GRAPEFRUIT EYED ATTRACTION
BY: Mayumi Park
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Working on some cool visual pieces with Basic Printer (both still and motion). More coming later this summer. It will get pretty crafty…

Holy crud, this book is amazing. Gotta pick up Slackjaw after this.

Holy crud, this book is amazing. Gotta pick up Slackjaw after this.

Work in progress piece shot no. 2 just a halfway more to go til I throw paint on this thing.

Work in progress piece shot no. 2 just a halfway more to go til I throw paint on this thing.


Oh yeaaah! Photos from Muralfest. There’s more to come! I’ve been tied up with other work so it’s taking me awhile to upload and edit these photos. 


Underneath that makeup is a face of a mentally drained woman who spent an all nighter and a half working on shit she had brought upon herself. Unfortunately, this is the woman I see in my mirror when I’m standing alone in the bathroom. Yes, the person is me. 

Even to this very day, I keep piling tasks after tasks on my plate and gawd knows how much more it can hold before it slips past my hands. One simple ‘yes’ to one more favor being asked to me can really make the sudden break. However, I will never regret my decisions. I’d rather break this way, then to break the other way from nothing being busy at all. Either way, I’m going to break…what really matters is how I break myself. 


COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES, BITCHES.

Hey heyyy! Recently some people have asked me to sell prints of my past illustrations…so I made em muralfest special. I will have more copies available at the fest tomorrow! $3 each, but if you buy all three images you can buy them for the price of $2 each…so $6!

Hey heyyy! Recently some people have asked me to sell prints of my past illustrations…so I made em muralfest special. I will have more copies available at the fest tomorrow! $3 each, but if you buy all three images you can buy them for the price of $2 each…so $6!

Im gonna join a glam rock candy band with my shitty musical saw skill and go on a tour in this lovely vehicle. Maybe sell some frozen sweets along the way…but most likely all will be consumed by the time the first set of kids come forward with their jar money in their hands. Ehhh no. We’re gonna sell weed instead or skittle filled fruit condoms. Get lucrative. From #nyc to #binghamton

Im gonna join a glam rock candy band with my shitty musical saw skill and go on a tour in this lovely vehicle. Maybe sell some frozen sweets along the way…but most likely all will be consumed by the time the first set of kids come forward with their jar money in their hands. Ehhh no. We’re gonna sell weed instead or skittle filled fruit condoms. Get lucrative. From #nyc to #binghamton

I stole Toblerone Chocolate from this dude.


CLASSMATE: "Hey Mayumi! (hugs)"
ME: "Hey! Sorry I might smell like a bunch of cig butts (hugging back)"
CLASSMATE: "No worries. I didn't know you're a smoker!"
ME: "Nah. Just slept with one last night"
CLASSMATE: "...nice."
ME: "...eh"
CLASSMATE: "..."
ME: "So...pulmonary edema. Some terrible stuff, eh?"

G’morning! I recently finished painting this for a local band in Binghamton called STRANGE APPEAL. They just released a new album called “Through Thick and Thick” which is why I decided to paint it like this.  

Anywho, hope y’all dig my painting. You can check out more here on my facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/grapefruiteyes

Source : meltingzebra

Had a very inspirational, crazyass weekend in Manhattan and Brooklyn! There’s always something very memorable to take home with me every time I go there. 

A brilliant filmmaker, Russell Sheaffer whom I’ve known for a while through Merrifield Records (Brian from Louis XIV / The Nervous Wreckords and Mike Hindert of The Bravery / The Danvilles) has invited me out to the Tribeca Film Festival in NYC. He eventually got a hold of a second ticket so that I can bring a friend along. 

The experimental film portion was just incredible! They started off with this brief introductory documentary on traditional filmmaking so that the audience can digest the rather perplexing concept of the experimental genre. Acetate Diary was very well made and was named one of the best films at Tribeca, so congrats to Russ!

Later on, he invited us out to have lunch with him and his lovely wife at Nish Nush. HOLY FUDGE, the avocado salad and the falafels that my friend and I had were off the hook! Spent a few hours getting to know the film director and am now looking forward to the screening of Masculinity and Femininity that he co-directed with JAMES FRANCO. Yeah. I’m trying to get the screening of this film to BU somehow, so we’ll see how that goes. 

The night before was also ridiculously fun. My friends and their roommates took me out to this really low key bar called Beast of Bourbon and I’d say that this has been the best bar I’ve ever been to in the NYC area. It was a pleasure meeting Jennifer “Jesus” mixing us really good drinks, she also did the pickleback shot with us, a shot I regret not trying before! When I hit the bars in Binghamton again, I’m definitely going to ask for pickeback shots. 

It was a very memorable night, especially the conversations that we had: city politics, mural art, film, gender, sex, relationships, like literally everything. 


Wow, I had a wonderful weekend! Shot an awesome artist and a new friend, Eleni. Did a few regular portraits and digitally manipulated conceptual shoots. It was her first time modeling infront of the camera and I think she did a spectacular job!

Let me know if any of you would like to model or want to get portraits done for your portfolio (yes, even if you’re a stranger browsing through the Binghamton tag on Tumblr). Modeling experience not needed, I have no preferences when it comes to physical appearance — I work with anyone enthusiastic, so just do it anyway ‘cause you never know! 

Spent two whole days just chilling with different friends, read a book at the library, gave violin lessons, spent the night at my other bar buddy’s place (third time spending the night at his place without his family knowing, but I think his father knows now. Oops.)

Source : meltingzebra
Yesterday, I became a cigarette smoker and here’s why and nothing I did that day made me particularly good. It was just an act and I passed it off as a good deed when in fact, there was nothing good about the things that circulated in my head during the act. 
Well, let me start from the beginning here. Right after work, I did a lot of thinking on my way home and then realized I haven’t done anything special for my mom for awhile. I took my mom out to downtown Binghamton and suggested we eat at Galaxy’s, Zona, Lost Dog, Chris’s Diner, or anything good and local. We strolled up and down Court Street and State Street until she came across China One at the corner. “Mom, you had their food a few times already. Don’t you want to try something new?” She still insisted on going there. I mean, I wanted it to be her day, so I obviously wasn’t going to argue. She claimed that China One is the only delivery place in the area that serves proper pork and that’s what she wanted. Their proper pork drenched in their now diluted sauce and overbearing amount of mushrooms. I ordered two small plates (our stomach tells us they’re equivalent to a medium-large size). We both sat by the window—not that we had any other options considering the space only allowed for tables to line up against the glass panes.Well, my friendly mother had accidentally allowed herself a generous, but quick exchange of eye contact with this homeless man who was just walking outside. My back was facing where he was coming from and as soon as he appeared in my sight, I had a very bad feeling he was going to turn the corner and go straight for the entrance. No surprise, he did what I had imagined. The door opened, I was still facing down on my plate, when a foul smell wafted towards our table and then his legs caught up to the smell. A very raspy voice greeted us. I looked up. The man on the other side of the glass had now appeared on our side of the glass…infront of me. Mom and I greeted him back and at the moment, I already knew I was going to have to get my wallet out and give him spare change. However, it wasn’t spare change or a buck or two that he wanted. He asked me to buy him the biggest plate of food I could get for him. Problem was, I didn’t have enough cash to cover such expense. I took a quick glimpse outside the window and the first thing that I saw was the ATM sign. Okay, what an obvious signal. I walked across the street and withdrew 40 bucks and then estimated that I would still have 30 left after treating him (thanks China delivery shops for not accepting cards unless if I buy food enough to feed like three people). When I walked back in, I generously asked him if he’s decided what he wanted for dinner. Anything plentiful was all he wanted, so I ordered the same food that I was eating: pork and mushrooms, but large to satiate the man’s water filled tummy. The woman at the counter awkwardly avoided eye contact with me. Wasn’t sure if she felt bad for him, or me, or both, or thought I was too vulnerable to avoid this charitable act. Before the arrival of his meal, he asked if he could join our table. Well, I’ve eaten food and had drinks with a few homeless folks, and it’s not bad at all. I gestured him to our table thinking that this was his last request. Turns out I was wrong; as the lady carefully placed his food on his table, he turned to me and asked me to help him pay for his percocet because some dude robbed him a while back and butchered his thumb. I looked down at his thumb and yup, the man wasn’t fibbing. Thirty bucks still sits in my wallet I thought, another 10 wouldn’t hurt.
He accepted the money and regaled (tragically) us with his life story. I had to decipher the words that escape through the many teeth gaps in his mouth, but from what I’ve gathered, it appears that he’s the one to blame for this current situation. Selfishness had threw him into the American poverty (honestly, even I’m not too far off from the ledge). His family sounds pretty well-off, and it’s pretty apparent as to why they had neglected him, but regardless of how much of an ass he may have made himself into, I feel like the family should still help clean up his mess. Or not? They’re humans with emotional limitations afterall. He was a point shooter at Syracuse University back in the 70s and that is all you need to know about this man. His wife and daughter are doing well, thanks for wondering. Then the story ended with his mother’s death last week. He teared up a bit, but then the first bite of the food seemed to have flicked that part of the memory away. At the same time, I was wolfing down on my food because I was worried that he would beg me for more money if I didn’t scoop myself away from the place soon enough. Unfortunately, I had enough left on my plate for him to ask me another favor. A pack of cigarettes. The “good kind” he said. Frustration had started to boil my veins a bit, but I maintained self composure on the surface. However, mom picked up on the frustration through my facade and constantly whispered “don’t be frustrated with this man” in Japanese to me. Yesterday was my mother’s day and I wanted to devote my time and money for her. The homeless man basically took that away from me and there I was…with my mom asking me not to get frustrated. Of course, it was her day, I had promised to do exactly what I’m told. I buried this frustration to the very core of my mind, which had later bursted out when I lit my first store bought cigarette at my friend’s fire party that night. CVS was a few stores down from us. I got up and made another errand for this despondent man. On my way there, a friend called and gave me an earful about her event that wasn’t coming together quite well. Multiple things occupied my brain at the front counter that I don’t remember how I picked the pack. I looked down at the box in my hand after when I had already made the exit and immediately cringed when I realized that I bought the menthol kind. No man I know smokes a fucking menthol, but then I told myself, “he can’t complain. HE CANNOT COMPLAIN” but just as I thought, this unkempt mendicant sends me back for the right pack. Mom came with me and we clearly had a chance to ditch and run off, but guess what?! I found myself back to CVS and back out with a Malboro light in my hand—marched back to the restaurant, pretended to brush off my frustration and then walked back in. I placed the pack next to him, patted his back and left. 
Mom smiled. 
She’s such a good woman. Despite the actual deed I’ve done, the magnitude of her kindness is far greater than mine. She’s cold to me half of the time and it’s evident where she expends her kind energy: downtrodden strangers. 
What was I left with? Down 30 bucks, and a pack of menthol cigarettes. What am I going to do with this pack? Smoke it all, of course. This experience birthed the smoker within me. I went to my friend’s fire fest in the backyard. Watched the guys jump over the fire while I stood with my friends, staring right at the fire with a glass of Black Velvet in my hand and a freshly lit cigarette lightly wedged between my lips.Frustration sweeps off the “good” in good deeds and the action becomes meaningless. Yesterday evening, a few hours before I headed out to my friend’s backyard Fire Festival, I spent $30 on a homeless man knowing that I’m pretty damn broke, but I’m still not a good person because frustration consumed me in the end. Homeless man: 1Me: 0
PS - I figured Maverick would help me not get addicted to smoking as I’ve heard they’re truly cheap and disgusting. Quite frankly, smoking in general doesn’t appeal to me, so why does it matter which brand I get? I’m done after this pack. 

Yesterday, I became a cigarette smoker and here’s why and nothing I did that day made me particularly good. It was just an act and I passed it off as a good deed when in fact, there was nothing good about the things that circulated in my head during the act. 

Well, let me start from the beginning here. Right after work, I did a lot of thinking on my way home and then realized I haven’t done anything special for my mom for awhile. I took my mom out to downtown Binghamton and suggested we eat at Galaxy’s, Zona, Lost Dog, Chris’s Diner, or anything good and local. We strolled up and down Court Street and State Street until she came across China One at the corner. “Mom, you had their food a few times already. Don’t you want to try something new?” She still insisted on going there. I mean, I wanted it to be her day, so I obviously wasn’t going to argue. She claimed that China One is the only delivery place in the area that serves proper pork and that’s what she wanted. Their proper pork drenched in their now diluted sauce and overbearing amount of mushrooms. I ordered two small plates (our stomach tells us they’re equivalent to a medium-large size). We both sat by the window—not that we had any other options considering the space only allowed for tables to line up against the glass panes.

Well, my friendly mother had accidentally allowed herself a generous, but quick exchange of eye contact with this homeless man who was just walking outside. My back was facing where he was coming from and as soon as he appeared in my sight, I had a very bad feeling he was going to turn the corner and go straight for the entrance. No surprise, he did what I had imagined. The door opened, I was still facing down on my plate, when a foul smell wafted towards our table and then his legs caught up to the smell. A very raspy voice greeted us. I looked up. The man on the other side of the glass had now appeared on our side of the glass…infront of me. Mom and I greeted him back and at the moment, I already knew I was going to have to get my wallet out and give him spare change. 

However, it wasn’t spare change or a buck or two that he wanted. He asked me to buy him the biggest plate of food I could get for him. Problem was, I didn’t have enough cash to cover such expense. I took a quick glimpse outside the window and the first thing that I saw was the ATM sign. Okay, what an obvious signal. I walked across the street and withdrew 40 bucks and then estimated that I would still have 30 left after treating him (thanks China delivery shops for not accepting cards unless if I buy food enough to feed like three people). When I walked back in, I generously asked him if he’s decided what he wanted for dinner. Anything plentiful was all he wanted, so I ordered the same food that I was eating: pork and mushrooms, but large to satiate the man’s water filled tummy. 

The woman at the counter awkwardly avoided eye contact with me. Wasn’t sure if she felt bad for him, or me, or both, or thought I was too vulnerable to avoid this charitable act. Before the arrival of his meal, he asked if he could join our table. Well, I’ve eaten food and had drinks with a few homeless folks, and it’s not bad at all. I gestured him to our table thinking that this was his last request. Turns out I was wrong; as the lady carefully placed his food on his table, he turned to me and asked me to help him pay for his percocet because some dude robbed him a while back and butchered his thumb. I looked down at his thumb and yup, the man wasn’t fibbing. Thirty bucks still sits in my wallet I thought, another 10 wouldn’t hurt.

He accepted the money and regaled (tragically) us with his life story. I had to decipher the words that escape through the many teeth gaps in his mouth, but from what I’ve gathered, it appears that he’s the one to blame for this current situation. Selfishness had threw him into the American poverty (honestly, even I’m not too far off from the ledge). His family sounds pretty well-off, and it’s pretty apparent as to why they had neglected him, but regardless of how much of an ass he may have made himself into, I feel like the family should still help clean up his mess. Or not? They’re humans with emotional limitations afterall. 

He was a point shooter at Syracuse University back in the 70s and that is all you need to know about this man. His wife and daughter are doing well, thanks for wondering. 

Then the story ended with his mother’s death last week. He teared up a bit, but then the first bite of the food seemed to have flicked that part of the memory away. At the same time, I was wolfing down on my food because I was worried that he would beg me for more money if I didn’t scoop myself away from the place soon enough. Unfortunately, I had enough left on my plate for him to ask me another favor. A pack of cigarettes. The “good kind” he said. Frustration had started to boil my veins a bit, but I maintained self composure on the surface. However, mom picked up on the frustration through my facade and constantly whispered “don’t be frustrated with this man” in Japanese to me. 

Yesterday was my mother’s day and I wanted to devote my time and money for her. The homeless man basically took that away from me and there I was…with my mom asking me not to get frustrated. Of course, it was her day, I had promised to do exactly what I’m told. I buried this frustration to the very core of my mind, which had later bursted out when I lit my first store bought cigarette at my friend’s fire party that night. 

CVS was a few stores down from us. I got up and made another errand for this despondent man. On my way there, a friend called and gave me an earful about her event that wasn’t coming together quite well. Multiple things occupied my brain at the front counter that I don’t remember how I picked the pack. I looked down at the box in my hand after when I had already made the exit and immediately cringed when I realized that I bought the menthol kind. No man I know smokes a fucking menthol, but then I told myself, “he can’t complain. HE CANNOT COMPLAIN” but just as I thought, this unkempt mendicant sends me back for the right pack. Mom came with me and we clearly had a chance to ditch and run off, but guess what?! I found myself back to CVS and back out with a Malboro light in my hand—marched back to the restaurant, pretended to brush off my frustration and then walked back in. I placed the pack next to him, patted his back and left. 

Mom smiled. 

She’s such a good woman. Despite the actual deed I’ve done, the magnitude of her kindness is far greater than mine. She’s cold to me half of the time and it’s evident where she expends her kind energy: downtrodden strangers. 

What was I left with? Down 30 bucks, and a pack of menthol cigarettes. What am I going to do with this pack? Smoke it all, of course. This experience birthed the smoker within me. I went to my friend’s fire fest in the backyard. Watched the guys jump over the fire while I stood with my friends, staring right at the fire with a glass of Black Velvet in my hand and a freshly lit cigarette lightly wedged between my lips.

Frustration sweeps off the “good” in good deeds and the action becomes meaningless. Yesterday evening, a few hours before I headed out to my friend’s backyard Fire Festival, I spent $30 on a homeless man knowing that I’m pretty damn broke, but I’m still not a good person because frustration consumed me in the end. 

Homeless man: 1
Me: 0

PS - I figured Maverick would help me not get addicted to smoking as I’ve heard they’re truly cheap and disgusting. Quite frankly, smoking in general doesn’t appeal to me, so why does it matter which brand I get? I’m done after this pack. 

Saturday weird face #selfie

Saturday weird face #selfie