18 October 2016

things you would do for your art journal

Last year in December, I started taking my art journaling very seriously. And in the next few weeks, it turned into a crazy obsession/habit/my magical power. Imagine putting together trash and making it look like art - things I initially put in my art journals were wrappers, bill receipts, bank slips, old newspaper, pages from books I wanted to burn, gift paper nobody wanted to use, paint cards I found in my nanna's cupboard etc.

And here we are today, after almost a year with god knows how many pages done, I've become a 200% art journal person with more journals than I can handle. When I first started doing it, I thought I was the worst and my art journals were trash. It still might be the case but I'm actually very happy with how this whole art journaling thing has turned out, along with my little #ohjournaletc project.

And just a few days ago, I did something I'm quite proud of?!?!?! I went out, found a printing shop and got some pictures printed of all the stars I'm utterly obsessed with. Presenting my obsessions in printing form, the paper versions of Matty, Zayn, Lorde and young Johnny Depp (with killer cheekbones fyi) 

I knew it was going to be hella awkward, going to a printing shop to get all these faces (also tattoos) printed. I was secretly hoping that the person printing them wouldn't judge me for my choices in men?!!?!  I also hoped that the printing guy didn't know any of them, for Matty is a self-claimed emo lord with a broken mind and zayn is a moody bastard and johnny is 50+ now and lorde is considered satanic and that makes my position even more awkward. But I had to do it, I had to do it for my art journal because I was running out of inspiration and ideas and my mind was filling up with new things to fangirl every new day. So I decided to mix these two tragedies together. What's bad for your mind is probably v good for your art journal.

So I did it. I got them printed and they'll soon be in my art journal (I HAVE STARTED ALREADY)

My insane, blue boy Matty

The graceful/graceless Zayn 

My most favorite Johnny/Winona picture together // Matty in a bow tie was a rare/cute moment

Bloody Matty when punched in Somebody Else's video // Matty being himself



post signature

14 October 2016

for the youth

 Youth is a goddamn magical thing. You feel like you can manipulate time, misguide your acne, trick your sleep, cut your hair and everything will be alright. And being a young person in 2016 is a personal hell sometimes, people expect you to change the world. My world, your world, our world. They'd write speeches about us, how the youth of the country is going to build the future how youth is going to fight the evil how youth is going to clean the mess you started. Everything glorious. The youth in government paid ads on tv is shiny, with perfectly combed hair and perfect clothes on, reading history books even though they might feel disgusted inside about the screwed up history we have.

But what happens to the youth that doesn't want to change your world or fight the evil. The youth with broken minds or broken homes or not-perfect smiles are still there, sometimes claiming the spaces around. I can see them, all of them. Some of them carrying their existence and their hair gracelessly.The sun doesn't shine inside their heads. The stars don't walk on their skins. They're not a goddamn sky. They're humans. Tired struggling humans with a mind full of imagination. Their skins tattooed with the maps of the cities they have to go and see one day. They're not inventing things to save the country but to save themselves and others like them. My young insane artists of the future, the future we are not sure about.

And this is the type of youth I want to talk about, I want to write more about them, maybe because I don't even know which side I am from and I need to clarify that to myself. Am I the trash trash trash art kid or the graceful worried young artist? Or maybe a hybrid of them? Maybe this isn't something for me or anyone to decide, you just fall into a category without knowing or mix into both of them  silently.

I really really really want to read more books about young adults that are not in love but making art and trying to be visible. It's a whole new world for me, trying to see the youth from another perspective I never knew was possible for me. It's just a start of another journey I have no bloody idea about, I am just on it with all of my willingness. Not that I don't want to save this world but I have some other things to take care of first.

For the youth I can see blooming in the weirdest possible ways.

post signature

5 October 2016

#OhJournalEtc - October

I've been thinking a lot about time. Time is not a horrible thing but it doesn't walk gracefully. It stumbles, takes wrong turns and slips like a lost drunk. And you have to be the person to handle it, reach it before it would slip down and take you with it. 
-note to myself
September was a terrible mixture of emotions. For one moment, I was the most content person on Earth and the next moment I was hurting myself with the thoughts of all possible things that can ruin my life at some point. I was a pudding of emotions. I created a lot of art, wrote a few short stories I don't know what to do with them, got some bomb dot com emails that might are going to change my life completely (I can't wait to tell you guys about it but gotta wait, DAMN) and took first steps to be a slightly better person. I'm a work in progress.
And here we are, already entered October. Let's romanticize fall. Also, prepare your art journals because October's #OhJournalEtc prompts are here -

Week 1 - living in ruins of a palace within my dreams 
(Lyric from Lorde's song Team, this lyric perfectly captures the imagination of youth of our generation and can be the perfect fit for your art cravings)

Week 2 - Sound
(Can be a song, poem, playlist etc - sound of your choice)

Week 3 - Secret
(DON'T KEEP IT A SECRET, TURN IT INTO ART. Do it for your art journal)

Week 4 - Light
(I've always seen light as a medium of hope. Lights will guide you home. Make something that reflects your hope and how you see light)
And for September's #OhJournalEtc, here's a throwback.
A photo posted by Areeba Siddique (@ohareeba) on

A photo posted by Areeba Siddique (@ohareeba) on

Current Emotional State
A photo posted by Areeba Siddique (@ohareeba) on
Use these prompts when you are art journalling and tag them wth #OhJournalEtc on instagram so that I can see your entries. Trust me it brightens up my day to see your amazing art journals.
I'd say it again, art journalling is more therapeutic than a contest of keeping the most beautiful journal. Do it for yourself, do it for your sanity, do it because you want to do it. 
Hoping to see your entries this October!

post signature

29 September 2016

dream: same faced art thieves

I was once a collector of dreams. I watched them play in front of my eyes, woke up and wrote them down in my dream journal which I kept beside my bed so they wouldn’t flee away from me. My precious little dreams. It was weird and wonderful at the same time to read about where my mind and soul went and what they saw while I slept and was scientifically half dead. Sometimes I remembered all the details, sometimes I lost them. But then, one day, my metaphorical dreams took over my mind and heart and everything that was left of me. I wanted to be so many things. I had to work on dreams I made in my head. So I started skipping my good night sleep. I still do that, sometimes, I don’t want to sleep when I’m creative or terribly worried. My dreams stopped coming to me. Or they stopped staying.

But last week, a dream rebelled. It tiptoed to me and it stayed. It’s still in there. It’s like a warm memory walking all around my mind. It refuses to leave. I’ve written it down. I want it to stay, forever. I wish I could film it, play it over and over again because it hurts. It hurts enough to be turned into art.

I saw that I had packed my tiny teal backpack and I was leaving for Lahore with my twin, Noor. I had borrowed money from her.  We were taking a rickshaw from Thatta to Lahore. Since Lahore is a whole province away, it can only happen in my dream. I was leaving because I had to go find a mentor. Someone who’d teach me how to control my art. I felt like it was slipping out of my hands and my mind. I could feel it leaving me and it made me so scared. (Imagine: a girl without art and heart)

Scene changes

Still in rickshaw, it had gotten dark outside. We were in an old part of the city, probably somewhere in old Karachi, with huge old buildings around us. Some historically ruined flats wanting to collapse but couldn’t. We stopped at a shop, asking for directions. (Imagine: a lost rickshaw with two same faced girls who knew nothing)

Scene changes

We were at a university of some kind, looking for an art teacher, trying to hide ourselves because it felt too dangerous and wrong. It felt illegal, chasing an art teacher. It felt as if I was there to steal something v important. (Imagine: two same faced art thieves)
We sneaked into his classroom, looking for him. I still remember how his class looked like. Small grey sofas and small glass tables everywhere with red notepads on them. It shouldn’t look like this, I thought. It looked cold, it felt cold. Things made of glass look rude to me. Maybe I was expecting wood and sunshine.

We found him on his table. He looked like an old business man. He shouldn’t look like an old business man, I thought again. I probably begged him not to kick us out, two same faced art thieves, before listening to me. I told him I can’t go to n art school at the moment but I needed help. I wanted to know how to cope with art, my art. I needed to know how to control it & what to make out of it. I was crying, the wet-face-can’t-speak-anymore crying. I can still feel it in my bones. It was pathetically sad, I don’t want to cry in my dreams.

He wrote something on a paper and before he gave it to me, he was interrupted by a girl who suddenly appeared out of nowhere.  She asked him about some supplies she was going to need for the class. I knew her. I know her in real life. I know she doesn’t like talking loudly and she hates her hair and she is hella shy and certainly doesn’t belong to an art class. But she didn’t know me. She doesn’t know me in real life because we never actually met. Another person stepped in the room. I knew him and he knew me. He was carrying a baby who wasn’t his own. He told my twin that he was trying to find ways to forgive himself. I wondered if he slept peacefully at nights.

Scene changed

We were coming out of the university and I told my twin that my college’s staff is jealous of this place. It was Karachi. This meant I never reached Lahore.

It ended. Without any warning. Or my paper slip from that art teacher.

I don’t know what it means. Or if it means anything at all. I don’t know my dreams and they certainly don’t want to know me. But this dream is what I think should happen in next chapter of my life. Lahore is one of the most glorious cities of Pakistan, famous for its culture and fashion and media industry oh and its art university too. I just want it to find a way to shape my art into something meaningful and handle it with care. I also want people who were once a part of my life to finally find peace.

Have you ever kept a dream journal? It’s a crazy creative thing to do! And I hope your dreams are treating you well.


post signature

16 September 2016

fangirling: my boys

Fangirling is fun, not just because it includes unreal people or people that are god-knows-how-real, but because you're the queen. You're the fangirl who makes things possible. You're given a person, real or fictional or dead, and you can make anything out of it, a piece of art or a poem or a fanfiction or a drawing ANYTHING. If it isn't empowering, I think you're doing it wrong.
My boys, Snow & Healy (Well I think I'll just go with Jon and Matty) are my new emotional investment and the main subject of my fangirling. I prefer my men like them: Fictional or almost unreal.
M  A T T Y    H E A L Y
Until last month I had NO idea who he was and how he hated to be called Matt instead of Matty. But my twin discovered them and told me how insane this musical creature Matty Healy is and begged me to be obsessed with him. So I did it. I'm obsessed with him and his band and his songs and how his broken mind works. Apparently, my most favorite song atm was written about him AND I HAD NO IDEA BEFORE. 
I hope he makes it to the day he's 28 years old. 
He's 27 btw.
If you have watched Somebody Else's video and saw Matty slipping from his skateboard, DID IT HURT YOU TOO? Whenever I step on my own skateboard, his falling body flashes in front of my eyes for 2 seconds. It's our daily ritual now, me on my skateboard and Matty falling from his skateboard in my mind.
And not just that, Matty is my motivation machine at the moment. An insane artist raising another insane artist without noticing. Thank you Matty, I don't care if you don't know I exist.
Making Matty Healy at home:
You're gonna need
a voodoo doll
noodles (for hair)
tissue paper (for skin)
black paint
a lot of words
and a hell lot art
J O N   S N O W
I recently finished Game Of Thrones (AREEBA WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?!?) Jon is the beautiful bastard from Winterfell and one of a few glorious tragedies from the show. I always fall for the most troubled one and Jon Snow quite fits the criteria. He's slightly dumb and usually worried and it makes me so happy to see a lead character who is a total emotional wreck and a very good person. Maybe Jon's heart is made up of cotton balls and hot coffee.
And I'm casually replying to most of the questions someone asks me with:
YOU KNOW NOTHING JON SNOW. I'm actually obsessed.

Making Jon Snow at home:
You're gonna need
ice cubes (lots and lots of them)
a very warm heart
unwanted attention
black paint
grass & noodles (for hair)
Also, here's my newest green baby, named after two great men in my life atm.
MATTY SNOW! If my fangirling is making the earth greener so it's okay I guess.
Live long, fandoms!
What kind of fangirl are you?

post signature