

I put a great deal of pressure on myself when it comes to art--what colors to use, where to put certain objects, does it look realistic enough? While every other part of me resonates with comfort, my inner artist is still a little insecure girl, always high-strung, desperate and getting set up on fruitless blind dates.
This time rather than thinking about making art, I tried to focus on life. How something made me feel, how they can be represented, the causes, the cures, the relation between objects, topics and ideas...not how realistic it looks, but how it is conceptually realistic. I started & I finished these yesterday.
For this series, I was inspired by motifs of reproductive organs, the process of conception and gender dynamics. The need for intimacy, the need for solitude and the agony that stems from both. Sexual biology. Anthropological intercourse. I decided on running with this concept and creating a nine-piece series. 9 represents Born; we also spend 9 months in a prenatal environment before coming into this world.
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Unlike everything else, I don't isolate myself for preservation.
In fact, I do the very opposite.
I get bored easily, sifting through lovers.
I am sought after from everyone from those easily influenced, to intellectuals.
I am a trophy for those who manage to stay genuine,
but those champions are quickly ruined with my glory.
I am just as superficial as I am full of substance.
It takes just as much luck as it takes talent to get me.
Without enough of me,
you will starve.
With too much of me,
your psyche will splinter.
I ignore quality.
I disregard struggle.
What am I?
I am recognition.







Rather than stumbling upon & sharing images I found through the interwebs, I documented bits & pieces of my day via digital camera. Sometimes we go so far out of our way to find inspiration, when it is really all around us. You wanna visit the greatest art gallery ever designed? Step outside, beloved. We navigate a 3 dimensional landscape, portrait & collage everywhere we go.
The same thing that fed me, fueled me and gave me value also infected me, enslaved me and turned me into a commodity. Creativity.
We are in a vast ever-changing plane devoid of all sensation. Create your profile. Build your profile. Update your profile. Now your profile owns you. Man versus box. Man versus screen. Man versus cycle. Make a blog post about twitter, then tweet that you blogged. Keep in touch with people, get out of touch with people. Retweet the retwitted retweet. Reincarnate yourself in 2-Dimensional Hell. Stay connected. Live under a log. Login. Logout. Reboot.
Artwork by Nick Gentry
I am a child of the freelance. Everyday, I redefine employment and circadium rhythms. I either go to sleep late and wake up early or go to sleep early and wake up late, battle wounds aglow from war with myself. Priceless, yet there is not a single part of me that can't be calculated into commodity. A multi-headed hydra of skills, the exact center of a perfect circle. Overqualified in gift & experience, underqualified in credentials. Recalibrating the standards of quality, gift, experience and credentials. A personal presentation, yet everything must go. Selling a dream, selling a scheme, playing a role...
I am selling soul.
What moves you?
To be rich, in order to buy the things we cannot currently afford because the things we can afford are useless and out of fashion. To be timelessly legendary, that way it won't matter how useless or out of fashion we are anyway. To be relevant in our respective realms, no matter how irrelevant the realm. To be loved, because the people that love us already are not enough. To be respected, because although the aforementioned love is inadequate, the respect from those same people is not. To be on "the list", to mingle with people that mean just as much as the previously mentioned groups. To be worshipped. To be humble. To live a normal life. To own a yacht. To have a absurdly hot girl tattoo your logo on their face. To cause mass hysteria via sex tape. To forget what's important by being important. To crystallize all residual talent you were blessed with through tangible accomplishments. To birth seeds that carry this same residue. To make your parents proud. To be a proud parent. To travel. To be happy at home. To never go hungry. To be thin. To be vastly distributed. To be compactly unique. To be well-read. To be well-grounded. To be popular. To have substance. To be known by people you don't know. To be loved by people you don't love. Being on the easier side of the imbalance or reciprocity, if there is one. For the universe to be in unlimited bias in your favor. To balance. To die.
I’m sitting here in my little chair, pondering what to include in this message before it reaches you in your little chair. Okay, how about this: Let’s consider how many little chairs are in this world, and how bizarre, divine & kinda kinky it is for us to be not at all connected, but connecting right now. Whoa. Okay, that’s enough of that. An introduction is in order. My name is Mreeuh Chang, and I am the monster behind this machine. I have been making jewelry since about as long its been known that women have had genitals, and thus…exercising my right to bestow both. Since this is the first blog post, it wouldn’t hurt to spiel a little background info on the brand, Manifest Content. The name “Manifest Content” is a psychological term, originally coined by fellow Taurus and O.G. nutcase, Sigmund Freud, who studied fun stuff like suppressed desires and dreaming. The term “Latent Content” refers to pieces of a dream that cannot be remembered upon awakening. “Manifest Content” is what you remember afterward, the parts of your dream youre able to babble about to your friends about after washing your crusty face. Hence, “Wake up to the dream.” This is me, remembering my dream, and bearing all to you. Here you will find things images that inspire me, random thoughts I’ve thunk, current personal projects, pseudo-philosophical musings and latest news on the growing dream machine, Manifest Content. Peace & Light.
http://www.twitter.com/mreeuh
http://www.mreeuh.com