Aubree's Artworks


dear grace, if I never knew you
the moon would think me its stranded daughter
body aglow, yet mislaid in shame
I’d be buried far away from its lovely light
in the unnoticed corners of pirate maps
never knowing to befriend my own worth
I’d strive and bleed in vain
fear I’d not win over the “great jailer”
dear grace, its as if your truth longs to be known
more than justice, more than ideals,
longs to keep us from discrediting
our new infallible hearts
you remind me of swinging and flying
and running lightly with bare feet
you teach me to hope despite my weakness
consume and marry me to the light
dear grace, I do know
you’ll make my ending sweet.

Contradictions: A Rant

I often think about how there are too many contradictions in what the world tells us. The popular opinion honestly makes no sense. These are my questions.

So we’re supposed to:

“Live for the now”, but hope for better days and a brighter future?
Take whatever makes us happy, but give to those in need?
Hold ourselves to a moral structure, yet have no standard to construct from?
Preach about changing the world, but not change the way we live our own lives?
Vow complete commitment on our wedding day, but “consciously uncouple” when it gets hard?
Have heated discussions on racism, feminism and politics, but fail to love others and control our own anger?
Withhold from putting definitions on gender, but approve of “I identify as _”?
Respect our intricate bodies, but do whatever we want with them?
Believe in an absolute truth, but take no journey to find it?
Reject the idea of God, but assure the dying that they’re on their way to someplace better?
Have empathy and value every person, but kill in the context of war?
Believe that Jesus was the greatest man who ever lived, but only think about him on a couple holidays?
Have a life drenched with meaning, without knowing the meaning of life itself?
Live mediocre lives and hope that our children live better, only for them to continue the cycle?

If I have to depend on the wisdom of the world, I am lost. These scriptures are so valuable to me: “For the wisdom of this world is folly with God. For it is written, “He catches the wise in their craftiness,” -1 Corinthians 3:19. And, “For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” -1 Corinthians 1:18.

A film that my amazing and talented brother directed for a film school project. Our family all had roles in making this film as well as some friends. I had the privilege of working on production design- such a cool experience! Support him by checking out his channel and giving feedback in the comments section!

Dear “True Love”

Dear “True Love”

It’s in that awkward stage between dreaming of knights in shining armor and seeking a real companion that I’ve learned what you’re supposed to look like. Certainly I’ve tread those shallow waters of getting sucked into sad, beautiful eyes and practically swinging on flattery. I could write a book called “romance and all of its lies”. No, no, you are not outward beauty or charm. I think there might be a scripture on that…

At one time I thought you were the boy who gathered all of my secrets like a jar collection and fiddled with my heart. I believed you were the one who dissected me and told me what I should have already known; that I was beautiful, and interesting, and valuable. And sometimes I thought you were something deep and lost that I was supposed to fix. That wasn’t you. You are not pride. I should not look for you brooding in a corner, all wrapped up in your own ideas.

For a while I thought you were to be a kind of savior. That’s what they conclude in movies, right? That we have only lived a full life if we’ve found our “true love”. Or at least, most of our problems would be gone. Long story short, I got to know my creator, and he’s like Batman, Yoda, and the Doctor combined times a jazillion when it comes to saving people. I am already saved. I am already loved. And it’s true that my God is the ultimate picture of what you look like. So, as I speak of you being a human on this earth, you are not my savior.

In fact, I’ve narrowed you down quite a bit. You are not fear. You are not the nice guy who can’t bring himself to clarify that he just wants to be friends. You’re not even the one who’s smitten by me, yet waits around too long to make a decision. You don’t fail to protect my heart. On a more reassuring note, you are not always popular. You don’t have to be outspoken, comedic, admired by all the crowd. You don’t need to have dollar bills catching the wind everywhere you go. You don’t have it all together. You are never perfect, and I don’t expect you to be.

I’ve learned a bit of what you are.

You are a gem, a treasure I get to uncover. You are strength of heart, beauty of mind, a different way of seeing the world. True love, you are the one who looks at me genuinely, and speaks honestly. You are not my savior, but my partner-in-crime. You gather my secrets and whisper them to God. You are humble. You are quirks that I’m I’m both in love with and annoyed by. You are a best friend. Someone to laugh with (if not at). You are silly memories, awkward moments, times when there’s nothing to say. You are the epitome of a good book alongside hot chai. You are home. You see enough of my heart to pardon my poor social skills. You are the one who fearlessly chases after me and who’s in the business of being a bit risky. You are in love with the ultimate true love, God. And you remind me of why this letter all points back to Him.

I have so much more to learn about you, and I really can’t wait. Really really. I wonder if I’ve met you, know you, or if I’m still waiting to find you. I wonder if I am, or will, be, all of these things to you.

Until I figure it out,


(song lyrics based on a very morbid Grimm’s tale, “The Juniper Tree”. I have no shame.)

seven years grew you and I
that juniper strained to the sky
oh sister dear with all your grace
she loved you more and cursed my face

one quiet day in noontide heat
she said the chest held something sweet
but as I bent over to check
she closed the lid right on my neck

gather my bones they’re so haunted and blue
wrap me in branches I’ll wait here for you


a crimson scarf tied round my spine
she sat me up like all was fine
oh sister dear don’t kiss my head
or you shall learn that I am dead

gather my bones they’re so haunted and blue
wrap me in branches I’ll wait here for you

gather my bones they’re so haunted and blue
wrap me in branches I’ll wait here for you


little 3-hr project - to do an editorial illustration that goes with an article we read about sleep.

little 3-hr project - to do an editorial illustration that goes with an article we read about sleep.

Quick matchbox design for Illustration.

Whatever I still like it.

Quick matchbox design for Illustration.

Whatever I still like it.


I hope you find it nice sir, you have the title
of one who strolls along my dreaming
from time to time, though my mind
barely memorized your mystics
and that obscure, caffeinated temperament
sad heart, blind life.
I’ve always felt our souls the same
mine light, yours dark but not to blame
for cutting between the threads we shared
two years, yes, I owe you them
and I’ve always cared.

I hope perhaps I’ll find you when I wed
hug my old friend, save the last thread

I’d tell you my ribs were crushed down
from loving your sad heart
I thought love was supposed to drive out fear
but it drove me into ditches and nervousness and I’m so,
so sorry
to think this excuse for a poem will suffice.

I miss our talks, but I know they weren’t nice.


There are moments that act like poetry, whose providence first captures me unaware, then at sight of its face, sinking my anchor deep enough to keep me stuck in all of the meaning and beauty, just for a time, until my sails beg to turn their faces. It requires no witnesses but my subconscious, shyly nudging me to memorize the moment, like with tears as my brother departs for another hard month, or as my mother offers to hear my heart. As I let my eyes abstract the candlelight when I am deep in prayer. As I feel companionless and without virtue. As I lose a friend. But it also nudges me with joy, at times springing out of nothing but small epiphanies, like kisses from God, patiently revealing my story. Those days I go without laughing uphold even more the moments I nearly suffocate myself with it. Held even higher: the moment I realize someone speaks not to my face, but to my soul. Finally, there are moments that are unremarkable, lost to my page-turner days and busy feet, yet I become aware of its strange value. Walking that block to the bus stop for millionth time. Laying wide-eyed at night, guessing how many layers of paint stick to the walls of this old apartment. Noticing beauty in someone I never thought much of. Noticing the moon in the midst of everything. That is probably my favorite.

Finally finished with my Croquet Ball poster.  Lots of color changes…hopefully they work okay!  Gouache and colored pencil.

Okay, at some point I’ll stop bothering you all with my artsy things. This just happened to be a project-heavy week. I also updated my bloggy. This is a short comic I made for Sequential Art class. Based loosely off of celtic folklore, the “Barrow Lover” — I wanted to make this feel like a grimm tale. This project killed me. However, I would like to re-do it sometime and make it really refined and have the characters look more consistent.

My little book of patience. I could make journals all day every day.