Category Archives: Fish in the face

it’s the end of the Semester and I’m running on 3 hours of sleep .. . . urgh

It’s that time again, yes you know what time I’m talking about! . . . No, not finals and summer, what are you thinking about? I’m talking about Studio clean up day and crits!

While all you other college students took finals at the end of the semester (never cramming I’m sure) and there was a standard week of hell, all us little art majors forgot what the sun looked like, having donned our welding hoods or locked ourselves into the photolitho room in the back of the print studio. In my case, I’m got to do both!

I’ve chugging away at my next sculpture and have almost no time to complete it. YIKES. assembly go go go! but Print making has been the thorn in my side all semester.  Now I love scheduling and planning so I have all my prints worked out and planned out to be finished on time. . .  except I didn’t really remember how to make a Lithograph.  Oh dear.  So I have to wait until my lovely friend had the time in her busy painting schedule to come help me.
Off we trotted at 9PM on Wednesday night. Into bed I climbed at 5AM Thursday morning and out again for art history at 8.  I love it when I get a full nights sleep of 3 hours! [/sarcasm] The only thing that made it tolerable was that the ceramics grad student with the rainbow hair (I love art students.  our grads totally top the others) had an awesome presentation.  She did her presentation of William Wegman.  To quote her “you probably don’t know his name but I’m sure you’ll know him when you see his work.”  I was skeptical but now I’m going to make the same claim.
The first video she showed us was . . . well, this.

Now I’m sorry, but no matter how tired I am a man with a talking stomach will make me laugh.  At this point I run out of tea but no matter, I’m interested. So on she moved to the works that are his current style. My favorite being this one.
but you probably know him best for these (unless you had no childhood)

Yeah, you know who I’m talking about now, right?  The guy behind the dogs on sesame street!

Well, these dogs get me reared and ready to head back over to Printmaking after class to finish my Photolitho.  Yes, because even though I was there from 9-5 the litho press was never free so I could only prep my plates.  URGH. Instead I helped my friend finish up all her plates and get at least her etching printed.  Then clean up began.  Printmaking clean up alone is almost enough to make me never want to take it again.

Now cleaning that studio I run into many of the same problems I do with my dorm kitchen. I clean as I go, make sure I’m polite to those around me and leave counter spaces and at least rinse things that I can’t get to right away.  The others in the studio did the last minute rush and wrecked the place last night in addition to their caked on mess.  URGH.  A lot of it was general maintenance though, like cleaning the parts washer and sweeping up the rolly-pollies. (which we had an infestation of).  Now I’m pooped from no sleep and working all day and night on really only a mug of tea and a sandwich at 5 AM, but to top it all off I was already exhausted before I began from studio clean up in sculpture the other day. True, cleaning up metal side really just consists of a lot of sweeping for the most part but then you need to clear the dock too.  Sometimes you even have to get rid of all the scrap metal and junk that’s been accumulating for years.  Lifting = not my speciality.  I was SO SORE all afternoon!

Well, all that’s left now is to study for my exams (since I decided to do liberal arts instead of art school.  Woo! physics and history! [/sarcasm again] At least there’s no english of philosophy this semester.) and finish my art projects.  Alright I can do this . . .  maybe? I have paint, epoxy, wire and still access to the power tools.  just take a deep breath! My prints just need to be matted.  The BANE of my existence, I swear. My future roomie and I are getting BLACK matt boards for our last few prints (as opposed to the tragic white ones we can buy from the professor.  So hard to keep clean!) Then make sure to call about an interview for my summer job and fly home! (this’ll be my first time flying home with 2 suitcases.  I’m Looking forward to a light carry on so bad!)

Hopefully I’ll get around to posting up some pictures of my studio and prints next!

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If I never see another fish it’ll be too soon

So my show was a few weeks ago now, so my hatred of fish is waning but still burning pretty well
I finally “finished” my paper mache fish, by which I got them completed but not perfected.  they still have a bunch of problems: namely the tails which I practically forgot and didn’t get to spend too much time on making the way I wanted to look.

If you were curious how they turned out, here’s some pictures! only took me way too long.



As you can see I had to construct a trellis for them to hang from and it was a little last minute stressful.  I also failed to realize the difficulty with hanging pieces and how nice it would be to have hooks on pre-measured string for hanging them. yeah, learning experience. The fish line (oh the irony) showed up so much less in the gallery, which was awesome.  Something to think about when using fish line, the lighting. There’s also one little fishie who didn’t make it to the party since he’s still hanging up in the sculpture building. he would have helped get my idea across, as well as 10 more fish and a veiling I could drill into. It’d hard to tell from the pictures, but they have a minor V formation going too (like geese, which strikes my funny bone in ways to long to explain now)

My friends also showed in out tiny intermediate 1 week show (but they’re both painters, so we won’t judge them too hard c; )

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I hate them. I had 5 fly into my apartment last night. The first two I was with my roomie nicole and she smooshed them as they flew around the apartment like the wicked witch of the west’s flying monkeys, out to get us with their sticky legs. The last 3 came is 2 shifts. first I was with my roomie Gabriella and we were talking when it flew up from between us and sent us running. It flew into the sink, where my first thought was to drown it. Gabriella took pity on the nasty little bug and saved him (with much screaming) but then TWO MORE FLEW IN! (into the sink again?)
Well, after much screaming we enlisted a boy who was passing our apartment to come rid us of the fiend but luckily out 4th roomie hannah came home just then and took care of it for us. People have stopped coming now when we scream we do it so often. This saddens me but there’s way to many beetles in these apartments.

I see bugs in every shadow now and I’m pretty sure they’ve given me night terrors.

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My contemplations on Art History over the last decade

Sitting in my contemporary art class some of the most interesting thoughts come to mind.  Does this mean the artists works are a success, since they’re making me think this much? Well, I don’t like to think of it that way.  I prefer that it’s just my dear little professor who’s so great at making even bullcrud look like the platonic ideal. (As I type this a million references pop into my mind that all surround Plato, Aristotle. Milton, and every classical artist you could think about.  I suppose one has to face the harsh reality that they’re become a by product of University of Dallas when they start popping up in your casual thoughts.  Yesterday Plato was used to explain some juicy gossip.  Somehow I don’t feel that’s how he intended his work.)

As I stare up into the vast expanses of abstract expressionist paintings and eventually the large red colour field of Lovely Mr. Newman my brain just kinda freezes time for a minute and turns to me, asking, “Miss. Alex, What on earth are you looking at?”

“Art.” I reply to it, preparing my explanation of the great philosophical transcendence of the zips.

“Seriously?” my brain asks, its little voice laced with mockery.


My brain doesn’t allow me to continue. “I mean look at that mess of unorganized shapes? Do you really think that’s art?” my brain asks, pointing it’s little ethereal finger at Painting by DeKooning.

            As I stare into the work I can’t help but to note that my brain has a point.  It’s probably the ugliest thing to be made. It’s black forms neither have order or any sense of fluid automatism.  It’s as if someone with no eye for design just thought it’d be fun to slap some shapes down on the canvas, add some drips for the movement, and call it fine art. “Well,” not willing to give up yet I continue trying to argue. “DeKooning didn’t really ever consider it done. They had to wretch it from his studio, the paint still wet, remember? Think of your own work.”

My brain would have rolled its eyes, had it any at this comment. “That’s a cop out argument.” It flatly tells me. “What about Rothko?”

“Alright,” I take up the gauntlet and flip through he images in my notes, settling upon Slow Swirl by the edge of the sea. “What do you have to say about this one?”

My mind doesn’t even have to respond.  I know as well as it does that neither of think much more of it than we did De Kooning.  Sure, many of the shapes hold beauty for us-me, but there’s no composition.  There’s no balance, it doesn’t look purposeful. You have to own your space and show a skillful ability to manipulate it, no matter if it’s a sculpture on a pedestal or a painting confined in it’s little square canvas (which De Kooning’s Excavation tried to escape from with humorous means.  If only they had spilled over onto the wall too. A canvas painting that flows down its sides and becomes a wall drawing as well? Doesn’t it sound spectacular?)

My mind finally convinces me that the artistic-ness of their works is severely flawed so I sigh and wave them goodbye and move along in art history. Past Pollak (who my mind and I have to perform this little dance over all over again), to Barnett Newman (who my mind and I never had to argue about no matter how much my little professor explained),  and onward to Rauchenberg until Neo-Dada srung it’s nasty little head.

I hated Dada with a passion when I first encountered it and now NEO DADA? It’s like vomiting up a poorly cooked dinner.  It did’t taste good the first time and it sure doesn’t taste good the second time. As I stared at giant 10 foot projections of a taxidermy goat on a plank of wood and listened to Jasper Johns try to explain how painting a flag was any different that rendering an artistic version of a poster (for those people who think posters are only for college students. That’s what Frames are for dearie.) I find myself wanting to go back to the logic and emotions of Abstract expressionism.

“WAIT- WHAT?” my mind asks, taking several steps back.  It’s face would have been most humorous at this thought, had it one contort.

“Well, I think what they were onto was still art.  Look at De Kooning’s seated woman.  Yeah it’s weird and half finished, and doesn’t look that hard or anything else you sometimes use to judge art with but it harkens to all your senses.  I find it beautiful, emotional, and thought provoking.  Then on top of all that it has all its significance that the professor tells me about.  I could put it in my home, or on a museum wall and enjoy staring at it imagining the implied movement in her thrice placed limbs.  It’s descriptive of his emotions and the woman’s emotions.  A taxidermy chicken on top of a box with some porn is just tacky and made by someone who thinks they should be in philosophy.”

“Well I can’t argue with your second point,” my mind tells me, “but what about something a little bit more on the abstract side.  What about Jackson Pollak?”

“Even there, he’s got something.  I used to scoff at him when he said he would get disconnected with the painting and give up when all he was doing was splatter painting but I’ve done the same thing now.  When hanging up picture of doing layout jobs I may have 30 images but if I loose my vision of where they’re going I can’t finish.  How many unfinished sketches and works do I have that I gave up on not because they got too hard or took to long but because I just lost the vision of where I was going? Stories that I love and reread wishing against anything that I’d continued but had lost the vision of the story as a whole? It reminds me of the story where one day the Pope came to visit Michelangelo in his studio while he as sculpting his David. The Pope marveled at the partially completed work, and asked, “How do you know what to cut away?” Michelangelo’s response was, “It’s simple. I just remove everything that doesn’t look like David.” Well how did Michael Angelo know what was part of David and what wasn’t? If he sculpted a wrong turn and it didn’t fit his vision he wouldn’t have made the same statue, right?”

“You’re asking me to take a mighty leap . . .” my brain said slowly, thinking over what I was trying to convey.

“If this is so bad, with no artistic elements then why, as a child, where you obsessed with it?”

My brain thought back to the days in which it was still just a wee little mind and wore overall shorts and princess braids while struggling over basic arithmetic.  IT did indeed love what it deemed to be called “squiggle paintings”.  It loved looking for the images in the shapes, navigating them like a maze, searching for something personal and exciting.  Following the pattern of the lines, trying to decipher how the artist painted them. Did they just squeeze the tube and let their mind make the squiggle? Or maybe they took the brush and just made shapes that spoke to their inner idea of beauty.  I loved slanty hearts, maybe he loved loopty loops? There was something there, emotionally, that my young brain grappled onto and loved so much that I fell in love with the torpedo factory and indeed decided to purchase my own canvas painting from the art market it Yerevan that now hangs on my brother wall that he loves too.  And he’s not even as mamby pamby as I was, he’s strictly a math and engineering sort of kid. “I suppose there’s something they were getting at.” My mind conceded, “something beautiful and thought provoking that does take skill, just like Gentileschi and Caravaggio’s works did.  It just takes a different sort of skill.”

“Exactly!” I said, thrilled we’d finally agreed without one of us mowing over the other.

“But very few managed to find it.  Too many big name artists that tried to continue the idea took the wrong direction.  Instead of grasping that innate human-ness that the works depicted that took some strange psycologial, philosophical, and emotionless undertone that have to be there by the nature of the work itself and tried to glorify that as the meaning of art.”

I couldn’t agree more at this comment but my opinions are still growing and changing just as my opinions of the abstract expressionists changed as my art history knowledge grew.  I’ve just reached conceptual art in my studies and let me tell you, I feel like I’m looking at writing prompts for Artists.  There has been very little museum art I’ve thought as fine art at all since 1950, but maybe this will help me solidify my idea of what art is anymore.

Just as we look back at the past and laugh at their stupidity I’ve quite curious to see what the future will think about these past decades since the dawn of photography.  Forced to redefine studio art we’re just making a mess of all our ideas, desperately trying to beat out a solution to that infernal question: “What is Art?”.

I’ll get to Art History Later but for now You can Learn how I’m Hipster

Since learning about the hipster Late last year I’ve come to the realization more and more that I unfortunately embody this trend and have been for years and years.  So does that make me hipster before it was cool?

After recollecting on my favorite story of how I was aghast as twilight hit the forums hard the week after I read it, thus allowing me to say I hated twilight before it was popular to like or dislike it and several other similar ones I had it pointed out to me I’m a skinny jean wearing, large sweater donning, tea drinking, story writing, big glasses, and paisley scarf person.  Oh dear. At least I don’t wear the palestine liberation scarf that seems to be big in the scarf world (but I was a fan of it before it became a fashion trend)

I do believe my poor friend Jon was horrified when he discovered this whilst sharing in my tea drinking habit.

Lets look at the other horrifying ways in which I am unfortunately hipster:
I go to a small catholic college you probably haven’t heard of
I graduated Highschool in a small european college you probably haven’t heard of (unless you’re a history buff or think it’s Siberia)
I own myself 2 pairs of shwanky jesus Sandles
I’ve given serious consideration to peace corps
I regret every day I didn’t buy that burlap canvas shopping bag from fresh market.
I gave serious consideration to buying records not because I love the turn table sound
I’ve been wearing oxfords with heels for ages and spent the last 2 years looking for a great pair of moccasins
I’ve been being a bit of an organic nerd for a while
I wear tight pants and scarfs and drink tea in big glasses
I knit
I love thrifting

and the worst part, I was doing all of this before it was cool (except for thrifting.  my Thrift store buddy got me into that two years ago)

My only rational is that I’m an artist.  It was pointed out to me that by being counter culture as culture become counter culture I become mass culture? So the question that bears asking is it more Hipster for me to continue being hipster because that’s where I naturally ended up or be even more hipster by trying to escape?

I think the world’s hipster’s will blow over soon enough and leave me behind.  Then I can dance to my own drum once again without fear.

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Dyslexia’s b aitch

which is what I keep doing on my notes.  Now I’ve always done this but I feel like I’ve been doing a lot more than normal.

As I studied for my two exams this past monday it because even more blatant.  So I wonder is this because I’m tired? Stressed? What causing these relapses of dyslexia? I usually catch them as I write the wrong letter, so it could be worse.  If I want to write “The Red Fox jumped over the brown dog” I’ll usually write “The Red Fox jumped over the Browd-” and the realize what I did.  My options then are: mess up my notes by crossing out “Browd” and writing “Brown” after it, just pretending I didn’t do it at all and writing “Browd dog”, or making sure the correct letter is there in case I can’t understand the word and need to flip flop the letters later to understand what a “browd” is, in which case I’d write “Browd Nog”.  Now the most logical response is to cross it out but that’s where my OCD-ness about my notes comes into play.  I Hate having crossed out things, bullets that don’t align, or ugly arrows so I just opt to write “Browd Nog”. After all, If I just wrote “Browd Dog” I would never know what I meant?

I really try not to question my logic too much, after all the professor’s not stopping for me to decide what to do.

Obviously what I have is super super super super almost non-existant mild since it really doesn’t impair me much at all and I notice it right away, but it is annoying.  It wasn’t until my sister showed symptoms of legit Dyslexia that  I even realized some of the quirks in learning I had as a child were related to it.  I just thought everyone couldn’t figure out which way a 5 pointed until middleschool.

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I was going to start with a nasty little roachy at the top, but their little faces just give me shivers!
Having lived in GA for a while I know my problem isn’t as bad as it could be but it’s pretty bad.  So imagine you’re living in cement apartments where you’re layered like a cake: dudes, chicks, dudes, chicks and then left to right: dude, chicks, dudes, chicks.  The Girls, we’re decently clean.  We cooks, clean, vacuum, then pick up all the crumbs that dropped behind us as we cleaned with a cookie in hand.  The boys . . . there’s a disaster story.  So While we’re in theses apartments there’s dirt from the 60’s probably still deep in the carpet.

Yes, they put wall to wall carpets in college student apartments.

Is it any wonder that while we’re clean and the boys next door have empty booze bottles probably laying about, that cockroaches are attracted in?

Well, we’d done a pretty good job for a while of keeping them out but then IT RAINED. Oh dear, we probably had 2 days or rain.  What I wouldn’t give to go back to scorching texas summer instead.

The roaches came running in in hoards those days and it was terrifying.   The first one to come to my attention was the worst and the most scarring.

it’s midnight and I decide to go to sleep but my roomie is still awake studying science (some complex form with lots of math, I don’t know).  Well, I’d been asleep for almost an hour when I’m awoken by a screech of “ALEX!”
Worst way to wake up, but it gets worse.  I ask her what’s wrong and she points to my yarn pile and tells me that she heard the plastic bags next to them crinkle.
. . . . . . Seriously? you woke me up for that?
I was mad. she then explains that she thinks there’s a roach in there, making the crinkling noises. I lay back down and tell her to move my chair and rustle the bag with it.  So she does.

And, let me mention.  it was a Godzilla Roach.  Huge!

“Kill it! kill it!” she screams.  Well I guess the adrenaline rush is enough to get my out of bed.  So off I hop (and literally I hop.  My bed is some 5 feet in the air) and grab a shoe.
By this point the monster is on my dresser and I’m not having any of this.  Wielding my shoe like a sword I fend him to the ground and stomp on him. Now I want you to think of when Westly kills the ROUS in princess bride here.  The final few stops on the  shoe that’s on him have that very same dramatic music.  I swear.
Now that’s done I clamber back into bed and go to sleep and at some point during the night my roomie gets a boy to make sure it’s dead and dispose of the body.

That was the first roach but then I had roach-nightmares! There’s a bruise literally 6 inches across on my leg from hitting the bed post as I just out of bed at 3 AM hallucinating there’s a roach on my wall.  Clearly I’m handling this problem in a healthy way. The next night I spot another baby Godzilla roach strolling out of the bathroom like he owned it.  I run for a shoe. The following few hours in the living room are torture as I’m sure there has to be a roach in every the corner.

Three nights this continues.  Dreams about roaches (to which my roomie who freaked out so bad she had to wake me up tells me to promptly shut up and go back to sleep when I wake up with nightmares about them), killing them in the hall and shower, checking the toilet bowl thoroughly before sitting down.  It’s terrible.

Yesterday a surprise exterminator come to the door.  It was a dream come true.  Thank you school, you’ve done one good thing in the 2 1/2 years I’d attended you!

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Chocolate Muffins

I have eaten too many.  My sister shouldn’t have made so many.  I have to self control apparently.  This holds true when it comes to life savers (which contrary to my child hood pronunciation are not the same as light sabers).



oh one other thing! Here’s a happy Bat sister in her Christmas snuggie! Which, BTDubbs, she said she’s wear to school but still hasn’t yet!

Next semester I’m living on Flax seeds and shrimp

This is my face when I stepped on the scale tonight.  I’m back to my weight from Freshman year and I’m not happy about it.  Exam week followed by christmas did me in. DARN YOU SWEETS AND DELICIOUS GOODNESS! Yea, so I’m going to be doing some dieting until I can get back to a nice smaller size. (but I still have plans to Harvest moon with a bag of potato chips tonight first)

On another dietary note I think I may be semi vegetarian next semester. By Semi I mean I’m still heading over to my guy friend’s apartments if they grill something yummy.  But I think I’ll have to go veg-head every Lent because I just can’t remember on Fridays otherwise! but it’s kinda of thrilling to have a challenge and I’m always surprised what you can do without meat.  Plus, Meat is expensive.  I’m thinking veggies maybe some shrimpies added in (which always reminds me of the spanish trying to convince Rome that some animal like a capybara wasn’t meat . . . “lol”).

So My brother Got super mario Galaxy for christmas and this game is kinda like a crazy acid trip. Alright, So I kinda suck at it but I haven’t played too much yet.  I’ll get better! but It’s Mario, so there’s bright colours everywhere, which is expected, but since you’re on these tiny worlds you can walk all over them ie. gravity’s all bonky.  I’m carefully walking this ledge and my little bro comes over and is all, “just walk over the edge.” I look at him with a ‘what are you crazy?!’ face.  Is he TRYING to kill me, but I listen.  Sure enough I can walk right around.

It’s like being stuck in a escher painting! I have to fight goombas underneath a glass surface with goombas above me and gravity keeps shifting every few steps! GAH! I’m going back to some straightforwards RPGs now thanks.  I really really really need control of my camera angles. My lack of control is driving me crazy in Animal Parade too!

Speaking of games I kinda wanted to cry yesterday at the Target.  I walked into the game section and stared at all the games I know and want to play but don’t have the funds tog et at the moment.  Series like Assassin’s creed that I totally got into before there were like 5 games that I’m behind in.  how Am I supposed to keep up with the internet when I’m that behind?! This is a serious dilemma. >:|
I SWEAR I’m a real gamer, I just got set back when the new consoles came out nearly simultaneously with me going to college.  I should have got into xbox while I was still in highschool . . .
COUNTRY MUSIC.  So I started listening to it and I like it but one should never listen to it as a single person. One should always be in a relationship or just stick to your rock.  P!nk never struck me the same way as Paisley.  It’s times like this I’m so glad to be a writer, because I can just vent all my singleness in my characters. That’s right, Bryg, you’re getting roses tonight and Chyme you’ve got a date with Lucy at Nameless and Theo you’re going to remember how happy you were when you first met Lawrence.
oh! and I can write with the dice my aunt and uncle gave us! they’ve got pictures that are supposed to be prompts for stories that you piece together when you roll them and—NOOOO! SHE’S EVERYTHING JUST CAME ON SPOTIFY! <3