A. Ariosa-Benston

I love art--the ability to express oneself without necessarily using words is something worth being explored. I am constantly growing and learning about what it is to be an artist. My only hope is to connect with other people and express myself in the manner I most enjoy--visual art.

I take inspiration from not only personal experiences, but also fashion, music, and pop culture. I love watching the way that these inspirations often mutate into oddities on canvas. I work in different medias; painting only being one. I also enjoy making jewelry, accessories, altering vintage fashion, and hopefully one day making my own clothes. I constantly look forward to the next inspiration. It has become my challenge in life. Art has brought purpose to my life and balance in my soul.

All constructive criticism is welcome. There is always room to grow.

About Me

My photo
I currently live in Brooklyn, NY. Educated at Emory University and currently at Pratt Institute.

Poems II

The Flea

There is no way out
In this homogenous crowd.
The faces white and great,
THe eyes furious aflame ,
The mouths haughty and pink,
Their tongues wagging extreme.

There is no way out
From this homogenous crowd.
Plath once said it true,
"I am really a Jew".
Among this arian race,
There must be others the same.
Like me--not like you.

There must be a way out,
Distant from this crowd,
Where others roam like me,
A flea on a white mans dog,
Beaten like a dog,
Bruised like a dog,
Free--like no ones dog.

Running to this place,
To start a master race,
One as pure as yours,
Lacking purity is our source.
The well deep and course.

We will be the end,
On this Earth we stand.
You are not my friend.
I am not your friend.

We are just as fleas,
Drenched in poisonous fumes,
We will run away,
I will be caught.
You will turn me in.

I am just a flea.
No longer your flea.
I am what you fear.

The ending is so near.
Your genetic mistake will be gone,
We will stand on this ground.
The last to live you'll see,
This lonely little flea.

Twenty and Two...

Dangerous dangerous dangerous
Oh she warns us,
Careful careful carful
She mutters in our ears,
Don't don't don't
She fears fears fears...
Little on my shoulder
Tiny as a whisper
Lighter than the air,
Sweeter than compare.

Fun fun fun
He says upon my thumb,
He knows knows knows
Yes yes yes
He says it from my chest,
Heavy on my thoughts,
Deadly I begot

I want to place them in a room
And let them fight for me,
I cannot decidea single thing,
I am afraid of he,
Begot begot begot
Fun fun fun
I know I'll do me wrong,
But what is one to do?
    When only twenty and two?

Professional Pain in the Ass. 

Do as I say,
not as I do.
How tired I am of you!
You are the scissors
That pierce my ass,
It is not a balloon,
it will not swoon and
empty flat to the floor,
I a m not that kind,
to lay down at first sign
by a person of your pedigree.

Show me your mind
Wrinkled and primed,
poked by professional greed,
dictate my life.
As though you don't try
to change me,
with every decree.

You are who you say,
and I am your prey,
A fat little carcass am me,
Oh how I run,
Stunned by your gun,
THe feeling is all that I see.
Stumble I may,
Your fat little prey,
Alone in the end
I will be.