailed effects to complement these visual

presentations. These games were simply

entertainment, but certain patterns eventually

formed that changed the medium forever.

Evolving into art As time passed, developers acquired more

resources; video games involved less

imagination and more representative visuals.

Compelling characters and captivating

storylines appeared, making video games less

about entertainment for the moment and

more about lasting experiences.

One pioneer of storytelling in video games

was Nintendo’s Shigeru Miyamoto, who

worked on games like Super Mario Bros.

and the arcade hit Donkey Kong. Though

these games seemed rather simplistic on the

outside, they were actually quite innovative

for their time. Miyamoto never made a

game without offering a story on the side.

Some stories, like The Legend of Zelda, were

visually inspired by Miyamoto’s childhood

experiences.

Before Miyamoto, video games rarely

highlighted stories outside of the instruction

manual. Sure, all games had backstories (as

everything usually does), but actual events

were never portrayed through the player’s

progression. In the arcade hit Donkey Kong,

you actually rescue Pauline at the end of

certain levels. In Super Mario Bros. and Zelda,

you eventually reach the princess, therefore

fulfilling your quest. Most video games before

this simply involved “make the number higher

until you get bored or die.”

As storytelling evolved in games, other design

concepts followed. Games like Final Fantasy

needed stunning worlds, lovable characters

“M o s t v i d e o g a M e s b e f o r e t h i s s i M P l y i n v o l v e d

“ M a K e t h e n u M b e r h i g h e r u n t i l y o u g e t b o r e d

o r d i e . ”

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1

“

f i n a l f a n t a s y X i i i

g a M e s l i K e f i n a l f a n t a s y n e e d e d

s t u n n i n g w o r l d s , l o v a b l e c h a r a c t e r s

w i t h c o n f l i c t , a n d s c a r y c r e a t u r e s

i n f l i c t i n g s a i d c o n f l i c t .

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with conflict, and scary creatures inflicting

said conflict. Spiritual sequels in the Super

Mario and Zelda series became more detailed

and complex. More than ever before, players

had reasons to jump in and save the world,

while also being moved by different animated

sprites, sounds and story sequences designed

to capture the hearts of millions.

Creating worlds & moving audiencesMore years passed, and two-dimensional

graphics were replaced with entire three-

dimensional realms in the late 90s and early

2000s. But as we approached the modern age

of gaming, 2D graphics returned in the form

of portable and independently developed

games. Often described as “Metroidvania”

titles, many of these games honor the

general aesthetic and exploration mechanics

of popular franchises like Metroid and

Castlevania. For many players, these games

offer trips back to childhood, where beautiful

colors – often representing certain moods

or settings in virtual worlds -- presented

themselves on the screen.

It took much time and debate, but many current

video games are works of art in themselves. In

Bioshock, you wander around a beautiful but

structurally degraded underwater city while

discovering what lead to the community’s

downfall. In the Mass Effect series, you

assume the role of Commander Shepard

as you traverse the known galaxy and push

against the assumed Reaper threat. Games

like Skyrim: The Elder Scrolls V let players

roam an entire countryside, day or night,

and encounter everything from breathtaking

medieval cityscapes to gargantuan dragons.

Even independent developers like the studio

Playdead (the creators of Limbo) craft

adventures with purposes beyond those of

conventional gaming. With its shadowed

backgrounds and breathtaking environmental

shading, Limbo is a visually unique experience

that continues to move new players.

As a whole, video games are just now breaking

through as a recognized vehicle for visual

art. In-game graphics and character models

utilize the very elements of art within their

creation, and assure players experience more

of an emotional takeaway than ever before.

Since it’s still such a young medium, critics

will continue devaluing the purpose of video

games beyond entertainment. Regardless,

it doesn’t change the fact that video games

convey visual art, and in many cases, are art.

A collaborative effort between The Corvallis Advocate, The Commuters Editor-in-Chief Sean Bassinger, and Midnight Muse. Thanks to everyone

involved for this phenominal contribution!

presented by

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3

Many of us are close to someone

who has battled cancer, or perhaps

may have suffered with it ourselves.

Although I witnessed my own mother

slowly succumb, I can only imagine

what it must have been like for her, and

others, to be diagnosed with terminal

cancer. Her balding visage is a symbol of

courage for me, extending far beyond the

effects of this illness to a confrontation

of fear itself and the enlightenment that

follows.

Rather than a story about conquering

cancer and loss, this collection of work

titled “Chemotherapy Series”, addresses

acceptance and living life more fully

through facing fears. Human fears are

many, can be paralyzing and restrict

us from living freely. I have included

figurative paintings and drawings

of women specifically experiencing

hair loss due to chemotherapy. With

recurring images of these women during

a vulnerable and distressing transition, I

seek to illuminate their beauty in such

a raw state, displaying their resilience

through trying times and capture a

moment of profound understanding.

Art is a visual language through which

I seek to communicate the interplay

between vulnerabilities and acceptance.

The body of my work primarily consists

of figure studies through a variety

of mixed media –predominately oil

paint, charcoal and pastel. Within my

art I explore multiple interpretations

of my subjects— both psychological

and physical— taking the figure out of

their realistic environment and creating

a space to exist in that reflects and

abstracts the beautiful subconscious.

I was born in Eugene and earned a

Bachelor of Art at the University of

Oregon. With the desire to explore

unfamiliar ground, I moved to Corvallis

where I set up my art studio downtown.

A wide variety of my work can be found

on Facebook at “Brittney West’s Art” and

in my shop at Etsy.com. Ultimately, my

goal as an artist is to be involved with

organizations and events devoted to

helping others. If I can be of help

by donating art to an organization

or cause, or if you would like a

commissioned piece of art, I can be

contacted at burnywest@yahoo.com.

Brittney WestBrittney’s Chemotherapy Series has several

exhibitions coming up. Be sure to stop by &

check them out in person!

Dec. 4th – Jan. 5th The Arts Center’s Corrine Woodman Gallery

January 5th – 31st Corvallis Chamber Coalition

February 1st – 28th Benton Hospice Service

March 1st – 31st Samaritan Regional Cancer Center

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Walking into Sky Club Portland, or as I like to call it Skybar, was

curious. A lightly illuminated room with a stage in the corner

and silk hanging from above. My mind wondered what lie ahead

for the evening.

Lauren Lee started the show off smoothly trapeezing to “Girls

Just Want to Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. It was nothing like I

was expecting and exciting and I suddenly knew I was in for a

treat. Soon a singer, commanding the room with her beautiful

voice, interacted with patrons making fun gestures to match her

song...I was thrilled, and okay, perhaps a little turned on as well.

But really, what a show! Silk dancers sailed and climbed as easily

and gracefully as if they could fly. Pole dancing that was fun with

a sing-a-long song.

I was in awe and felt like a kid at the circus. Skybar was a night I

won’t forget and a venue I can’t wait to return to.

If you want to learn more about Sky Club Portland—and trust

me, you do—head over to their website at skyclubpdx.com for a

list of their events. Or next time you make a pit stop to Voodoo

donuts pop your head in and say hello! You might be in for a

surprise.

Sky Club PortlandWritten by Daniel Page

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While computerized art is certainly not a new

concept, it is generally considered to be much

more firmly rooted in the realm of graphic de-

sign as opposed to fine art. While this may be

true by statistic, there are often overlooked

venues in which digital artists have truly bro-

ken new ground in ways that have yet to be

fully appreciated or even understood. One

such example is the computer world’s adap-

tation of text art—most notably utilizing the

ASCII character sets that were first defined in

the earlist days of modern computing.

A very long (and interesting!) history

made reasonably short, ASCII characters

(resembling the English alphabet along with

numbers and other symbols) quickly found

structural use on older machines that were

short on graphics capability. In the place

of lines and shapes, these characters were

used to add graphical elements to text-only

documents for the purpose of organization

and presentation. There is more to it than that,

of course, but what shouldn’t be surprising

is that this concept was quickly taken much

further by artists and scientists alike -- such

as the famed photomosaics of Ken Knowlton

and Leon Harmon (which were more of a

precursor to ASCII, but that’s besides the point

for now).

As time passed and computers became more

common, dialup bulletin board systems

emerged (and later the Internet). As a result,

this art form found cult status amongst

computer programmers, hackers, e-zine

writers and software pirates as a way to add

graphical elements to universal text files so

that the images could not only be displayed

on nearly any machine, but any machine from

any era. Character set art crews emerged,

including the likes of ACiD and iCE. Literally,

this form of text art became (and remains) the

graffiti of the web. If you had a computer, you

could do it. End users claimed this as their

own and soon thereafter came the inevitable

emergence of specialized software, such as

AcidDraw.

Over the years such an incredibly diverse pool

of this type of art was created in an equally

diverse set of approaches. Take a look at Mr.

Knowlton’s “Studies in Perception I” then find

something belonging to Normand Veilleux.

Next, look up some SAC (an underground

text art group) logo work. I see no less

diversity here than when viewing the various

movements that painting has seen over the

course of hundreds of years. The platform

is compact and vast. Various character sets.

Color. Fixed width and variable width fonts.

Tools as different as a text editors alongside

specialized software. Imagine now post-

creation edits being done in high end

graphics software like GiMP and Photoshop.

Animations. Comics built on these building

blocks that could be considered fine art just

for existing or being used in this fashion.

And all within the confines of images being

drawn with keyboards rather than pencils,

paintbrushes or even computer mice.

What intrigues me the most is that we’re not

even scratching the surface of what this form

of art is capable of. The underground status

that has persisted has left an immense amount

of unexplored territory. Human beings are

explorers. We expand into any habitable space

– and create that space out of thin air when

our imaginations merge successfully with our

knowhow. ASCII art is just one great example

of where we can choose to go artistically

from here on out.

¦\¯¯``¯;\\ ____ ’¦;\_, ',\¯`' ¯`'\\' ’¦:;¦¦¯` .:;'¦'\ ',\ ''\;/ .:;'/_;\, ,\ ;/_____/ ¯¯'¦; ;¦';'¦¦¯`'¯`'¦¦ .:;/____;/¦';¦: ';¦ .:;'¦¦¯`'¯`'¦¦;'¦;'¦L_ .'¦¯¯;¦; ;¦;¦ ’ ¯¯ .:;¦L_ .:;'¦/ ¯¯ '’

:;//¯`’¯`’;\¦’¯`’¯`’¯\\_ ’ ;¦; - ‘ - ‘;’¦\___’__’/¦¯ ;¦\_____¯¯¯’¯¯¯¯\ ;//¯`’¯`’’,\;\ - ‘ - ‘;’\ ¦\__’_;¦;\___’___’_;/¦ ¦;¦¦¯’¯’¦¦:;¦¦¯`’¯`’¯`’¯¦¦;¦ ¦;¦; .:;¦:;¦; ;¦;¦ ‘\¦L_.:;¦;\¦L_ .:;¦/

;//¯`’¯¯’/\¯`’¯`’¯\ ¦;_’ .:¦ ;¦____;¦ ¦\¯` ;’\; .:;¦¯`¯’¯¦ ¦;\ .:;’\’:;’/ .:;:;/¦’¦:;’\_____\/____/;’¦‘\ :;¦¦¯`’¯`’¯`’¯¯¯;¦:;¦:;\:;¦; ‘;¦;’/ :;\¦L_ . ;¦/ ‘ ¯¯¯¯¯¯’ ‘

¦\\¯`¯’¯’\\ ¦:;\’,_, .:;\; ¦ .:;\\¯` .:;’\ ‘\ .:;’¦; ‘;¦ .:;\;/_____/¦’ .:;¦¦¯`’¯¯`’’¦;¦ .:;’¦; ’’;¦;¦ .:;’¦L_ .:;;¦/’ ¯¯¯ ’

¦\\¯`¯’¯’\\ ¦:;\’,_, .:;\; ¦ .:;\\¯` .:;’\ ‘\ .:;’¦; ‘;¦ .:;\;/_____/¦’ .:;¦¦¯`’¯¯`’’¦;¦ .:;’¦; ’’;¦;¦ .:;’¦L_ .:;;¦/’ ¯¯¯ ’

Art and Words by Johnny Beaver

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www.midnightmusemag.com/submissions

Cover Artwork by Featured Artist Carrie Brandon