Every once in a while, I have an angst fest about the imaginary lives of other people. In my mind, other people spend all their time making art and songs and poems, instead of (as I do in my real life) watching cruddy comedies from the seventies on Netflix. And youtube videos. And reading facebook profiles of such mind-numbing inanity (is that a word?) that I have to resist the urge to smash my head repeatedly against the table top. Why do I even do Facebook?
But. Anyways.
I feel bad that the urge to create, if I have it, is so lazy about its job. It ought to be telling me that the time wasting I indulge in is... um, a waste of time. Why is it not arresting my hand as it moves towards my laptop and turning it towards, like, yarn? Or something, you know, with arty potential?
Urge to create, you're fired.
24 October, 2011
23 October, 2011
THE DOWNSIDES OF BEING AN ART STUDENT
DOWNSIDE: Early in your studies, the work is extremely tedious. Presumably, projects where we actually have to use some, you know, creativity will come along. But right now it's "make a perfect cross-section of two colors using the (perfect) 7-step value scale you did two weeks ago and have probably lost by now, you disorganized kid, you." After figuring out what on earth a cross-section of two colors is supposed to be, you actually have to paint the thing. Basically, it was making different shades of a color match the values of a white to black grayscale. Did that explanation actually help at all? I'm feeling doubtful.
Tip I wish I'd known 1:
When dealing with color value projects, holding your laptop precariously above your desk and using photobooth's black and white effect will save your life. It is extremely difficult - at least, for me - to tell when you've got a yellow and a purple at the same value level. Black and white pictures solve that problem.
The downside of using this handy tip is that it makes it clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that half your paint squares are wrong. Which leads to the second downside.
DOWNSIDE: Apathy. When you, for example, use photobooth to photograph your project, you will find that at least half of it is wrong, and apathy sets in. For a while, the desire to fix things, for perfection, will drive re-do's. But, at a certain point, you stop caring. Breaking into the not-caring zone is a bit of a relief, but it's also not entirely positive.
DOWNSIDE: Even if you, by some miracle, retain your drive to attain perfection, you can never have it. At least, not when you're working with cheap-o acrylic paint. See photo above.
DOWNSIDE: I know that each major or field of study has it's own tricky bits. But I think I can safely claim that art has the most potential for technical mishaps. Meticulous execution and spotless presentation are required - in projects involving paint. Paint. And tape that pulls bits of paper off the surface of your illustration board after you've finished the project.
DOWNSIDE: Your clothes get ruined. You are never clean again. I found paint behind my ear the other day.
DOWNSIDE: You ingest things you should not.
Do you see the danger here? It's unspeakably easy for your preoccupied brain to allow your hand to put a nice, painty brush into your tea cup. Also, I tend to hold things in my mouth. Using the old choppers to hold onto a pen is alright, but when you're sticking paintbrushes in there, things can get unpleasant very, very quickly. And grown-up paint isn't non-toxic. If I'm dead tomorrow, Mom, this is why. I tremble to think of the day when I start using turpentine.
DOWNSIDE: You have to hear people rave about art that's about "the process" and "kinetic energy" and "a return to child-like enjoyment of mark-making". If someone says to you, "oh, we should go to this show, it's all about the process of kinetic mark-making," run. I mean, unless you like giant pages of scribbles or prints made by scraping things across wood. Personally, I loathe that sort of art. I think it's ridiculous. I DON'T CARE about the artist's process. I wasn't there when he made the silly thing. Why does his process matter to me? It's a cop-out, really. Nobody judges a film or book by the process they didn't see and weren't a part of - they look at the results. As you can see, this makes me get a little bit worked up.
But, I can't really just leave it like this. As exhausted and grouchy as I may be now, I still have to admit that there are upsides.
UPSIDES OF BEING AN ART STUDENT:
UPSIDE: You get to say you're an art student. Even if you're to be the most boring, technical web-design person on earth, while in school you get to say you're studying art. Which definitely ups your cool factor.
UPSIDE: You can wear weird things. This can make up for the inconvenience of ruined clothes. So far, my jacket, sweatshirt, black v-neck, polka-dot pajama pants and white tank top have been irreparably splattered, smeared, or spotted with paint. But, because I can shrug and look embarrassed and say "I'm an art student" if anyone mentions it, it doesn't matter. Though, I think the tank top is a goner. It's got a big smear of red-violet which, now that it has dried, looks like a giant stab wound.
UPSIDE: You get to listen to your ipod in class.
UPSIDE: I'm beginning to feel like a problem-solving god. That's what you do, really. Solve problems. For example, every week for 2-D design, I have to represent the same item (one of my high-tops, to be precise) in a new way that corresponds with the things we're studying. "How do I represent my shoe?" is a fairly simple problem I have to solve every week. It sounds silly, but knowing I can get down to business and do a project is empowering. I feel like I can tackle almost anything. Except taxes and flat tires.
UPSIDE: The people are weird. Marvelously entertaining. And you have to wonder how they decided to study ceramics or blacksmithing.
UPSDE: You get to buy stuff at Art Outfitters (a wondrous place) instead of Textbook Brokers.
UPSIDE: In spite of the frustration, long hours (3:30 am is the current record for agonizingly late bedtimes), weeping and gnashing of teeth, it's pretty fun.
So I guess the ecstasy balances out the agony, in the end.
Bad joke.
Tip I wish I'd known 1:
When dealing with color value projects, holding your laptop precariously above your desk and using photobooth's black and white effect will save your life. It is extremely difficult - at least, for me - to tell when you've got a yellow and a purple at the same value level. Black and white pictures solve that problem.
The downside of using this handy tip is that it makes it clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that half your paint squares are wrong. Which leads to the second downside.
 |
| The end result of that mess up there. Some of it is still wrong, but I don't care. |
DOWNSIDE: Even if you, by some miracle, retain your drive to attain perfection, you can never have it. At least, not when you're working with cheap-o acrylic paint. See photo above.
DOWNSIDE: I know that each major or field of study has it's own tricky bits. But I think I can safely claim that art has the most potential for technical mishaps. Meticulous execution and spotless presentation are required - in projects involving paint. Paint. And tape that pulls bits of paper off the surface of your illustration board after you've finished the project.
DOWNSIDE: Your clothes get ruined. You are never clean again. I found paint behind my ear the other day.
DOWNSIDE: You ingest things you should not.
Do you see the danger here? It's unspeakably easy for your preoccupied brain to allow your hand to put a nice, painty brush into your tea cup. Also, I tend to hold things in my mouth. Using the old choppers to hold onto a pen is alright, but when you're sticking paintbrushes in there, things can get unpleasant very, very quickly. And grown-up paint isn't non-toxic. If I'm dead tomorrow, Mom, this is why. I tremble to think of the day when I start using turpentine.
DOWNSIDE: You have to hear people rave about art that's about "the process" and "kinetic energy" and "a return to child-like enjoyment of mark-making". If someone says to you, "oh, we should go to this show, it's all about the process of kinetic mark-making," run. I mean, unless you like giant pages of scribbles or prints made by scraping things across wood. Personally, I loathe that sort of art. I think it's ridiculous. I DON'T CARE about the artist's process. I wasn't there when he made the silly thing. Why does his process matter to me? It's a cop-out, really. Nobody judges a film or book by the process they didn't see and weren't a part of - they look at the results. As you can see, this makes me get a little bit worked up.
But, I can't really just leave it like this. As exhausted and grouchy as I may be now, I still have to admit that there are upsides.
UPSIDES OF BEING AN ART STUDENT:
UPSIDE: You get to say you're an art student. Even if you're to be the most boring, technical web-design person on earth, while in school you get to say you're studying art. Which definitely ups your cool factor.
UPSIDE: You can wear weird things. This can make up for the inconvenience of ruined clothes. So far, my jacket, sweatshirt, black v-neck, polka-dot pajama pants and white tank top have been irreparably splattered, smeared, or spotted with paint. But, because I can shrug and look embarrassed and say "I'm an art student" if anyone mentions it, it doesn't matter. Though, I think the tank top is a goner. It's got a big smear of red-violet which, now that it has dried, looks like a giant stab wound.
UPSIDE: You get to listen to your ipod in class.
UPSIDE: I'm beginning to feel like a problem-solving god. That's what you do, really. Solve problems. For example, every week for 2-D design, I have to represent the same item (one of my high-tops, to be precise) in a new way that corresponds with the things we're studying. "How do I represent my shoe?" is a fairly simple problem I have to solve every week. It sounds silly, but knowing I can get down to business and do a project is empowering. I feel like I can tackle almost anything. Except taxes and flat tires.
UPSIDE: The people are weird. Marvelously entertaining. And you have to wonder how they decided to study ceramics or blacksmithing.
UPSDE: You get to buy stuff at Art Outfitters (a wondrous place) instead of Textbook Brokers.
UPSIDE: In spite of the frustration, long hours (3:30 am is the current record for agonizingly late bedtimes), weeping and gnashing of teeth, it's pretty fun.
So I guess the ecstasy balances out the agony, in the end.
Bad joke.
16 September, 2011
please print name
A couple of weeks ago I asked my parents, in a nonchalant, lazy manner, "Hey, could I maybe, like, move my drawing table up to the wood room* and make it, like, maybe a craft room or something?"
Don't be fooled as my poor parents were by the offhand air this question exudes. It was a carefully calculated sentence. To go into the intricacies of it would take far too long, but the main points I tried to get across were:
1. "could I" I was careful not to use the word "we" - thereby implying that I would do all the work.
2. A craft room. Having a craft room has always been my mother's most heartfelt desire. Whether my definition of "craft room" and hers were completely in alignment was a question I did not raise.
And you know what? The poor dears agreed. Muwah ha ha ha haaaaaaaa.
I asked, again casually, if I could put up decorations.
And again the poor dears agreed.
This particular piece of decor is actually a torture device.
I mean. What kind of sadists are these Schaum people? First they fill their books with hideous illustrations that are physically painful for the visually sensitive child to behold. Then they force the already hurting children to play songs like "Penguin Polka" and "Hot Dog." "Hot Dog" had particularly charming lyrics which, if I remember rightly, ran something like:
My mother and sister would sing and perform an interpretive dance when I practiced this particular song. And they honestly wonder why I quit piano.
I took a picture of this black portfolio because it is a sort of symbolic thingy, don't you know. I paid 27 bucks for it, which for stoney broke me is a fortune, and it's the only attractive portfolio I've ever seen - and when I was contemplating the purchase I said nervously to my sister, "But if I buy it I can't change my major." I don't know why she laughed. It's perfectly true. Because of this black portfolio, I am stuck as an art major whether I like it or not. You can't buy a nice portfolio and then switch majors. It makes you a pretentious moron if you do. And that is a lethal combination.
And here we have an enormous desk, on which is the homework I am supposed to be doing.
So. That's that. I spend almost all my time in here. It's very nice.
*This is the only room in the house that has wood floors. In a moment of mental abstraction (Miss Prism) I called it the wood room, and the name has stuck. Gah. It's not even very easy to say. And I have yet to think of a better name. I'm trying, but drawing a blank. "The studio" sounds moronic and pretentious, nobody appreciated a sort-of Dr. Seuss/hotel/school plan to call this "room 1" and the guest bedroom "room 2", and I'm out of naming steam.
Don't be fooled as my poor parents were by the offhand air this question exudes. It was a carefully calculated sentence. To go into the intricacies of it would take far too long, but the main points I tried to get across were:
1. "could I" I was careful not to use the word "we" - thereby implying that I would do all the work.
2. A craft room. Having a craft room has always been my mother's most heartfelt desire. Whether my definition of "craft room" and hers were completely in alignment was a question I did not raise.
And you know what? The poor dears agreed. Muwah ha ha ha haaaaaaaa.
I asked, again casually, if I could put up decorations.
And again the poor dears agreed.
This particular piece of decor is actually a torture device.
I mean. What kind of sadists are these Schaum people? First they fill their books with hideous illustrations that are physically painful for the visually sensitive child to behold. Then they force the already hurting children to play songs like "Penguin Polka" and "Hot Dog." "Hot Dog" had particularly charming lyrics which, if I remember rightly, ran something like:
Frankfurter sandwich
Hot dog!
Spread on the relish
Hot Dog!
Let's have another
Hot Dog!
Frankfurter sandwich
Hot Dog!
My mother and sister would sing and perform an interpretive dance when I practiced this particular song. And they honestly wonder why I quit piano.
I took a picture of this black portfolio because it is a sort of symbolic thingy, don't you know. I paid 27 bucks for it, which for stoney broke me is a fortune, and it's the only attractive portfolio I've ever seen - and when I was contemplating the purchase I said nervously to my sister, "But if I buy it I can't change my major." I don't know why she laughed. It's perfectly true. Because of this black portfolio, I am stuck as an art major whether I like it or not. You can't buy a nice portfolio and then switch majors. It makes you a pretentious moron if you do. And that is a lethal combination.
And here we have an enormous desk, on which is the homework I am supposed to be doing.
So. That's that. I spend almost all my time in here. It's very nice.
*This is the only room in the house that has wood floors. In a moment of mental abstraction (Miss Prism) I called it the wood room, and the name has stuck. Gah. It's not even very easy to say. And I have yet to think of a better name. I'm trying, but drawing a blank. "The studio" sounds moronic and pretentious, nobody appreciated a sort-of Dr. Seuss/hotel/school plan to call this "room 1" and the guest bedroom "room 2", and I'm out of naming steam.
01 September, 2011
I wish I actually, like, composed posts thoughtfully instead of going me me blah blah band I like blah blah. But oh well.
*So... I still like my school. How weird is that? So far, I've only met one moderate creeper, two weird-talkers (those people who whine about things semi-under their breath apparently to no one - and also sort of to everyone within hearing distance at the same time. And if if you make eye contact you just know they will talk to you. You know the type I mean?), and one foot jiggler who also makes moist noises with some part of their face. I didn't look to see which part because I didn't want to know.
But besides that - and that's not even bad at all - the people have been truly delightful. Though, I have noticed that at least 90 percent of the guys are shorter than me. Dash it, at least 90 percent of the men in Arkansas are shorter than me. I'm not kidding. The male portion of the population is just abnormally diminutive.
Citizens! Hark! A new law has been enacted as of right now forbidding short women from marrying tall men, because then tall women have to marry short men and consequently feel like galumping giants for the rest of their lives! So! That's all!
Actually, I don't care that much. I'm going to marry Adrien Brody, so it doesn't matter.
Anyways. I like my French class, and considering my woeful encounters with French classes in years gone by, it feels like little short of a miracle. My drawing class is getting better - we had to draw the negative space around a chair today, which was challenging and very good for me. 2-D design is even harder, but I worship my tattooed teacher, and am going to work my rear off. My art history teacher is possibly the most tactful woman on earth. The most boneheaded remarks you can possibly think of? Not a problem! She manages to disagree without actually saying so in so many words.
I need to keep chanting, "it's okay to be a beginner" to myself every time I feel like flinging inanimate objects. A beginner at art, a beginner at reading the Bible - just a beginner. "Ohmigosh I need to be reading, like, Augustine's Confessions and sketching magnificently every hour of the day!" Seems to be my internal monologue on a regular basis. And that's just not fair to my poor self. I'm taking basic classes and I'm a newbie Christian - I've got to give myself some grace. And I've got to get you into my lie-eef!
Well... I did my French homework, so I'm going to bed.
* If I ever wanted to be a real art student and got the obligatory tattoo...
20 August, 2011
Good heavens.
Now I understand.
If I made movies, I hope they would look half as perfect as this one did.
18 August, 2011
the kids are alright
Okay! I have something to add to my band daydream of the other day. I knew what I wanted to do with myself - now I know how I want myself to look, too. I'll be a complete person before you know it.
I have been listening to an awful lot of the Who lately (I've sung la-la-la-la-la-la lies - just that bit of the song - about eight hundred times today), and then there was this editorial in vogue, and I've wanted a Vespa for forever (though mom says, "I couldn't convince my dad and you can't convince me. We both scraped too many motorcyclists off the side of the road.") - so I have decided to become sort of a mod.
It's the exact sort of clothes I like, and I'd get to have a scooter and be scornful of people who get drunk. It's perfect.
I just want to look like that. That's all.
The only possible problems I can forsee are:
1. I do not have the figure for A-line or boxy clothes, and I'm not likely to get it anytime soon.
2. I do not plan to engage in the whole "recreational amphetamine use" thing. I need sleep. I'm trying to think up a way of changing that line from Captain America (which I have seen twice and enjoyed thoroughly both times - have I mentioned that?), "a weak man knows the value of strength" into something to do with insomniacs appreciating sleep, but I can't. I'm too tired. Har har, what a bad joke.
3. I don't want to get into fights or be an existentialist.
But otherwise I think it will be fantastic. It's quite convenient that The Who is sort of a mods band, because I have the feeling that I'm about to go slightly mad for them.
It's like the time when I got my ukulele. All of a sudden, ukuleles were all over the place - in a magazine article, on youtube, at church, at school - and I took it as a sort of collective sign. This time I bought The Who's first album, and was googling Vespas, and then I got the September Vogue and - pow! - there was a whole editorial on mods called "My Generation". It all adds up.
I have been listening to an awful lot of the Who lately (I've sung la-la-la-la-la-la lies - just that bit of the song - about eight hundred times today), and then there was this editorial in vogue, and I've wanted a Vespa for forever (though mom says, "I couldn't convince my dad and you can't convince me. We both scraped too many motorcyclists off the side of the road.") - so I have decided to become sort of a mod.
It's the exact sort of clothes I like, and I'd get to have a scooter and be scornful of people who get drunk. It's perfect.
I just want to look like that. That's all.
The only possible problems I can forsee are:
1. I do not have the figure for A-line or boxy clothes, and I'm not likely to get it anytime soon.
2. I do not plan to engage in the whole "recreational amphetamine use" thing. I need sleep. I'm trying to think up a way of changing that line from Captain America (which I have seen twice and enjoyed thoroughly both times - have I mentioned that?), "a weak man knows the value of strength" into something to do with insomniacs appreciating sleep, but I can't. I'm too tired. Har har, what a bad joke.
3. I don't want to get into fights or be an existentialist.
But otherwise I think it will be fantastic. It's quite convenient that The Who is sort of a mods band, because I have the feeling that I'm about to go slightly mad for them.
It's like the time when I got my ukulele. All of a sudden, ukuleles were all over the place - in a magazine article, on youtube, at church, at school - and I took it as a sort of collective sign. This time I bought The Who's first album, and was googling Vespas, and then I got the September Vogue and - pow! - there was a whole editorial on mods called "My Generation". It all adds up.
11 August, 2011
the real question is, will I ever write a post that is actually about something?
Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it?
1. Okay, this house is so distracting. I get almost nothing done. The apartment was so depressing that you had to get out and do things and go the library all the time for the sake of your sanity. Now I just sit on the deck and maybe play ukulele and wham-o! All the sudden it's eleven thirty and my teeth aren't even brushed for pete's sake!
2. There are a zillion things I would like to take pictures of in the yard and house and boast about on here, but it's eleven thirty and I'm too tired.
3. Again, this house is distracting. I don't even want to watch movies anymore. Or, if I do, I have to wait till it's really dark or the bugs are snacking on me rather too greedily. I want to be outside all the time.
4. However, Cee and I went and saw Captain America the other day and shrieked for a bit afterwards. I'm taking dad to see it this weekend, hopefully. We can't pin down exactly why it was so enjoyable. I think because the main guy wasn't a jerk. In a lot of other hero movies the guy has to learn to be good. You like him in spite of yourself because he's funny, but you know he's a turd. Captain America was a nice, honorable guy from the get-go.
5. I don't know why, but when I see actors from, like, a Poirot TV movie or BBC mini-series on the big, big screen, I feel ridiculously proud and happy. I whacked poor Cee in the arm twice during Captain America for Richard Armitage (the tooth-cruncher) and JJ Feild (the British guy in the bad-guy's-lair-demo-team). I also sort of whispered in a very shrill voice, "Richard Armitage is going to be Thorin in The Hobbit! Augh! But doesn't he seem way tall?" I know, I know, they'll make him look shorter. But I just can't see it right now. He just is tall in my head. JJ Feild I knew as Simon Doyle in Death on the Nile. He was good in that, actually. Rather the way I always saw the character in my head.
6. I stayed up till two watching Wives and Daughters the other night. I am more than ever convinced that all British actors must all know each other. I mean, just one example: Keely Hawes (Cynthia Kirkpatrick) is married to Matthew MacFadyen. They met through MI-5. He played Mr. Darcy in the new Pride and Prejudice - along with Rosamund Pike and Tom Hollander, who were both in Wives and Daughters as well. And remember that Poirot I talked about? Well, Barbara Flynn (Miss Browning of Wives and Daughters) was also in it with Emily Blunt, who was in The Young Victoria with Rupert Friend who dated Keira Knightley for forever. And Keira Knightley was in Pride and Prejudice with both Rosamund Pike and Tom Hollander. I mean! And I've been talking about fairly obvious examples involving big-name people who do franchises and big-screen stuff. Don't even get me started on the people who rotate through all the Masterpiece Theatre movies. If the Masterpiece Theatre people don't exchange Christmas cards and go to each others' kids' birthday parties, I would eat a soft hat if I owned one.
7. I am, obviously, the logic master of the world. See #6 for proof, baby.
8. Also, I am great because I took the time to put all the movie titles in italics.
9. I need to go to bed. Several times today I found myself trying to stuff my purse into the refrigerator.
10. Good night.
1. Okay, this house is so distracting. I get almost nothing done. The apartment was so depressing that you had to get out and do things and go the library all the time for the sake of your sanity. Now I just sit on the deck and maybe play ukulele and wham-o! All the sudden it's eleven thirty and my teeth aren't even brushed for pete's sake!
2. There are a zillion things I would like to take pictures of in the yard and house and boast about on here, but it's eleven thirty and I'm too tired.
3. Again, this house is distracting. I don't even want to watch movies anymore. Or, if I do, I have to wait till it's really dark or the bugs are snacking on me rather too greedily. I want to be outside all the time.
4. However, Cee and I went and saw Captain America the other day and shrieked for a bit afterwards. I'm taking dad to see it this weekend, hopefully. We can't pin down exactly why it was so enjoyable. I think because the main guy wasn't a jerk. In a lot of other hero movies the guy has to learn to be good. You like him in spite of yourself because he's funny, but you know he's a turd. Captain America was a nice, honorable guy from the get-go.
5. I don't know why, but when I see actors from, like, a Poirot TV movie or BBC mini-series on the big, big screen, I feel ridiculously proud and happy. I whacked poor Cee in the arm twice during Captain America for Richard Armitage (the tooth-cruncher) and JJ Feild (the British guy in the bad-guy's-lair-demo-team). I also sort of whispered in a very shrill voice, "Richard Armitage is going to be Thorin in The Hobbit! Augh! But doesn't he seem way tall?" I know, I know, they'll make him look shorter. But I just can't see it right now. He just is tall in my head. JJ Feild I knew as Simon Doyle in Death on the Nile. He was good in that, actually. Rather the way I always saw the character in my head.
6. I stayed up till two watching Wives and Daughters the other night. I am more than ever convinced that all British actors must all know each other. I mean, just one example: Keely Hawes (Cynthia Kirkpatrick) is married to Matthew MacFadyen. They met through MI-5. He played Mr. Darcy in the new Pride and Prejudice - along with Rosamund Pike and Tom Hollander, who were both in Wives and Daughters as well. And remember that Poirot I talked about? Well, Barbara Flynn (Miss Browning of Wives and Daughters) was also in it with Emily Blunt, who was in The Young Victoria with Rupert Friend who dated Keira Knightley for forever. And Keira Knightley was in Pride and Prejudice with both Rosamund Pike and Tom Hollander. I mean! And I've been talking about fairly obvious examples involving big-name people who do franchises and big-screen stuff. Don't even get me started on the people who rotate through all the Masterpiece Theatre movies. If the Masterpiece Theatre people don't exchange Christmas cards and go to each others' kids' birthday parties, I would eat a soft hat if I owned one.
7. I am, obviously, the logic master of the world. See #6 for proof, baby.
8. Also, I am great because I took the time to put all the movie titles in italics.
9. I need to go to bed. Several times today I found myself trying to stuff my purse into the refrigerator.
10. Good night.
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