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visual artist and writer marisol diaz

i am a self-defined Nuyorican creative (that is a Puerto Rican who is from both the isles of Manhattan, NYC and the Caribbean). I share daily in the joy of education and live in a cute port town in New York, in a 'teensy-weensy' apartment with my two dogs and canary named Valentino. Check out my Etsy shop for purchasable pieces. Please do not reproduce imagery off of this site without explicit credit and no derivatives may be made of my original imagery- Thank You.

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This work by marisol diaz is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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Copyright © 2008, Amarettogirl. Images and Words. All rights reserved.


Sunday Scribbling prompt: Trust

Excerpt from my art house sketchbook (see my blog for more images and details)

Trust is the battleground to an epic war that is never won.
In the end the sole soldier standing is me. I can only trust who I am, what kind of human I am in this flux-filled simmering world and sometimes...since my manimal heart reminds me reason doesn't automatically stand to beat the impulse of my nature...I can't even trust that. Is it morality that guides us or law, permissions, fashion and popularity? Trust is a step, that as I climb, might one day not be there - its a bud that upon neglect might one day be curled onto itself with rot...but out of noble-rot comes the sweetest wine. Perhaps trust is the ultimate weapon against my daily fool.


crashin' crush or crashII

3ww prompt: candid, impulse, risk
ling ling love heart by marisol diaz

The feather fan is candid...wink, wink...
The impulse for false salutations is irresistible...psst,pssst...
as the hello is really a reason to touch...ooohhh,aaaahh...
yet the risk of touching is tantamount to a fear of avalanches that never cease...crush, crush, crash...go the little beats of my heart.



3ww prompt: disarray, rabble, validate

by marisol diaz

Each thought is gridlocked on the blood infused highway of my nerves and arteries.

When the traffic begins to flow it does so in disarray - each thought crashing onto each other - breaking windshields, folding metal and permanently denting my heart.

The rabble of emotions you inspire makes the andrenaline rip the roof off the car and pull the victim out.

You walk away aimlessly and carefree of me.

Hit and Run.

If only you could stop, look at me, validate my licence and tell me I should be on this road and that crashes like this one are the result of mutual admiration.



3ww prompt Feb. 4th - crumple, illicit, nerve sketchbook page by marisol diaz

down fell my unzipped, jilted and beaten armor
the air pressure exuding from your mouth is about to crumple the metal into shivered, penalized tin
illicit because we shouldn't always get what we want - too many ruins are erected
left in the amber light is naked flesh, palpitating heart and one single raw nerve.


Old Habits Die Hard, I Know I Kill Them

3ww prompt: bored, habit, settle

Habit Killer Self-Portrait

Maybe being addicted to the sound of their necks snapping like crispy twigs is itself a habit, in which case I would surely be my own greatest enemy. I can't tell you when exactly it started. I just know that the second my old friends, slothful Comfort, Familiarity and Inertia come around to visit, the beast within me rises.

Some people don't admit they're capable of committing such atrocities. They like to think its that they're a 'renaissance soul' or a 'scanner' always moving on to a new interest and having such a multi-task-able-and-ever-open mind - They commend themselves for being varied in interests, but really its that we're murderers.

We like to take that newly found virgin habit, exhaust it, master it, shake it up and turn it inside out, drink all of its blood, swallow its life-source, until it has nothing left to give. Until it lays there motionless. We kick it and wonder why it doesn't dance for us anymore, then we have the audacity to say 'I'm bored'. And once that invocation is spoken, there is no leashing that wicked killer in me. Who must then pluck off that old habit's limbs to erase it, until it exists only as a memory of something you once had. Gruesome I know - its what I am, what I've been, hey at least I'm honest. I don't settle.

Oh yeah, I know there is that habit, but people are different kinds of habits...for one, their life span is a whole hell of a lot longer. Still here is a classic piece of advice: Keep your marital door locked from old friends that might want to come visit - like Comfort, Familiarity (these days I hear she's had a couple of abhorring kids) and Inertia. If you hear those guys come a knockin' you better start switchin' things up or simply accept the murderer in yourself.