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?”.

A swami, a wasp, and two chickens.

            Today I sit and study Astronomy for my test tomorrow (the birth, life, death, and remnants of stars.  Fun, yeah?) .  Well, one can only do this for so long so I decide to take my dear little friend (and next year’s roomie) recommendation and go visit her.

            Now I tried this a little while ago after we got back from flower picking, but the booger decided to take a shower. (going to a club/bar thingy all stinky is toats socially acceptable right? [/sarcasm])  Well, I come back later and she’s standing in the kitchen this time.  This happened last time too.  She didn’t hear me knock so I just put my face in the pass through and wait for her to notice me all creeper like.  The expression when she finally saw me was priceless. So, in I poke my head but she’s staring intently at the window.  Must be debating her next painting I think.  Justifiably, since we’d just had a discussion about it all.  She’s thinking of working with reflections, which really has so many possiblities. (which have just turned very very creepy since my friend just sent me a link to O’ Death from supernatural.  Case in point.)

            I follow her line of sight and see on the door: a hornet.  They’ve got a wasp problem up stairs and the school’s not getting it fixed.  Well, I grab and shoe and firmly intend to kill it but once I get within a few feet it locks eyes with me and charges.  Screaming I run across the room.  This proceeds several times until Natalie gets a shoe, (I’m prepped by the front door to run) and chucks it at the sucker. Nothing.  Several more shoes (some of which hit him too!) and he just sluffs them off.  WTF is this hornet? SUPER HORNET?

            We manage to open the sliding doors all the way open, tempting him to leave and just as he flies out a big black bee flies in! Natalie runs for the back room and I out the front.  Eventually, through many creeping in and screaming back out the door we manage to switch places (you thought I was going to say kill the bee, didn’t you?).  Well, the bee is smarter than the wasp and manages to get out the door quickly enough without getting tangled in the Christmas lights. 

            Finally the escapade is finished but both our voices are slightly sore from screaming. She’s taken her towel off her head, by this point, but it really made the whole scene funnier when it was on.


We haven’t had roaches lately, thank goodness! But today there was a spider on the ceiling.

“We have a spider on the ceiling,” Hannah points out to me as I enter the room

“I don’t like spiders” I blankly respond.  Because honestly, I don’t.  but as long as he’s tiny on the kitchen ceiling who’s going to freak out?

A few minutes later Gabriella walks in and Hannah points out the spider to her too. “see him up there. He’s just chilling out.”

Gabriella pauses and stares at the spider a few minutes before remarking calmly, “I don’t like spiders.”

Hannah cocks a brow and chuckles, “clearly this is the shared sentiment today.” She comments with a smile. 

Am I more understanding of old people or finally an old person?

I suddenly realize what old people feel like.  Maybe its not that they’re too old to understand new electronics but that they’re too wise? And maybe a little past their learning curve too.
But this idea came to me as I was turning on my old PS2 today for a long time since a long time and I remembered the first time I got it.  I was probably around 12 but I had been playing computer games for ages and ages and I assumed the rules of a computer would carry over to a console.  Well they didn’t.
For starters I thought that the screen the PS2 opened up to was the same as one’s desktop.  Thus it made sense to me that everything I needed to do could be opened up from this menu.  I can’t quite remember what I was trying to do but I kept opening up the browser trying to click the option I wanted and activate it.  I think it was playing a DVD, so I would check and try to click until I got so annoyed that I couldn’t open it.  Thankfully I was resilient and probably tried restarting the system and moping so that it auto started.  Whatever is the case I wasn’t completely Internet literate yet so I don’t think I googled it.
The second particular instance I recall was trying to quit a game.  I was playing Harry Potter and the sorcerer’s stone (or Jet X2o both were one of my first games) and I decided I was done.  Well, I saved like a good little kid who’s used to their computer crashing every few minutes when they play their Nancy Drew games and then proceeded to scour the game for an option to quit and go back to the browser screen.  Alas I couldn’t find it and having to look away and wince, I shut it off from the switch.
But these thoughts stemmed from my knowledge of years of playing on the computer rather than my lack of knowledge of consoles.  Had I never played games on the computer before I’m not sure what my actions would have been.  I might have read the manual (pft, as it) or I might have given up in exasperation.  Chances are that If I was still the kid I was and not some strange anti-me who avoided all electronics I would have kept with it until I figured out how it worked all the same.  I might just have  done like I did when I first needed a playstation memory card and played for hours not knowing what to do next only to risk loosing all my data (I think I re-played the beginning of Final Fantasy VII at least 6 times before I actually go a memory card.  Even tried just not dying. Heh, that worked out well.)
I think these thoughts were all born from my watching of singing in the rain the other day where they switched from silent movies to movies with sound.  I know the change had to be huge but it never occurred to me all the changes.  I recall talking to my dad about how every year he’d wait for the wizard of OZ to show on TV and how people were so awed by the burst of colour as she entered OZ.
I’ve been mulling over this all night (with some garlic cheddar Jalapano biscuits, mmm~) thinking back to my first technology experiences.  When I first realized computers were easy to hook up, when you had to restart a computer for the keyboard you just hooked up to respond, playing with my friend’s old ipod mini and thinking it was so thin, thinking an ipod nano would snap it was so thin, when I first had easily accessible internet that didn’t make those annoying noises with every webpage, and my first e-mail account with Hotmail.  I feel compelled to write down a in depth account of all my electronic experiences as something new comes out so that I can give it to my grandkids to read and laugh at my excitement over something that will become so commonplace or even dated by then.  I think it’d be fascinating to have my own grandmother’s first thoughts on turntables or cassette players, don’t you?
And so fittingly as I write this I have my all time favorite comedy duo on in the background in one of their old black and white movies: Abbot and Costello, Pardon my Sarong.

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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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Chocolate Kitty Crisp Cookie

Today I had the worst hankering for chocolate (and cheese doritos with Spinach dip but that’s another story) so out I pulled my cute little kitty cookie cutter and sat down to make some cookies.  I don’t have a sugar cookie recipe memorized so I used the Best Ever Chocolate Cutout Cookies recipe from All Recipes as a base and flew from there

So here’s my Recipe

  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (plus about 2/3 cup more to make it the right consistency)
  • 3/4 cup Nestle Rich Milk Chocolate Hot coco mix
  • 1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt
  • 2 sticks butter
  • 1 1/4 cups white sugar
  • 2 egg

I’ve tossed hot coco mix in my cookies a lot now and I’m not sure exactly the difference between cocoa and this except that cocoas a fair bit more bitter and the mixes that go with water probably have condensed milk in them.  I love adding flavored coca because it’s an epic way to get that minty tinge to my cookies in the easiest way possible.  extracts never seem taste-able to me when i bake them in. [/sadness]

I basically followed the instructions on allrecipes but because I made some changes I did a couple of things different.  I mixed the dry together then added in 1 egg and both sticks of butter.  I hate microwaving my butter and I never think ahead to soften it so I just cut it into   1 tbs slices and used to knifes to make it all crumbly.
It was at this point that I realized that  there wasn’t enough liquid and my dough wasn’t sticking properly so I added a second egg and mixed it in with the knives.  Well guess what, now it was too sticky so I gestimated with flour until it was about right.  (if you’ve made cookies before I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.  You can form a ball but it doesn’t stick all over your fingers.)

Finally! my dough was done! Turning the oven on I realized–I still need to refrigerate it.  Impatient college student that I was I only let it sit in the fridge for an hour before pulling out my roomie’s awesome rollpat.  I’m always skeptical about my counter’s cleanliness and sticking is always a problem but this awesome little tool solves almost all my problems.  Cookies I’ve made in the past didn’t stick to it at all but this troublesome dough still needed to have flour put down first.  Though I did notice when I refrigerated it longer it stuck less. . . .  hmmm. ¬_____¬

Well I cut my Kitties out pretty thin, like maybe half a centimeter, give or take, and popped them into the oven at 375F for 11 minutes.  The kitties browned very little on the edges and were still a little soft when I pulled them out but hardened within 5-7 minutes of cooling.  So If you try to take them off the pan fresh like chocolate chips the little boogers will fall apart on you but if you wait too long (like I did for one batch, whoops) you’ll be chiseling the suckers off.

The recipe made about a bajillion kitties.  but seriously I think I pulled out about 5-6 trays of 9 kitties.  No kitties were eaten during the process at all, I swear *shift eyes*

Put Concisely: 

  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (plus about 2/3 cup more to make it the right consistency)
  • 3/4 cup Nestle Rich Milk Chocolate Hot coco mix
  • 1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/8 teaspoon salt
  • 2 sticks butter
  • 1 1/4 cups white sugar
  • 2 egg
  • mix dry ingrediants
  • add eggs
  • add more flour until it’s the right consistency
  •  refrigerate for 1-2 hours
  • roll out about .5 cm thick and cut into kitty shape (or something else if you don’t own an awesome kitty cutter but I can’t guarantee they’ll taste good if they’re puppies and teddy bears)
  • bake in oven at 375 for 11 minutes or until edges are just barely darker than the rest of the cookie
  • let cool on cookie sheet for 2-3 minutes before placing of drying rack
  • share kitties with all your friends!

Makes about 40 kittys.

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I’m late, but here’s a year!

It doesn’t contain all my crochet projects since I tried to concentrate on my drawings but crochet took up a lot of my drawing time this past year so some months *cough*likeallsummer*cough* were pretty much ass crochet.  I managed out 3 afghans before christmas so I don’t think that’s too unreasonable.  While I’m seeing less development and understand I’ve been drawing less I still feel that I need to practice less portraits and more full bodies especially in mini-strips.

Dear World, how do I always miss the memo?

With the start of Lent I decided to give up goofing off on my computer, which TOTALLY includes updating my blog unfortunately.
This has to have been one of my more hectic weeks ever. It started with midterms and then I learned about internships which progressed to summer plans, a grad school panic, and a fish fry which didn’t happen.

After my midterms panic I was talking to my Friend Natalie who was applying for internships this summer.  Really, all the way as early as February? YES. AS EARLY AS FEBRUARY. For starters I wasn’t aware than they were something usually done during the summer of junior year.  I don’t know if someone forgot to tell me or I just missed the cultural memo. Either because I’m culturally oblivious or dipbrats just don’t get the same info others get? I don’t know.  I do know how to get into some school in Belgium though, if that counts for anything. Regardless of whatever my excuse is the long and the short or it was I realized I had exactly 7 days to get out an application.  . . .  yeah, between having to write a resume and get teacher recommendations I don’t think it’s happening. So I started thinking about other things I could do over the summer which span from Volunteering at the Smithsonian, taking summer classes at Community College, getting a job, and etc. All this was going through my head with another midterm hanging over it and it was getting to be a little too much to take.

For the first time I realized that once I graduate I’ll be supporting myself.  This is a scary thought and I’m not really sure how I’m going to do it.  My Major isn’t really all that applicable to the workforce, being sculpture and all that. The one consolation prize is almost no one at this school has an applicable major so hopefully if the career services office is any good they know how to point pointless majors in the right directions.  I definitely wished I’d gone to an art school this week.

Well I managed to get through the week and here comes friday and I’m eagerly anticipating the Knights of Columbus’ Fish fry but they can’t get the propane tank hooked up!
 Luckily My Roomie Gabriella has fish sticks on hand! she cooks them up and gives me  an avocado with lemon.  I think I may be starting to get addicted to lemon now too. I may need to get a bottle of lemon juice.  But she makes a sauce to the fishies with mayonnaise, ketchup, soy sauce, lemon, and one other things which escapes me ATM.  Well it was a pretty decent sauce and it was a pretty decent friday dinner.

My panic button still seemed in engage so I had to play some Legend of Zelda to dissipate it.  Skyward sword feels like I’m replaying a game and it’s kind of frustrating. I really want to play but then I can only play for short bursts because it gets old.  Then, suddenly, I come across something I haven’t done yet that’s intriguing and I’m gripped for hours! I don’t know, I have mixed reviews for LoZ SS.  Grouse is epic win though.

What was lost can be found once more

Today was warm and delightful.  I made iced chai latte, strolled around in shorts, and ran around campus barefoot.  It was all rather delightful.  The best part thought was that I found my old school ID! I lost in within the first few weeks of the last semester and refused to pay the $5 to get a new one.  Honestly, all I needed it for was getting into the sculpture building and CSO will let me if If I call them.  No amount of dirty looks will get me o pay those $5!
Well as I pull out my super short shorts that I’m still in the process of making longer with lace but tapering properly.  Well as I try them on I notice something hard in the butt pocket. “What the?” I ask myself, reaching down to retrieve said object.
As I pull it out . . . lo and behold it’s my missing ID! I knew I didn’t need to pay the 5 bucks, my only mistake was thinking that I’d stored it in the pocket of one of the full length pairs of pants. (trust me to lose it in the one pair of shorts I wear least often!).  I suppose those months of having to call CSO were divine retribution for my shorts being too short? c;

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You got a guest speaker in . . . art? Do I still go to the same college?

My College likes to pretend they don’t have an art department, unless you talk to the people in charge of helping you with graduation and degree planning and then they’re the first to inform you that your major has the most work of any of them.  But the other week I was down checking my mail when I saw this piece of paper taped over the water fountain.


It read.  I rubbed my eyes and looked again.  Could this be true? Was there a guest speaker at University of Dallas that was to do with art? Usually any visiting artists are only advertised in the art village and they’re the sort that mom really doesn’t want you to be.  You know, the sort that make traditional art and live off it. This was a Legit artist in society working a job in the business world! Well I assumed I could plug it into my phone sometime when the mail room staff weren’t behind my back staring as I stood with my eyes glued to a piece of paper. Lo and Behold though, I COULDN’T FIND THE FLYER ANYWHERE ELSE ON CAMPUS. What is this dark magic that the only flyer is down in the mail room?
I corralled my  other art major friends (because this is texas after all, we can’t just gather them) and told them about this and they were eager to see this one lone sign above the water fountain.  Leading them to the spot we all 3 stood and stared.  It was true, not an illusion.  There really was a visiting illustrator!

Well, a week passed and the day for his visit came.  So marching out of Art History we ventured down to the basement of Braniff (the building were everything except science and Drama is.  English, Theology, Philosophy, History, Education; all squeezed into one big building that always smells of skunk.  Delightful.  but down tot he basement we went never the less! Down to the media center room; a tiny little room with computers, a smart board, and a large industrial sized double ceramic sink.  Chairs were all lined up in rows and my fear was that they weren’t going to get enough people to fill them.

As my friend Haley and I sat there more people slowly came in, much to my surprise and filled up almost the entire room! Somehow many of the other art majors had managed to see that one little sign in the mail room too and I saw 3-4 of them sitting behind me.  The others I found out were all students in Children’s Lit and this was their normally scheduled class time. Figures, now it all made sense why he was here.

Well as I sat through his presentation I realized I couldn’t be an illustrator for the same reason I couldn’t become a  story boarder.  He drew many many images and ditched some and cut up others and just kept doodling it up.  I’ve always been a one good final sort of gal.  I love sketching but I haven’t ever been able to just sit down and doodle out 50 million people in a week.  Yes, I know I need to get better about that but I enjoy making 50 million little tack welds in that same time so much more.  At the moment though my sketch book’s suffering because in the spare time I used to use drawing in it I’ve taken to crocheting.  I wish I had four hands sometimes so I could keep them busy with multiple activities and well has never need someone to help me hold something up. I wonder if my brain could keep up with them all?

Regardless! Back to my point.  The Illustrator was Don Tate, probably nice to mention that, right?

After realizing what I probably wasn’t cut out to do my idea of what I could do were reenforced. The techie side was totally up my alley and layout is definitely my scene.  My little pre-fabricated blog here isn’t much of a testament to my skills, I know, but I’ve only taught myself a teeny tiny little bit of website stuff.  I made my profile on Gaia Online in BBC and amped up my Neopets’ page as a kid as well as chugging through some confusing HTML during the last week of my computer problem problem solving (*cough*learntousegoogleandexcel*cough*) class.  I genuinely feel that if given access to the right programs and some actual instruction I should be able to get it all down pat so that it all looks as snazzy as my 7th grade science fair poster. aw, yeah, green ribbon.  But I’m getting totally off topic!

What actually stuck in my head the most was when he mentioned that you don’t have to have your own signature style.  My art always evolves with what I’ve been looking at recently.  A turn towards realism during human figure, bold angles and shapes while watching justice league, detailed hair when obsessing over Mucha.  I was thinking this was a problem.  All the artists I love on DA have a distinctive style and every artist I see on TV or in books like Tim Burton and Erik Carl seems to have a style that’s distinctly their own. I was thinking I need to tucker down and decide how my brains works. Then he mentioned that that really only works some of the time.  Big name artists seem to have that but having multiple styles allows you to appeal to more buyers.  Certain book companies ask for a particular style that you’ve developed and wouldn’t have looked at you if you only drew in a different one.  It makes sense if you think about it.

     He also spoke about writing which actually peaked my interest most of all. I know, I know, I’m an artist.  I don’t actually consider myself a writer in any capacity except for enjoyment.  I’m far to undisciplined. But Last year I wrote a short story for Literary Traditions IV and my teacher mentioned I should tidy it up and submit it for the school’s publication.  I thought that sounded like a lovely idea but I never got around to it.  Well, he mentioned children’s books are only around 500 words.  I sit down and write things that short every day for fun.  What if I just decided on some coherent story line in a magical realism environment and started collecting some child friendly- themed stories that I could do something with? This idea sounded like so much fun to me.  If I ever wanted to go somewhere with that it would also be pretty nice for my resume to have my short story in the school publication.  I could also brag about it. [/humility].  But the Long and short of it is his talk inspired me to dredge up my short story from my external hard drive and finally revise it.  My roommie even mentioned she reads over her friend’s screen plays.  I sure I might be able to convince her to give me some constructive criticism.
     I leave you with a quote that I feel speaks well for me when I’m trying to convince my Dostoevsky reading Miltonian friends the value of my obsession with crazy things that don’t exist and aren’t a stand in for a biblical allusion.

“Fantasy is an exercise bicycle for the mind. It might not take you anywhere, but it tones up the muscles that can. Of course, I could be wrong.”

-Terry Pratchett

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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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