My definition of art is broader than that of most people I know. But it wasn't always that way - I bumped into a lot of interesting thoughts on my way through art history. And not just the art history I learned in school, either. I think, instead of telling you how I define art (which is the end result), I'll point out some signposts I saw on the journey.
Greek pottery, for instance, is considered art by most people. It's beautiful, it's old, and all the snooty people who tell you what you should think about things say it's art. But do you know where most specimens of Greek pottery in museums today come from?
Landfills. Ancient garbage dumps.
See, the Greeks liked their dishes and bowls and vases, but they also used them. They ate off them, drank out of them, and used them as the utensils that they were. And when they broke - when a plate was dropped, or cracked over time - they threw it into a big pit where all the cracked pottery went, and they bought a new one.
That's not to say that the pieces in museums today are ordinary dishes. They're more like fine china, or commemorative plates. The ones you only eat off on special occasions. But just think about how people in suits ogle them in museums. Could you imagine archaeologists, thousands of years from now, digging up our commemorative porcelain NASCAR plates and putting them in museums?
All we really have left of the Greeks are remnants of their buildings, and broken pottery. And we are so desperate to learn more that we root through their garbage, trying to mentally reconstruct their civilization from the crap they used in their daily life. Personally, I think the dishes I eat off of and the coffin I'll be buried in are the last things I'd want people to reconstruct the meaning of my life from. But maybe our daily detritus does say things about us.
But in the end, I'm not saying that Greek pottery isn't art. What I'm saying is: if the stuff Greeks ate off of and then threw away can be art, what else can be?
I probably haven't blown your mind just now with this essay, but if it has shifted your definition of art just a little bit, it has achieved its purpose.
Think about it. That's all I can really ask of you.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
A Tale of Two Christmases
Growing up, I had a Buddhist friend, a Hindu friend, a few Jewish friends, and some Atheist friends. All of them celebrated Christmas.
Not Jesus-Christmas, obviously. We all celebrated the other one... Santa-Christmas. Shopping-Mall-Christmas. That nebulous, month-long state of mind that comes from smelling snow in the air and hearing the same 5 jingling songs until you want to choke Bing Crosby to death with a candy cane.
Capitalist Christmas, that once-a-year time which convinces you affection and companionship really can be better summed-up in a Playstation than in, say, heartfelt words. Or actual companionship. But boy, doesn't it feel good... that blissful moment when the wrapping paper flies, before everyone goes into separate rooms to figure out how to use their unnecessary new gizmos?
And yet some Christians get their tizzy up in a bunch about how Christmas has become less Jesus-centric. "Happy Holidays" isn't good enough for them. They won't be happy until Wal-Mart greeters shout "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" as shoppers enter the store. But Happy Holiday-ers aren't anti-Christmas. "Happy Holidays" takes only one more syllable to say than "Merry Christmas," and it includes so much more: New Years, Hannukah, Kwanzaa... even Ramadan (if it happens to fall on December).
The truth is, all holidays undergo diffusion as they increase in popularity. Initially, holidays start off as specific remembrances of events. Over time, traditions crop up and branch further and further away from a holiday's meaning. Easter used to be about Christ's resurrection, now it's about a giant rabbit who hides eggs (where the eggs come from is not explained).
This diffusion of meaning is obviously problematic for a religion's believers, but it is beneficial to society as a whole. Only Christians can get excited about Christ's resurrection. Everyone can enjoy chocolate eggs.
My main point is this: it is not society's job to adhere to the strict traditions of a group's holiday. Especially when doing so would mean excluding people from the fun. If you want to "put the Christ back in Christmas," by all means, have at it. Put a manger on your lawn. Spread the gospel. Sit your kids down and explain to them why the guy with the brown beard is cooler than the guy with the white one. But don't expect the entire world to conform to how you want to celebrate Christmas. Let the nonbelievers have a little fun, too.
It's a holiday about peace on earth and goodwill toward men, remember?
Not Jesus-Christmas, obviously. We all celebrated the other one... Santa-Christmas. Shopping-Mall-Christmas. That nebulous, month-long state of mind that comes from smelling snow in the air and hearing the same 5 jingling songs until you want to choke Bing Crosby to death with a candy cane.
Capitalist Christmas, that once-a-year time which convinces you affection and companionship really can be better summed-up in a Playstation than in, say, heartfelt words. Or actual companionship. But boy, doesn't it feel good... that blissful moment when the wrapping paper flies, before everyone goes into separate rooms to figure out how to use their unnecessary new gizmos?
And yet some Christians get their tizzy up in a bunch about how Christmas has become less Jesus-centric. "Happy Holidays" isn't good enough for them. They won't be happy until Wal-Mart greeters shout "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" as shoppers enter the store. But Happy Holiday-ers aren't anti-Christmas. "Happy Holidays" takes only one more syllable to say than "Merry Christmas," and it includes so much more: New Years, Hannukah, Kwanzaa... even Ramadan (if it happens to fall on December).
The truth is, all holidays undergo diffusion as they increase in popularity. Initially, holidays start off as specific remembrances of events. Over time, traditions crop up and branch further and further away from a holiday's meaning. Easter used to be about Christ's resurrection, now it's about a giant rabbit who hides eggs (where the eggs come from is not explained).
This diffusion of meaning is obviously problematic for a religion's believers, but it is beneficial to society as a whole. Only Christians can get excited about Christ's resurrection. Everyone can enjoy chocolate eggs.
My main point is this: it is not society's job to adhere to the strict traditions of a group's holiday. Especially when doing so would mean excluding people from the fun. If you want to "put the Christ back in Christmas," by all means, have at it. Put a manger on your lawn. Spread the gospel. Sit your kids down and explain to them why the guy with the brown beard is cooler than the guy with the white one. But don't expect the entire world to conform to how you want to celebrate Christmas. Let the nonbelievers have a little fun, too.
It's a holiday about peace on earth and goodwill toward men, remember?
Monday, December 6, 2010
Dialogue in Stories
I was thinking about the kind of comics I write, and then for some reason I started thinking about the formal storytelling methods I was taught in school. I think I started thinking about those methods because so few of my stories follow them.
Traditional storytelling relies on conflict, which is traditionally described in the most boring general terms imaginable: internal and external. English classes manage to boil down every interesting thing that has ever happened into three unappetizing lumps: man vs. nature, man vs. man, and man vs. himself.
Jesus wondering why he has been chosen to save the entire human race, and whether he can go through with the necessary sacrifice, would be lumped into the man vs. himself category. And possibly man vs. nature, if you consider nature to be an aspect of God.
Actually, right there I've just shown how ill-fitting these categories can be, and that's to be expected, since they are generalizations. Generalizations, otherwise known as stereotypes, are usually ill-fitting when applied to individual cases. But that's not actually what I started this post to talk about.
The main reason my stories don't fit into traditional storytelling methods is because they tend to be mostly dialogue. And not dialogue designed to propel a narrative, or get my characters to grow and change as people. My characters tend to just sit around and chit-chat.
Now that I think about it, that tends to be the format of most sitcoms. Or talk-shows, for that matter. And reality shows. But why do people watch these things, if they don't conform to the traditional, accepted model of conflict, rising action, climax, resolution? I mean, sitcoms pay lip service to this plot model: Joey buys an ugly sweater, people keep telling him it's ugly, the situation climaxes when Joey's idol makes fun of the sweater at a public event, Joey realizes he has bad taste - burns the sweater, cue credits. But the audience doesn't give a flying Finn about Joey's sweater. The entire plot is just a bare string for the writers to hang jokes on. Joey's character doesn't develop, and things go back to normal for the next episode.
But I don't think the reason people watch these types of shows is because they're stupid or easy to entertain. People like dialogue-heavy stories because conversation is conflict. We don't spend the majority of our lives having meaningful moments that change our behavior and shape our perceptions of life. We spend most of our lives telling our friends how much we hate their favorite tv shows, or complaining about the service at restaurants, or saying as little as possible as the women in our lives spend 20 minutes arguing about which movie our group should see. We spend our lives talking.
And while it's easy to see the "external conflict" conversation can provide when we're arguing with someone else, conversation is also an internal conflict. Even if your position is clear in your mind, expressing it in a way that is concise and convincing is a challenge. And if you're actively engaged in a conversation (and not just reciting a list of your preformed opinions) you could find your opinions changing, even as you speak them. Have you ever spent half an hour arguing a point at a party, only to realize much later that you were wrong, and the other person was right? That's why people enjoy conversations so much - they can change the way we look at the world. Sometimes I'll see a movie I think is garbage until my friend explains why it's not. This kind of back-and-forth as two different perceptions clash is exactly what conflict is about.
Of course, all this time when I've been talking about conversation, I've really been talking about thought. Speech is just the output of thought. All that pondering and weighing and analyzing goes on silently in our heads. We merely pause it while we spit out words, and then we crank it back up again.
But all of this stuff is invisible to the audience, who probably want people to stop talking every once in awhile to blow something up or makeout, so dialogue doesn't get its due. Oh sure, people say they love wit, and quote lines that have nothing to do with the central plot, but at the end of the day they still claim to prefer dialogue that advances plot to lines that are "just" entertaining.
Here I think I've stumbled onto yet another topic, but I have to end this blog somewhere, so I'll just address it briefly. That topic is length, specifically, how films have condensed story-length, conditioning us to expect stories to only hit the big moments and barrel through the plot as directly as possible. But which have you spent more time watching in your life, films or tv shows? The Godfather or Gilmore Girls? The point being that dialogue that has no point is closer to real life, while dialogue that exists solely to advance plot is artificial, condensed for maximum dramatic effect. They are different, but not better or worse. Both have a place in culture.
I guess I subconsciously chose meandering dialogue. Well, looking at this post, it seems obvious why. Clearly, I like to talk.
Traditional storytelling relies on conflict, which is traditionally described in the most boring general terms imaginable: internal and external. English classes manage to boil down every interesting thing that has ever happened into three unappetizing lumps: man vs. nature, man vs. man, and man vs. himself.
Jesus wondering why he has been chosen to save the entire human race, and whether he can go through with the necessary sacrifice, would be lumped into the man vs. himself category. And possibly man vs. nature, if you consider nature to be an aspect of God.
Actually, right there I've just shown how ill-fitting these categories can be, and that's to be expected, since they are generalizations. Generalizations, otherwise known as stereotypes, are usually ill-fitting when applied to individual cases. But that's not actually what I started this post to talk about.
The main reason my stories don't fit into traditional storytelling methods is because they tend to be mostly dialogue. And not dialogue designed to propel a narrative, or get my characters to grow and change as people. My characters tend to just sit around and chit-chat.
Now that I think about it, that tends to be the format of most sitcoms. Or talk-shows, for that matter. And reality shows. But why do people watch these things, if they don't conform to the traditional, accepted model of conflict, rising action, climax, resolution? I mean, sitcoms pay lip service to this plot model: Joey buys an ugly sweater, people keep telling him it's ugly, the situation climaxes when Joey's idol makes fun of the sweater at a public event, Joey realizes he has bad taste - burns the sweater, cue credits. But the audience doesn't give a flying Finn about Joey's sweater. The entire plot is just a bare string for the writers to hang jokes on. Joey's character doesn't develop, and things go back to normal for the next episode.
But I don't think the reason people watch these types of shows is because they're stupid or easy to entertain. People like dialogue-heavy stories because conversation is conflict. We don't spend the majority of our lives having meaningful moments that change our behavior and shape our perceptions of life. We spend most of our lives telling our friends how much we hate their favorite tv shows, or complaining about the service at restaurants, or saying as little as possible as the women in our lives spend 20 minutes arguing about which movie our group should see. We spend our lives talking.
And while it's easy to see the "external conflict" conversation can provide when we're arguing with someone else, conversation is also an internal conflict. Even if your position is clear in your mind, expressing it in a way that is concise and convincing is a challenge. And if you're actively engaged in a conversation (and not just reciting a list of your preformed opinions) you could find your opinions changing, even as you speak them. Have you ever spent half an hour arguing a point at a party, only to realize much later that you were wrong, and the other person was right? That's why people enjoy conversations so much - they can change the way we look at the world. Sometimes I'll see a movie I think is garbage until my friend explains why it's not. This kind of back-and-forth as two different perceptions clash is exactly what conflict is about.
Of course, all this time when I've been talking about conversation, I've really been talking about thought. Speech is just the output of thought. All that pondering and weighing and analyzing goes on silently in our heads. We merely pause it while we spit out words, and then we crank it back up again.
But all of this stuff is invisible to the audience, who probably want people to stop talking every once in awhile to blow something up or makeout, so dialogue doesn't get its due. Oh sure, people say they love wit, and quote lines that have nothing to do with the central plot, but at the end of the day they still claim to prefer dialogue that advances plot to lines that are "just" entertaining.
Here I think I've stumbled onto yet another topic, but I have to end this blog somewhere, so I'll just address it briefly. That topic is length, specifically, how films have condensed story-length, conditioning us to expect stories to only hit the big moments and barrel through the plot as directly as possible. But which have you spent more time watching in your life, films or tv shows? The Godfather or Gilmore Girls? The point being that dialogue that has no point is closer to real life, while dialogue that exists solely to advance plot is artificial, condensed for maximum dramatic effect. They are different, but not better or worse. Both have a place in culture.
I guess I subconsciously chose meandering dialogue. Well, looking at this post, it seems obvious why. Clearly, I like to talk.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Flickr is for D-Bags and Commies
Just a short post to vent.
So I've been posting stock photography on 3 sites: deviantart.com, picasa, and flickr.
Deviantart is supergreat, but I've known that for years. The only annoying thing they do is occasionally shunt one of your photos into your 'scraps' section if they consider it too blurry for stock.
Picasa is okay. Except their interface for uploading photos is glitchy and annoying. And they have a 'total upload cap' meaning I can't upload to my account anymore. I guess I'll just start a new account if I feel like it. No biggie.
Flickr has a monthly upload cap. Which means that, to upload all the photos I've already uploaded to Picasa, I'd have to wait about 3 more months. Which is a pain, but it's a free account, so I can deal.
BUT
Today I find out that they only show your most recent 200 photos (if you have a free account). Then I click the link that explains this policy, and it takes me to their little legal 'f*** you, you cheap ****' page where it also says that a free account that remains inactive for over 90 days can be deleted at anytime.
Why would I keep posting stock if flickr is only going to show the 200 most recent pics? But I guess I'd have to upload SOMETHING every 90 days, just to make sure all my pics don't get deleted by some automated flickr drone. Well, **** that.
I know they're a business, but picasa and deviantart don't arbitrarily delete accounts. So I'm going to stick with them.
My picasa stock page: http://picasaweb.google.com/118207523053741040189/Stock1#
So I've been posting stock photography on 3 sites: deviantart.com, picasa, and flickr.
Deviantart is supergreat, but I've known that for years. The only annoying thing they do is occasionally shunt one of your photos into your 'scraps' section if they consider it too blurry for stock.
Picasa is okay. Except their interface for uploading photos is glitchy and annoying. And they have a 'total upload cap' meaning I can't upload to my account anymore. I guess I'll just start a new account if I feel like it. No biggie.
Flickr has a monthly upload cap. Which means that, to upload all the photos I've already uploaded to Picasa, I'd have to wait about 3 more months. Which is a pain, but it's a free account, so I can deal.
BUT
Today I find out that they only show your most recent 200 photos (if you have a free account). Then I click the link that explains this policy, and it takes me to their little legal 'f*** you, you cheap ****' page where it also says that a free account that remains inactive for over 90 days can be deleted at anytime.
Why would I keep posting stock if flickr is only going to show the 200 most recent pics? But I guess I'd have to upload SOMETHING every 90 days, just to make sure all my pics don't get deleted by some automated flickr drone. Well, **** that.
I know they're a business, but picasa and deviantart don't arbitrarily delete accounts. So I'm going to stick with them.
My picasa stock page: http://picasaweb.google.com/118207523053741040189/Stock1#
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Are you still there, Internet?
Sorry, I've been too busy living life to blog.
Besides, it's kinda depressing to talk about canceled projects and things that didn't pan out. (So I won't).
I've taken up stock photography. Gonna post a whole mess of photos on Flickr so people can use 'em for free. It feels nice to contribute to the world's visual inventory.
Inked one page of a comic, too. Don't know if I'll get much more of it done anytime soon. Oh well.
Life continues... if you let it.
Besides, it's kinda depressing to talk about canceled projects and things that didn't pan out. (So I won't).
I've taken up stock photography. Gonna post a whole mess of photos on Flickr so people can use 'em for free. It feels nice to contribute to the world's visual inventory.
Inked one page of a comic, too. Don't know if I'll get much more of it done anytime soon. Oh well.
Life continues... if you let it.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Imaginary Friends
No one ever stops having imaginary friends. We just learn to share.
As for me, I said goodbye to the invisible Stegosaurus who used to walk me to the bus stop when I met four green gentlemen of the turtle persuasion named Michaelangelo, Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael. Me and the kids from my neighborhood would spend all day hanging out with the ninja turtles. To our parents it might have looked like we were shaking plastic figurines and scribbling with crayons, but that's because they didn't have the imagination necessary to see that the eight-foot-tall turtles in the room, eating pizza and twirling nunchucks.
Then came Han Solo and hisspace pimp bounty hunter nemesis, Boba Fett. Star Wars and Star Trek were the first imaginary worlds in recent times that it was somewhat okay for grown men to play in. I mean, "discuss."
Meanwhile, the kids in my class who were good at things I wasn't, like throwing things and catching things and running without puking, were making friends with Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky and whoever was playing football at that time. They never met the real Jordan, of course. The Jordan they played theoretical games with wasn't just a black man who could run really fast and jump really high. He was Jordan the Superstar. Michael Jordan - the human being - has as much in common with Michael Jordan the Superstar as Harrison Ford has with Han Solo.
Nowadays, it's Harry Potter and those pasty kids from Twilight. Or Master Chief from Halo. Or whatever character Samuel Jackson is playing. In ancient times, it was Oddysseus or Gilgamesh. Humans have always had a need for fantasy. But it is only in recent times that it has become acceptable to admit this. To embrace it.
With the rise of the internet, people could share their love of fictional universes anonymously, without fear of embarrassment. But playing pretend isn't as much fun without real friends to play with - thus conventions arose. Now fully grown adults can dress up in costumes and share their passion for imaginary worlds with other people, at least for a few days at a time. Maybe one day we'll even stop calling them geeks and eccentrics for being open about their obsessions.
As for me, I said goodbye to the invisible Stegosaurus who used to walk me to the bus stop when I met four green gentlemen of the turtle persuasion named Michaelangelo, Leonardo, Donatello, and Raphael. Me and the kids from my neighborhood would spend all day hanging out with the ninja turtles. To our parents it might have looked like we were shaking plastic figurines and scribbling with crayons, but that's because they didn't have the imagination necessary to see that the eight-foot-tall turtles in the room, eating pizza and twirling nunchucks.
Then came Han Solo and his
Meanwhile, the kids in my class who were good at things I wasn't, like throwing things and catching things and running without puking, were making friends with Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky and whoever was playing football at that time. They never met the real Jordan, of course. The Jordan they played theoretical games with wasn't just a black man who could run really fast and jump really high. He was Jordan the Superstar. Michael Jordan - the human being - has as much in common with Michael Jordan the Superstar as Harrison Ford has with Han Solo.
Nowadays, it's Harry Potter and those pasty kids from Twilight. Or Master Chief from Halo. Or whatever character Samuel Jackson is playing. In ancient times, it was Oddysseus or Gilgamesh. Humans have always had a need for fantasy. But it is only in recent times that it has become acceptable to admit this. To embrace it.
With the rise of the internet, people could share their love of fictional universes anonymously, without fear of embarrassment. But playing pretend isn't as much fun without real friends to play with - thus conventions arose. Now fully grown adults can dress up in costumes and share their passion for imaginary worlds with other people, at least for a few days at a time. Maybe one day we'll even stop calling them geeks and eccentrics for being open about their obsessions.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Perhaps you would like some music
I have recently become obsessed with a musician named Jeffrey Lewis, and I have decided to share that obsession with you, internet.
Let's first dip our toes into his most 'commercial' song and video:
To Be Objectified
Now, my personal favorite:
Anxiety Attack
(The lyrics to this one do a good job of summing up my own thought processes.)
Something else:
Life
A short song about Ramen noodles:
Ramen
A "Low Budget Documentary" about the history of Communist China (set to music):
It's Awesome
A "Low Budget Detective Flick"
Even More Awesome
The rest of the best:
Don't Get Upset
Seattle
Whistle Past the Graveyard
Back When I Was 4
East River
And lets wrap things up with a catchy ditty about suicide:
Couldn't Take It Anymore
Let's first dip our toes into his most 'commercial' song and video:
To Be Objectified
Now, my personal favorite:
Anxiety Attack
(The lyrics to this one do a good job of summing up my own thought processes.)
Something else:
Life
A short song about Ramen noodles:
Ramen
A "Low Budget Documentary" about the history of Communist China (set to music):
It's Awesome
A "Low Budget Detective Flick"
Even More Awesome
The rest of the best:
Don't Get Upset
Seattle
Whistle Past the Graveyard
Back When I Was 4
East River
And lets wrap things up with a catchy ditty about suicide:
Couldn't Take It Anymore
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A Thought About Perspective
When you are a kid, birthdays are events. They are something to celebrate and look forward to. When you get older, they cease to feel important. They simply mark the passage of time. They only have the significance we choose to impart on them.
I've heard it said that life is a collection of moments. A collection of events. I prefer to think that life is the time between those events. That time is when we chose how to perceive and interpret those events. Life is the time you spend waiting in a dentist's office for your name to be called. The act of getting your teeth cleaned does not have a large impact on your life. However, the time you spend in the waiting room, thinking about your day, your week, your future - that time shapes your life. Those free moments when we are driving to work, or jogging, sitting on the toilet are when we reflect on all the events we consider to have been important in shaping our lives.
But like birthdays, our perception of other events changes over time - as our emotions change, as our memories fade... as we have more time to see things in perspective. The older we get, the more events we can experience and compare to other events. Suddenly, getting a new videogame is no longer the best thing that has ever happened. Getting snubbed in the lunchroom is no longer the worst. And sometimes, events occur that give us a profound clarity about things that happened in the past. People often refer to these events as 'turning points.'
But the events are not the catalyst. What turns us is how we react to those events. We are not robots that record our experiences in one long column that adds up to some definitive sum. We interpret and reappraise and second-guess and predict and regret and hope and deny. We think, therefor we are.
Which explains why you're reading this instead of doing work or kissing someone or accomplishing something. But just because the quiet, thoughtful moments are the ones that shape our lives, that doesn't mean you should wallow in them. Take them in, consider their significance, and then go out and live life.
I've heard it said that life is a collection of moments. A collection of events. I prefer to think that life is the time between those events. That time is when we chose how to perceive and interpret those events. Life is the time you spend waiting in a dentist's office for your name to be called. The act of getting your teeth cleaned does not have a large impact on your life. However, the time you spend in the waiting room, thinking about your day, your week, your future - that time shapes your life. Those free moments when we are driving to work, or jogging, sitting on the toilet are when we reflect on all the events we consider to have been important in shaping our lives.
But like birthdays, our perception of other events changes over time - as our emotions change, as our memories fade... as we have more time to see things in perspective. The older we get, the more events we can experience and compare to other events. Suddenly, getting a new videogame is no longer the best thing that has ever happened. Getting snubbed in the lunchroom is no longer the worst. And sometimes, events occur that give us a profound clarity about things that happened in the past. People often refer to these events as 'turning points.'
But the events are not the catalyst. What turns us is how we react to those events. We are not robots that record our experiences in one long column that adds up to some definitive sum. We interpret and reappraise and second-guess and predict and regret and hope and deny. We think, therefor we are.
Which explains why you're reading this instead of doing work or kissing someone or accomplishing something. But just because the quiet, thoughtful moments are the ones that shape our lives, that doesn't mean you should wallow in them. Take them in, consider their significance, and then go out and live life.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Boring Post is Boring
If any of you out in internetland care, I'll be out of town this weekend, starting tomorrow.
I've been doing some research for some nonfiction comics I'm thinking about doing. I've got enough sources for about five so far. But I've noticed that a lot of the stories I've looked into take place in wartime. Like, all except two of them. I'm gonna have to branch out my research a little bit.
I've been doing some research for some nonfiction comics I'm thinking about doing. I've got enough sources for about five so far. But I've noticed that a lot of the stories I've looked into take place in wartime. Like, all except two of them. I'm gonna have to branch out my research a little bit.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Things I Learned on Wikipedia Today
The CIA worked with a Mafia man named Roselli on plans to assassinate Fidel Castro.
Prototypes of flying cars have been made (and successfully tested) since the 1950s.
Many of the early computer programmers were women, including Ada Lovelace (daughter of Lord Byron), considered by many to be the first programmer.
Iron pyrite, also known as "fool's gold," was used as jewelry in the 1800's.
I have too much time on my hands.
Prototypes of flying cars have been made (and successfully tested) since the 1950s.
Many of the early computer programmers were women, including Ada Lovelace (daughter of Lord Byron), considered by many to be the first programmer.
Iron pyrite, also known as "fool's gold," was used as jewelry in the 1800's.
I have too much time on my hands.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Pretty Pictures
I went to the opening of the Portrait of the Artist show at the Charles H. Taylor in Hampton.
The show runs through October 17.
125 pieces by Hampton Roads artists.
Here are some pictures:
Mallory Jarrell's piece! I have met her in person.
She gave me cookies once.
I was going to vote Mallory's piece "best in show" until I saw this. It's almost as tall as me, and the yellow parts are actually gold in person. You should see it.
I have to go pretend to be busy now.
The show runs through October 17.
125 pieces by Hampton Roads artists.
Here are some pictures:
Mallory Jarrell's piece! I have met her in person.
She gave me cookies once.
I was going to vote Mallory's piece "best in show" until I saw this. It's almost as tall as me, and the yellow parts are actually gold in person. You should see it.
I have to go pretend to be busy now.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Things I have done recently
Met with the comic group I belong to. We mostly just hung out, but the leader has started paginating the anthology book. Apparently paginating is a word.
After the meeting, I was so jazzed that I actually whipped up a little autobio comic on some printer paper. Every time I actually finish a hand-drawn comic I feel accomplished. It's starting a comic that's nerve-racking. Oh, what a terrible life we privileged middle class white people lead.
My friend Eric saw the website and liked some of the pieces, so I'm going to be doing a personalized drawing for him sometime soon. For money! I keep forgetting that other artists actually charge for their work. It seems so petty, but I do like food. Food costs money.
Oh, and Eric lent me the entire series of Cowboy Bebop. I haven't seen The Wire or The Sopranos, so I can honestly say that Cowboy Bebop is the best television show I've ever seen. It had been way too long since I'd seen it.
What else, what else... my mind is always churning with possibilities that I never actually fulfill. The other day, I wanted to see if I could get my dad's old camcorder to work and shoot some short films. Then I saw some thirteen-year-old on youtube who had published her own novel on Lulu. Now I want to write a novel.
It's not enough to dream. You have to actually do.
After the meeting, I was so jazzed that I actually whipped up a little autobio comic on some printer paper. Every time I actually finish a hand-drawn comic I feel accomplished. It's starting a comic that's nerve-racking. Oh, what a terrible life we privileged middle class white people lead.
My friend Eric saw the website and liked some of the pieces, so I'm going to be doing a personalized drawing for him sometime soon. For money! I keep forgetting that other artists actually charge for their work. It seems so petty, but I do like food. Food costs money.
Oh, and Eric lent me the entire series of Cowboy Bebop. I haven't seen The Wire or The Sopranos, so I can honestly say that Cowboy Bebop is the best television show I've ever seen. It had been way too long since I'd seen it.
What else, what else... my mind is always churning with possibilities that I never actually fulfill. The other day, I wanted to see if I could get my dad's old camcorder to work and shoot some short films. Then I saw some thirteen-year-old on youtube who had published her own novel on Lulu. Now I want to write a novel.
It's not enough to dream. You have to actually do.
Monday, August 23, 2010
I Can Has Website?
Why yes, if you'll excuse the atrocious grammar, I can. Has.
You know, it's amazing how long it can take you to do something when you really don't want to do it. You wind up categorizing everything, and making lists, and deciding to do everything in a specific order. That's the hard part of procrastination. It's almost like real work! Then, it gets easier: just decide which part you must absolutely do BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE. And then, don't do it.
Get a haircut. Watch some t.v. Make more lists. Do actual work on a completely unrelated project. When you have mastered this technique as I have, you can eventually be an artist who makes no art at all.
Like Damien Hirst.
But now, the site is finished, and you can peruse my gallery, read my "Artist's Statement" and even buy prints of some of my fabulous crap. It's almost like I'm a professional or something.
Oh, and I set up a Flikr page for my Museum on Wheels so I can update it whenever it "tours." So expect to see a lot of photos of the same Wal-Mart parking lot over and over.
I'm also working with Mallory on a photocomic project, but it's slow going right now. Because she actually has, like, responsibilities. And a life. But that's cool.
I have a website now: http://www.wix.com/crushkill/art
It's kind of okay.
You know, it's amazing how long it can take you to do something when you really don't want to do it. You wind up categorizing everything, and making lists, and deciding to do everything in a specific order. That's the hard part of procrastination. It's almost like real work! Then, it gets easier: just decide which part you must absolutely do BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE. And then, don't do it.
Get a haircut. Watch some t.v. Make more lists. Do actual work on a completely unrelated project. When you have mastered this technique as I have, you can eventually be an artist who makes no art at all.
Like Damien Hirst.
But now, the site is finished, and you can peruse my gallery, read my "Artist's Statement" and even buy prints of some of my fabulous crap. It's almost like I'm a professional or something.
Oh, and I set up a Flikr page for my Museum on Wheels so I can update it whenever it "tours." So expect to see a lot of photos of the same Wal-Mart parking lot over and over.
I'm also working with Mallory on a photocomic project, but it's slow going right now. Because she actually has, like, responsibilities. And a life. But that's cool.
I have a website now: http://www.wix.com/crushkill/art
It's kind of okay.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Breaking News
Alright, so I still haven't gotten a website yet, because I've been busy feeding autistic homeless dolphins finishing the script for a photocomic and starting to storyboard said comic. It's all very boring, but there is one bright spot in my dull existence: I am officially a museum curator now.
By which I mean I got someone else (Cory) to draw something for my Museum on Wheels.
Cory's in 757 CCC, a local comic creator's club that I am also in. He has a webcomic on his deviantart site, right... over... HERE.
His stuff is going to be in an anthology project the group is working on. It'll probably be months before everything is nailed down, but you heard it here first. Unless someone else told you, in which case, you didn't.
By which I mean I got someone else (Cory) to draw something for my Museum on Wheels.
Cory's in 757 CCC, a local comic creator's club that I am also in. He has a webcomic on his deviantart site, right... over... HERE.
His stuff is going to be in an anthology project the group is working on. It'll probably be months before everything is nailed down, but you heard it here first. Unless someone else told you, in which case, you didn't.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Website
I've been looking into getting an actual website I can use as a home page.
I think I've finally found something suitable, but it will take some time to set up.
I'll update this blog with the new info when I have it.
Have a nice day!
I think I've finally found something suitable, but it will take some time to set up.
I'll update this blog with the new info when I have it.
Have a nice day!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Distinctions
With this post, this blog will officially complete its evolution from a tool promoting my art into a bucket in which ideas fall from my brain. Well, I suppose that words are just another way to express ideas and can therefor be called "art" just as legitimately as pretty pictures. Also, I invoke "Duchamp"- the secret password that immediately makes anything art.
So anyway - distinctions. They are important. In fact, contrary to what the sound-bite generators on the television and internet tubes would lead you to believe, fine distinctions are often at the heart of a debate.
Case in point: when people talk about addiction on television, they never make the distinction between chemical addiction and behavioral addiction. Heroin and cocaine, for instance, are chemically addictive because they cause a person's body to become dependent on them. This happens because the body tries to counteract the effects of the drug by altering itself. When more and more of the drug is used, the body's response becomes bigger and bigger. This is why drug addicts can take amounts of drugs that would kill a non-addict. It is also what causes withdrawal - the body has become so out of whack that it begins to need the drug just to return to equilibrium.
Then there's behavioral addiction (which is my term- people don't talk about behavioral addiction, so it doesn't have an official name as far as I know). Anything that feels good can be behaviorally addictive - jogging, eating, playing videogames, watching pornography, etc. This is why we are constantly bombarded by news stories about a 'new addiction.' But it's all basically the same thing- our bodies are set up to reward us for doing things that help us to survive. It does this by releasing the chemical serotonin, which is absorbed by the brain and interpreted by our conscious mind as "happiness." So, when you do physical activity or eat or anything else that helps you survive, your body encourages you to do it again with serotonin. The problem is, in modern society, we have mastered the environment and don't have to work to survive anymore. We are free to do whatever feels good. So instead of eating to survive, we eat because it makes us feel good. And then we get fat while watching news stories about "food addiction."
Behavioral addiction can cause withdrawal too, but on a much smaller scale - similar to the headaches one might feel if they quit coffee cold turkey. Behavioral addiction is, well, more tied to behavior - why not play one more game? eat one more chip? update your Facebook status one more time? In a world that can feel very far removed from purpose and meaning, why not continue an activity that is guaranteed to produce happiness, if only momentarily?
Still, behavioral addictions can be very serious. A man in South Korea had a heart attack and died after playing a videogame for days on end without sleep, food, or drink. Internet and porn addicts often withdraw from offline society, ruining real-world relationships. But anytime a story about these addictions arises, people scoff because they only think of addiction in terms of chemical addiction. "C'mon," they might say, "it's not like they're hooked on crack."
That's why distinctions are so important- because without them, people on opposite sides wind up arguing on two entirely separate, unrelated topics. Anyone who talks about behavioral addiction winds up spending their time explaining how something less toxic than crack can still be dangerous, which is both boring and blindingly obvious. But by this point, the talking heads will have already segued to commercial.
And this happens again and again in public discourse. Politics is the most blatant example: take any "debate" segment on a television show. The shiny and clueless anchor will ask a question, at which point the Democrat will read his unrelated talking point, then wait patiently for the Republican to counter with his unrelated memorized speech. At some point, the words "transparency" and "freedom" will be thrown in, completely out of context. The reporter will fail to ask any follow-up questions, such as "Why did your response have nothing to do with the question I asked you?" and he will thank them for being on the show.
This process will continue for the next 23 hours, or until a volcano blows up, a plane crashes, or a white girl goes missing while on vacation.
So anyway - distinctions. They are important. In fact, contrary to what the sound-bite generators on the television and internet tubes would lead you to believe, fine distinctions are often at the heart of a debate.
Case in point: when people talk about addiction on television, they never make the distinction between chemical addiction and behavioral addiction. Heroin and cocaine, for instance, are chemically addictive because they cause a person's body to become dependent on them. This happens because the body tries to counteract the effects of the drug by altering itself. When more and more of the drug is used, the body's response becomes bigger and bigger. This is why drug addicts can take amounts of drugs that would kill a non-addict. It is also what causes withdrawal - the body has become so out of whack that it begins to need the drug just to return to equilibrium.
Then there's behavioral addiction (which is my term- people don't talk about behavioral addiction, so it doesn't have an official name as far as I know). Anything that feels good can be behaviorally addictive - jogging, eating, playing videogames, watching pornography, etc. This is why we are constantly bombarded by news stories about a 'new addiction.' But it's all basically the same thing- our bodies are set up to reward us for doing things that help us to survive. It does this by releasing the chemical serotonin, which is absorbed by the brain and interpreted by our conscious mind as "happiness." So, when you do physical activity or eat or anything else that helps you survive, your body encourages you to do it again with serotonin. The problem is, in modern society, we have mastered the environment and don't have to work to survive anymore. We are free to do whatever feels good. So instead of eating to survive, we eat because it makes us feel good. And then we get fat while watching news stories about "food addiction."
Behavioral addiction can cause withdrawal too, but on a much smaller scale - similar to the headaches one might feel if they quit coffee cold turkey. Behavioral addiction is, well, more tied to behavior - why not play one more game? eat one more chip? update your Facebook status one more time? In a world that can feel very far removed from purpose and meaning, why not continue an activity that is guaranteed to produce happiness, if only momentarily?
Still, behavioral addictions can be very serious. A man in South Korea had a heart attack and died after playing a videogame for days on end without sleep, food, or drink. Internet and porn addicts often withdraw from offline society, ruining real-world relationships. But anytime a story about these addictions arises, people scoff because they only think of addiction in terms of chemical addiction. "C'mon," they might say, "it's not like they're hooked on crack."
That's why distinctions are so important- because without them, people on opposite sides wind up arguing on two entirely separate, unrelated topics. Anyone who talks about behavioral addiction winds up spending their time explaining how something less toxic than crack can still be dangerous, which is both boring and blindingly obvious. But by this point, the talking heads will have already segued to commercial.
And this happens again and again in public discourse. Politics is the most blatant example: take any "debate" segment on a television show. The shiny and clueless anchor will ask a question, at which point the Democrat will read his unrelated talking point, then wait patiently for the Republican to counter with his unrelated memorized speech. At some point, the words "transparency" and "freedom" will be thrown in, completely out of context. The reporter will fail to ask any follow-up questions, such as "Why did your response have nothing to do with the question I asked you?" and he will thank them for being on the show.
This process will continue for the next 23 hours, or until a volcano blows up, a plane crashes, or a white girl goes missing while on vacation.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
According to Statistics,
A "normal" family has 2.5 children.
If you ever meet 1/2 of a person, you will know that he came from a normal family.
Of course normality is an abstract concept, meaning it doesn't exist, except in our minds. And since different people think differently, different definitions exist for the concept of "normal."
If we treat things that are above 50% in surveys as normal, then it is normal to be divorced, to be female, and to have watched porn on the internet. Voting, on the other hand, is not normal because less than 50% of the population votes, even for presidential elections.
However, normal is most often used as an arbitrary ideal that society should strive for, i.e. it is "normal" to be a virgin until married, it is "normal" to be satisfied with one's lot in life, etc. Under this definition, a behavior could still be considered "normal" even if 0% of the population actually engaged in that behavior.
Also, the people society chooses to honor and celebrate are those who are extraordinary and outside the norm: Mother Teresa, George Washington, Jesus of Nazareth, etc.
In other words, if "Normal" actually exists, it is not something one should aspire to be.
If you ever meet 1/2 of a person, you will know that he came from a normal family.
Of course normality is an abstract concept, meaning it doesn't exist, except in our minds. And since different people think differently, different definitions exist for the concept of "normal."
If we treat things that are above 50% in surveys as normal, then it is normal to be divorced, to be female, and to have watched porn on the internet. Voting, on the other hand, is not normal because less than 50% of the population votes, even for presidential elections.
However, normal is most often used as an arbitrary ideal that society should strive for, i.e. it is "normal" to be a virgin until married, it is "normal" to be satisfied with one's lot in life, etc. Under this definition, a behavior could still be considered "normal" even if 0% of the population actually engaged in that behavior.
Also, the people society chooses to honor and celebrate are those who are extraordinary and outside the norm: Mother Teresa, George Washington, Jesus of Nazareth, etc.
In other words, if "Normal" actually exists, it is not something one should aspire to be.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Plein Air Painting
or however you spell that.
So, the Smithfield Plein Air thing was cool. Not very organized. Basically I went into the arts center, told them I was going to paint, and then wandered outside to find a good spot. They gave me directions to the Windsor Castle Park, which were apparently driving directions, because I made the first turn and the sidewalk disappeared. Being undeterred, as I am a lone wolf who eats danger for breakfast, I kept walking on the side of the road and stumbled upon this picturesque spot:
Gorgeous, really. And I never would have even seen it if I had been driving by. I hopped over whatever you call that metal fence thing on the side of the road and plopped my folding chain right down into nature. It was really nice, seeing the leaves sparkle and the light change. Every once in awhile a nut would fall out of a tree or something would scamper through a bush. You know - nature stuff.
The "palette" I used was an old plastic plate that still had some dried watercolors stuck to it from the last time I'd been painting. I actually used those watercolors to make this piece (plus some yellow acrylic):
The turtle was a late addition. He popped his head out as I was waiting for the paint to dry, and I had to put him in. Then I shoved my supplies back into my Wal-Mart shopping bag, slung the folded chair over my shoulder, and went down the road again.
For a mile. In the sun. By the way, you know you're in the country when your directions say "continue until the road comes to a dead end." But I was determined to press forward. Plus, I had my Gatorade and my plucky obliviousness to my own ridiculous appearance, as I walked down a country road wearing a jacket hung with framed art and a fedora. The fedora turned out to be the best accessory of the day, as it kept the sun off me until I could find a patch of shade to hide in, like the shadow of a tree where I painted someone's backyard:
And their disused shed. There was a horse by the shed originally. A horse which immediately moseyed elsewhere once I got myself set up. But I did get this piece done, and I had a nice conversation with a woman who was out for a walk. The only thing friendlier to me than that woman was the spider I found on my lap not once, not twice, but three times as I was painting here. I gingerly picked up my shirt and blew him off each time, suppressing my childhood response of jerking back, seizure-like, while uncontrollably flailing my arms and yelping "Gah!" and/or "Mother******!"
But I definately got the hint the third time and finished the painting standing up before quickly moving on.
This piece was painted on the Windsor Castle Park trail, which was pretty. This is the most abstract piece I did, but if you want to find the spot yourself, it's the picturesque place right across from the Port-o-Potty. I'm sorry, I meant "Restroom Facilities." That's what it says on the brochure.
After winding through the park, I decided to head towards my car so I could go home and walk my sister's dog. Yes, my sister's dog - I call him that because she is the one who begged my parents for a solid year to get a dog. And she is the one who made Obama-like promises that she would walk the dog and feed the dog and teach it to read Braille all by herself. So as I was saying, I was planning to go home and walk my sister's dog while she was at work, not walking him, when I realized that it was noon and I was wearing a jacket and a black hat.
I found the first shade I could - luckily there was a big tree in front of Windsor Castle:
...otherwise, you'd be seeing a drawing of a laundromat, or an empty sidewalk. My mom quite liked this drawing.
And then I came back, and saw Mallory. Well actually, her mom saw me as I was staring off into space. I mean, contemplating artistic things.
It's kind of funny - I always find it amusing when I read art history books that glamorize the social lives of artists. Oh, what pivotal shifts of artistic thought occurred while Jackson Pollock and de Kooning debated art theory at that bar they used to go to. Really? A bunch of artists hanging out at a bar is a "turning point" in art?
Me and Mallory have hung out at a couple of shows. Are we an alliance? Have we had a "dramatic influence" on each other's work?
Tell you what - we both do digital stuff. We're both interested in pop or "low" culture. I declare that we are part of the burgeoning "LO FI" movement! Can we get half a sentence in an art history book now? Don't make me write a manifesto. When else am I going to use that crap I learned in Art Crit?
But yeah, the Plein Air thing was really good. I am completely satisfied with how it turned out.
And that satisfaction is in no way dampened by the fact that I woke up the next day with roughly a bazillion chigger bites. Which is apparently (obviously) what happens to you when you go tromping through the woods all day, setting down your folding chair wherever you darn well please. I'd show you a picture, but the internet already has enough images of mysterious rashes. It's not that bad, anyway... it's just another reminder that every time I commune with nature,
Nature tries to kill me.
So, the Smithfield Plein Air thing was cool. Not very organized. Basically I went into the arts center, told them I was going to paint, and then wandered outside to find a good spot. They gave me directions to the Windsor Castle Park, which were apparently driving directions, because I made the first turn and the sidewalk disappeared. Being undeterred, as I am a lone wolf who eats danger for breakfast, I kept walking on the side of the road and stumbled upon this picturesque spot:
Gorgeous, really. And I never would have even seen it if I had been driving by. I hopped over whatever you call that metal fence thing on the side of the road and plopped my folding chain right down into nature. It was really nice, seeing the leaves sparkle and the light change. Every once in awhile a nut would fall out of a tree or something would scamper through a bush. You know - nature stuff.
The "palette" I used was an old plastic plate that still had some dried watercolors stuck to it from the last time I'd been painting. I actually used those watercolors to make this piece (plus some yellow acrylic):
The turtle was a late addition. He popped his head out as I was waiting for the paint to dry, and I had to put him in. Then I shoved my supplies back into my Wal-Mart shopping bag, slung the folded chair over my shoulder, and went down the road again.
For a mile. In the sun. By the way, you know you're in the country when your directions say "continue until the road comes to a dead end." But I was determined to press forward. Plus, I had my Gatorade and my plucky obliviousness to my own ridiculous appearance, as I walked down a country road wearing a jacket hung with framed art and a fedora. The fedora turned out to be the best accessory of the day, as it kept the sun off me until I could find a patch of shade to hide in, like the shadow of a tree where I painted someone's backyard:
And their disused shed. There was a horse by the shed originally. A horse which immediately moseyed elsewhere once I got myself set up. But I did get this piece done, and I had a nice conversation with a woman who was out for a walk. The only thing friendlier to me than that woman was the spider I found on my lap not once, not twice, but three times as I was painting here. I gingerly picked up my shirt and blew him off each time, suppressing my childhood response of jerking back, seizure-like, while uncontrollably flailing my arms and yelping "Gah!" and/or "Mother******!"
But I definately got the hint the third time and finished the painting standing up before quickly moving on.
This piece was painted on the Windsor Castle Park trail, which was pretty. This is the most abstract piece I did, but if you want to find the spot yourself, it's the picturesque place right across from the Port-o-Potty. I'm sorry, I meant "Restroom Facilities." That's what it says on the brochure.
After winding through the park, I decided to head towards my car so I could go home and walk my sister's dog. Yes, my sister's dog - I call him that because she is the one who begged my parents for a solid year to get a dog. And she is the one who made Obama-like promises that she would walk the dog and feed the dog and teach it to read Braille all by herself. So as I was saying, I was planning to go home and walk my sister's dog while she was at work, not walking him, when I realized that it was noon and I was wearing a jacket and a black hat.
I found the first shade I could - luckily there was a big tree in front of Windsor Castle:
...otherwise, you'd be seeing a drawing of a laundromat, or an empty sidewalk. My mom quite liked this drawing.
And then I came back, and saw Mallory. Well actually, her mom saw me as I was staring off into space. I mean, contemplating artistic things.
It's kind of funny - I always find it amusing when I read art history books that glamorize the social lives of artists. Oh, what pivotal shifts of artistic thought occurred while Jackson Pollock and de Kooning debated art theory at that bar they used to go to. Really? A bunch of artists hanging out at a bar is a "turning point" in art?
Me and Mallory have hung out at a couple of shows. Are we an alliance? Have we had a "dramatic influence" on each other's work?
Tell you what - we both do digital stuff. We're both interested in pop or "low" culture. I declare that we are part of the burgeoning "LO FI" movement! Can we get half a sentence in an art history book now? Don't make me write a manifesto. When else am I going to use that crap I learned in Art Crit?
But yeah, the Plein Air thing was really good. I am completely satisfied with how it turned out.
And that satisfaction is in no way dampened by the fact that I woke up the next day with roughly a bazillion chigger bites. Which is apparently (obviously) what happens to you when you go tromping through the woods all day, setting down your folding chair wherever you darn well please. I'd show you a picture, but the internet already has enough images of mysterious rashes. It's not that bad, anyway... it's just another reminder that every time I commune with nature,
Nature tries to kill me.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Chalking of Ghent
Sounds like an old-timey disaster. "The Great Ghent Chalking of 2010. Several died."
But I went there, and it was awesome.
It was interesting to see how the event progressed. I got there a little after it started to find a few isolated pieces like this:
And walked away seeing patches like this:
It was mostly parents with their kids chalking it up, which was cool. Although there were a few full-grown women playing hopscotch.
I parked at the Chrysler, because I like to walk. A statement I must now amend to "I like to walk when it's not noon in the summertime."
My first and last contributions shared a theme:
The one on the right has an accordion!
The eleven-year-old girl drawing next to me asked me what she should draw. I suggested a bunny:
She told me she draws her signature smiley faces for classmates for 50 cents a pop. That's more than I've been making for my art recently. /bitter
It's interesting to see what messages pop up when you give people the chance to express themselves:
The one on the left says "Keep our beach clean," and the one on the right is a drawing of a washing machine that was on the sidewalk in front of a laundromat. So, we have environmentalism and crass commercialism sharing the same concrete. Speaking of free speech:
Graffiti. It's never too early to get the kids hooked on it.
Wren, AKA "The Best" and Bess AKA "Cool" had a few tags up on the streetz. Next stop: smokin' weed and wearing eighties t-shirts ironically.
Left: a fire escape.
Middle: my lame drawing of said fire escape.
Right: the two juxtaposed together. Photo taken while crossing a busy street because I am a dangerous rebel omg.
Another site-specific chalk drawing of mine. The pic on left is just after I finished, and the pic on right is about an hour later. I did a few of these, but didn't get pictures of all of them because I was saving my memory card for all the pieces done by 5-year-olds that were more creative than mine.
Proof that I am not a communist.
Someone else is funnier than me.
Also - can you tell the difference between a Death Star and a pig?
They're surprisingly similar. Except pigs apparently have seven legs.
Finally: wtf, is that Zoidberg??? lol.
I wore my art jacket, so I got a couple of compliments and a lot of weird looks. A nice young woman tried to talk to me while I was tracing a shadow with chalk:
"Hey, I like your pictures!"
"Thanks!"
End of conversation.
It didn't even occur to me that I had old business cards in my pocket. I could've been all... if you like my drawings, I am on the internet! All the time. Watching you.
But instead I blanked. Marketing's just not in my blood. Neither is social interaction. Baby steps.
But I went there, and it was awesome.
It was interesting to see how the event progressed. I got there a little after it started to find a few isolated pieces like this:
And walked away seeing patches like this:
It was mostly parents with their kids chalking it up, which was cool. Although there were a few full-grown women playing hopscotch.
I parked at the Chrysler, because I like to walk. A statement I must now amend to "I like to walk when it's not noon in the summertime."
My first and last contributions shared a theme:
The one on the right has an accordion!
The eleven-year-old girl drawing next to me asked me what she should draw. I suggested a bunny:
She told me she draws her signature smiley faces for classmates for 50 cents a pop. That's more than I've been making for my art recently. /bitter
It's interesting to see what messages pop up when you give people the chance to express themselves:
The one on the left says "Keep our beach clean," and the one on the right is a drawing of a washing machine that was on the sidewalk in front of a laundromat. So, we have environmentalism and crass commercialism sharing the same concrete. Speaking of free speech:
Graffiti. It's never too early to get the kids hooked on it.
Wren, AKA "The Best" and Bess AKA "Cool" had a few tags up on the streetz. Next stop: smokin' weed and wearing eighties t-shirts ironically.
Left: a fire escape.
Middle: my lame drawing of said fire escape.
Right: the two juxtaposed together. Photo taken while crossing a busy street because I am a dangerous rebel omg.
Another site-specific chalk drawing of mine. The pic on left is just after I finished, and the pic on right is about an hour later. I did a few of these, but didn't get pictures of all of them because I was saving my memory card for all the pieces done by 5-year-olds that were more creative than mine.
Proof that I am not a communist.
Someone else is funnier than me.
Also - can you tell the difference between a Death Star and a pig?
They're surprisingly similar. Except pigs apparently have seven legs.
Finally: wtf, is that Zoidberg??? lol.
I wore my art jacket, so I got a couple of compliments and a lot of weird looks. A nice young woman tried to talk to me while I was tracing a shadow with chalk:
"Hey, I like your pictures!"
"Thanks!"
End of conversation.
It didn't even occur to me that I had old business cards in my pocket. I could've been all... if you like my drawings, I am on the internet! All the time. Watching you.
But instead I blanked. Marketing's just not in my blood. Neither is social interaction. Baby steps.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
First Stop: Casa de Awesome
I don't think I've mentioned it on this blog before , which proves how much I suck at blogging, but I've been working on a special project. So, uh, surprise!
It's a white trash gallery! I set up some wire loops inside my car so I can hang up paintings whenever I park.
Whoa, how'd that picture get in there? Moving on.
The very first place I took my traveling exhibit was the home of my fellow art conspirator, Mallory. (*cough* http://ThatsWhatSheSaidArt.com *cough*)
She was so pleased, she let me take another cheesy photo with her:
From left: me, signified, signifier. If you don't get that joke, don't worry. It means you didn't loseyour soul a semester of your life to Art Crit.
What's that, voice in my head? You want to see a closeup of the piece I gave Mallory for our art trade? Well, here you go:
(caption unnecessary due to awesomeness)
And here's a sooper secret sneak peak at my first rough draft of the piece.
I still like the idea of overlaying text right on someone's face. Very graphic designy. Designery.
It looks pretty.
In return for my piece, I requested a collage of Jesus playing croquet with Darwin and a monkey. I am whimsical.
Also: this thing looks so much better in real life. Not trying to make you jealous or anything. Just sayin'.
We hung out and chatted for a long time. Well, by my standards. It was energizing to talk to someone who has, like, goals and stuff. And actively tries to reach said goals. I was actually inspired to work on my own stuff afterwards.
...to a point.
Oh, and I asked her if she'd be willing to pose for a photo comic I vaguely had an intention of doing. Crap, now I've said it out loud.
Now I actually have to do it.
Oh yeah, and here are some closeups of two of my traveling exhibit pieces, if my Museum on Wheels fails to invade your locale:
At first, I thought I made this chick look too much like a dude. But then I painted some more and I think it's okay. Not that it wouldn't be okay if I left it all ambiguous. That'd be cool too.
This is an octopus. Its gender is undefined.
I experimented with gesso on the background, and now I am hooked.
Thanks, Mallory. Thanks a lot.
It's a white trash gallery! I set up some wire loops inside my car so I can hang up paintings whenever I park.
Whoa, how'd that picture get in there? Moving on.
The very first place I took my traveling exhibit was the home of my fellow art conspirator, Mallory. (*cough* http://ThatsWhatSheSaidArt.com *cough*)
She was so pleased, she let me take another cheesy photo with her:
From left: me, signified, signifier. If you don't get that joke, don't worry. It means you didn't lose
What's that, voice in my head? You want to see a closeup of the piece I gave Mallory for our art trade? Well, here you go:
(caption unnecessary due to awesomeness)
And here's a sooper secret sneak peak at my first rough draft of the piece.
I still like the idea of overlaying text right on someone's face. Very graphic designy. Designery.
It looks pretty.
In return for my piece, I requested a collage of Jesus playing croquet with Darwin and a monkey. I am whimsical.
Also: this thing looks so much better in real life. Not trying to make you jealous or anything. Just sayin'.
We hung out and chatted for a long time. Well, by my standards. It was energizing to talk to someone who has, like, goals and stuff. And actively tries to reach said goals. I was actually inspired to work on my own stuff afterwards.
...to a point.
Oh, and I asked her if she'd be willing to pose for a photo comic I vaguely had an intention of doing. Crap, now I've said it out loud.
Now I actually have to do it.
Oh yeah, and here are some closeups of two of my traveling exhibit pieces, if my Museum on Wheels fails to invade your locale:
At first, I thought I made this chick look too much like a dude. But then I painted some more and I think it's okay. Not that it wouldn't be okay if I left it all ambiguous. That'd be cool too.
This is an octopus. Its gender is undefined.
I experimented with gesso on the background, and now I am hooked.
Thanks, Mallory. Thanks a lot.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The Baird Method
Of criticism. Possibly could have chosen a better phrase; it sounds dirty to me now.
The Baird Maneuver:
only to be attempted by professionals.
And their girlfriends.
Getting back on track, The Baird Method (patent pending) is a method of art criticism I came up with in college to address some issues I had with how various professors critiqued art.
Some professors I had would criticize an artist for not doing something they had never intended to do in the first place. Most conceptual artists, for instance, have no desire to make their work pretty. Their focus is on the concept; the idea behind the work. Making an artwork all shiny and attractive takes the emphasis away from the point of the art. Andy Warhol didn't put glitter on his Brillo boxes - his focus was on the mundane nature of the objects he was replicating.
Other profs would disparage a piece because they disliked its style or content. To me, this is akin to a movie reviewer saying "I hate horror movies" or giving a movie a bad rating because they didn't like the political message of the film. This is basically another example of criticizing the artist for not staying within the bounds of a critic's personal taste.
The last pet peeve I have is professors who would look at a complete, professionally-crafted piece, and say "I wonder what it would be like if this painting was ten feet tall" or "what if this was a sculpture instead of a painting? Wouldn't that be cool?" What would be cool is if you judged a piece based on its own merit, and didn't compare it to some theoretical version that exists only in your imagination. That would be just swell. (And what is it with art professors always wishing things were bigger? Not everything has to punch you in the eyeballs from fifty feet away).
So yeah, the Baird Method. Basically it consists of 3 questions that address the work from the perspective of the artist, the critic, and the audience. It goes something like this:
What is the artist trying to do? Here we try to see the work from the artist's view - what is she trying to say, what does she want us to get from her art? I feel it is important to start criticism by judging the work on its own terms. It's also important to focus on what the artwork is about, rather than what we expect or wish the work were about. We'll return to imposing our own worldview in question 3.
Did the artist succeed in what they were trying to do? Here is where standard criticism comes in. If the artist was trying to paint a beautiful sunset, did she do the job? Is her color choice aesthetically pleasing? Do her brushstrokes simulate the textures of the scene? Are the anatomy and perspective good enough for the style she's going for?
If the artist has made a conceptual work, does the idea behind the work come through in the piece itself? Often, people will get a certain impression from a work, and then read the artist's statement and realize that the artist was trying to express something completely different. Not that this is a bad thing, but if you're trying to express your personal anguish through a sculpture, and everyone who looks at it thinks it's adorable and cheerful, then you have clearly failed in your initial goal.
Finally, the audience gets into the act with question 3:
The thing that the artist was trying to do... was it worth doing in the first place?
Ultimately, I think it's pointless for a critic to attempt to rid themselves of their preconceptions and become some sort of opinionless robot that takes in visual stimulus and spits out objective criticism. Now matter how fair a critic is, opinion is going to sneak in because we all have our own taste. No one can convince you that you like broccoli. You either do or you don't.
So it's important to be upfront about your personal tastes when giving criticism. For instance, I can appreciate the historical and aesthetic significance of Mark Rothko's paintings while simultaneously hating them and thinking that they suck. I can still fairly criticize him using Questions 1 & 2... it's just when we get to Question 3 that it turns out I think his entire career was a complete waste of time.
Alright, clearly I have as much of a mean streak as my professors, but at least I put it in the proper perspective.
Before I go, there's also the optional Question 4, also known as the "Uh, yeah, I totally did that on purpose" clause:
Did the artist succeed in doing something they weren't actually trying to do? In other words, were they accidentally awesome? This is a useful question if an artist happens to make a conceptual work that is conceptually retarded but very pretty, or if an artist tries to make a beautiful painting but winds up making an ugly but intellectually stimulating one.
The Baird Maneuver:
only to be attempted by professionals.
And their girlfriends.
Getting back on track, The Baird Method (patent pending) is a method of art criticism I came up with in college to address some issues I had with how various professors critiqued art.
Some professors I had would criticize an artist for not doing something they had never intended to do in the first place. Most conceptual artists, for instance, have no desire to make their work pretty. Their focus is on the concept; the idea behind the work. Making an artwork all shiny and attractive takes the emphasis away from the point of the art. Andy Warhol didn't put glitter on his Brillo boxes - his focus was on the mundane nature of the objects he was replicating.
Other profs would disparage a piece because they disliked its style or content. To me, this is akin to a movie reviewer saying "I hate horror movies" or giving a movie a bad rating because they didn't like the political message of the film. This is basically another example of criticizing the artist for not staying within the bounds of a critic's personal taste.
The last pet peeve I have is professors who would look at a complete, professionally-crafted piece, and say "I wonder what it would be like if this painting was ten feet tall" or "what if this was a sculpture instead of a painting? Wouldn't that be cool?" What would be cool is if you judged a piece based on its own merit, and didn't compare it to some theoretical version that exists only in your imagination. That would be just swell. (And what is it with art professors always wishing things were bigger? Not everything has to punch you in the eyeballs from fifty feet away).
So yeah, the Baird Method. Basically it consists of 3 questions that address the work from the perspective of the artist, the critic, and the audience. It goes something like this:
What is the artist trying to do? Here we try to see the work from the artist's view - what is she trying to say, what does she want us to get from her art? I feel it is important to start criticism by judging the work on its own terms. It's also important to focus on what the artwork is about, rather than what we expect or wish the work were about. We'll return to imposing our own worldview in question 3.
Did the artist succeed in what they were trying to do? Here is where standard criticism comes in. If the artist was trying to paint a beautiful sunset, did she do the job? Is her color choice aesthetically pleasing? Do her brushstrokes simulate the textures of the scene? Are the anatomy and perspective good enough for the style she's going for?
If the artist has made a conceptual work, does the idea behind the work come through in the piece itself? Often, people will get a certain impression from a work, and then read the artist's statement and realize that the artist was trying to express something completely different. Not that this is a bad thing, but if you're trying to express your personal anguish through a sculpture, and everyone who looks at it thinks it's adorable and cheerful, then you have clearly failed in your initial goal.
Finally, the audience gets into the act with question 3:
The thing that the artist was trying to do... was it worth doing in the first place?
Ultimately, I think it's pointless for a critic to attempt to rid themselves of their preconceptions and become some sort of opinionless robot that takes in visual stimulus and spits out objective criticism. Now matter how fair a critic is, opinion is going to sneak in because we all have our own taste. No one can convince you that you like broccoli. You either do or you don't.
So it's important to be upfront about your personal tastes when giving criticism. For instance, I can appreciate the historical and aesthetic significance of Mark Rothko's paintings while simultaneously hating them and thinking that they suck. I can still fairly criticize him using Questions 1 & 2... it's just when we get to Question 3 that it turns out I think his entire career was a complete waste of time.
Alright, clearly I have as much of a mean streak as my professors, but at least I put it in the proper perspective.
Before I go, there's also the optional Question 4, also known as the "Uh, yeah, I totally did that on purpose" clause:
Did the artist succeed in doing something they weren't actually trying to do? In other words, were they accidentally awesome? This is a useful question if an artist happens to make a conceptual work that is conceptually retarded but very pretty, or if an artist tries to make a beautiful painting but winds up making an ugly but intellectually stimulating one.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Hi Eric
I'm updating my blog so you have something to distract you from your boring life. Feel special now?
God, blogging is such a chore. The last thing I want to do at the end of the day is sit down and tell the internet how my day was. It reminds me of those family photos my mom would make us pose for at theme parks.
"Alright, everybody - stop having actual fun and come here and pretend to have fun for the camera!"
At least it leaves a record of the things I've done. Otherwise the days all blur together and I forget how awesome I am.
So, a few days ago, I met with a group of comic writers/artists I found out about on Craigslist. And I didn't get murdered or nothing!
Mostly I doodled in my sketchpad, which is considered rude and antisocial in any other setting, but everyone else there had sketchpads too. So we could be antisocial together. It was like the internet, but with people.
These are some columns in the food court where our meeting was held. Tres exclusive. See - it was so exclusive, I had to use french words to describe it.
A squid. I like drawing squids because tentacles can go wherever. You don't have to plan your drawing in advance. I'm lazy.
The meeting was mostly just fooling around and BSing about our art techniques. But they are talking about putting together an anthology, which would be cool if it actually happened. Details seemed vague at this point. But we did manage to create 2 collaborative comics while the "professionals" in the group showed off their ipads and tablets and things that poor people like me don't have.
I provided the punchline for this one! They all seemed to like it.
This one is about a drop of urine for some reason. I claim no responsibility.
They're supposed to be having another meeting soon, but I'm not sure if I want to deal with Norfolk traffic/construction to attend. Plus I have to plan my trip to Richmond to sleepwith Eric's girlfriend on Eric's couch. I want to actually post some work on some online art sites first so I can finally fail and give up on this crazy art thing once and for all. Also I'm seeing Iron Man 2 tomorrow.
So... there's that. God I'm so exciting I could piss myself.
God, blogging is such a chore. The last thing I want to do at the end of the day is sit down and tell the internet how my day was. It reminds me of those family photos my mom would make us pose for at theme parks.
"Alright, everybody - stop having actual fun and come here and pretend to have fun for the camera!"
At least it leaves a record of the things I've done. Otherwise the days all blur together and I forget how awesome I am.
So, a few days ago, I met with a group of comic writers/artists I found out about on Craigslist. And I didn't get murdered or nothing!
Mostly I doodled in my sketchpad, which is considered rude and antisocial in any other setting, but everyone else there had sketchpads too. So we could be antisocial together. It was like the internet, but with people.
These are some columns in the food court where our meeting was held. Tres exclusive. See - it was so exclusive, I had to use french words to describe it.
A squid. I like drawing squids because tentacles can go wherever. You don't have to plan your drawing in advance. I'm lazy.
The meeting was mostly just fooling around and BSing about our art techniques. But they are talking about putting together an anthology, which would be cool if it actually happened. Details seemed vague at this point. But we did manage to create 2 collaborative comics while the "professionals" in the group showed off their ipads and tablets and things that poor people like me don't have.
I provided the punchline for this one! They all seemed to like it.
This one is about a drop of urine for some reason. I claim no responsibility.
They're supposed to be having another meeting soon, but I'm not sure if I want to deal with Norfolk traffic/construction to attend. Plus I have to plan my trip to Richmond to sleep
So... there's that. God I'm so exciting I could piss myself.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Have I Mentioned
that I do commissions? I believe I have, just a few posts down, actually.
And I recently completed my first commission in awhile!
A coworker asked me: "Can you draw strawberries?"
To which I responded: "I can draw anything."
(note the profound humbleness and modesty with which I discuss my craft.)
She was careful to point out "I mean strawberries, you know. Not plums."
Because that's clearly an issue. The two are so alike.
Fortunately I saw a strawberry once. They're the ones with the seeds on the outside, right? I believe they look a little like this:
BAM!
How do you like them apples... I mean strawberries?
I started out with Sharpies for the base colors, then did some Prismacolor pencils over the markers. My sister's friend's daughter Kaylee helped with the background. I gave her a colored pencil and let her scrawl over the piece. I decided to use her squiggles and add my own. After awhile, it started to come together and I felt like an actual artist! I also did it in one sitting, which is unheard of for me. (Just kidding, people who want to commission me for work - I'm always really professional. Honest). Just 4 hours total.
"Yep. I like it." Was her reaction. And then the day after,
"Everyone really likes it." I don't know who 'everyone' is, but I'm glad they like it! I like it, too.
What I also like: money in my pocket. Thanks for the commission, coworker.
And I recently completed my first commission in awhile!
A coworker asked me: "Can you draw strawberries?"
To which I responded: "I can draw anything."
(note the profound humbleness and modesty with which I discuss my craft.)
She was careful to point out "I mean strawberries, you know. Not plums."
Because that's clearly an issue. The two are so alike.
Fortunately I saw a strawberry once. They're the ones with the seeds on the outside, right? I believe they look a little like this:
BAM!
How do you like them apples... I mean strawberries?
I started out with Sharpies for the base colors, then did some Prismacolor pencils over the markers. My sister's friend's daughter Kaylee helped with the background. I gave her a colored pencil and let her scrawl over the piece. I decided to use her squiggles and add my own. After awhile, it started to come together and I felt like an actual artist! I also did it in one sitting, which is unheard of for me. (Just kidding, people who want to commission me for work - I'm always really professional. Honest). Just 4 hours total.
"Yep. I like it." Was her reaction. And then the day after,
"Everyone really likes it." I don't know who 'everyone' is, but I'm glad they like it! I like it, too.
What I also like: money in my pocket. Thanks for the commission, coworker.
I've Been Busy
And tired. And my pinky hurts.
Alright, alright. Apparently some people (Mallory) read this blog, so now I gotta keep updating it or whatever. How am I supposed toogle Dr. McDreamy on Gray's Anatomy make art when I have to stop every five minutes to tell the internet that I'm making art? God, pretending to have a social life is so taxing.
Anyway, I went to see Mallory and Heather's show Amigas Muertas at 37th and Zen the other day. Proof:
This is your classic "The flash sure is taking a long time, I wonder what's wrong with FUUUUUUU**" shot, where I proceeded to inspect my camera at the exact moment it decided to take the picture. Perfect comic timing like this is proof that God exists, and he's a smartass.
That's more like it.
And so what if I'm sporting my "Not homeless, just too lazy to shave" mustache.
The show was really nice - great food, super comfy couches. Oh, and I guess there were some paintings up on the walls. Wasn't really paying attention.
I was busy sketching. Because I always like to feel productive when the conversation wanes and I'm left to my own devices. This is a drawing I did of Mallory, which I had her sign because I used to do that to girls in high school. At the time, I rationalized it as giving them credit for modeling for my art. In reality, it was just a clumsy starter to a creepy conversation that went nowhere very slowly.
"I drew this of you. Would you sign it?"
No, I'm not a serial killer. Why do you ask?
So glad I gave up social interaction after high school.
Another drawing. This makes up for the really crappy sketch I made right before it that we SHALL NOT SPEAK OF AGAIN.
My bootleg of one of Mallory's pieces. I'm thinking of parking my car outside of her shows from now on, and selling sketches of her paintings from my trunk.
Why yes, I have a rich and fulfilling fantasy life. Thanks for noticing.
There was a fishtank in the middle of the room. Above the fireplace. I'm not sure if that's ironic, but it's at least Alanis Morissette ironic.
People spent more time staring at the fish than the art. I find that somehow charming.
From conversations I overheard, it sounds like Mal and Heather stand a good chance of selling some pieces. Bleh. So capitalist. What part of 'starving artist' do they not get? You can't be avant garde and pay rent, guys. It's the law.
It's a shame I can't really sum up the night in words, but I will say that it was good to have an actual conversation with people who appreciate my genius. It had been awhile. Also, Heather and Mal's work looks so much better in person than in Facebook photos.
Speaking of Facebook photos, it was weird having Mallory continually introducing me to people whom I recognized from pics on her Facebook albums.
Dramatic Reinactment:
Me, to myself: "Hey, that's Mallory's mom."
Mallory: "Hey Chris, this is my mom."
It's odd feeling like an unintentional stalker. This is why I prefer having conversations with anonymous strangers on the internet.
Also, this:
Not a reinactment, but it's probably what people were thinking.
Because they don't understand my dark tortured whatchamacallit.
I'm an artist, dammit. I must do art. It's what I do.
Great show, Mal and Heather. Looking forward to the next one.
Peace!
Alright, alright. Apparently some people (Mallory) read this blog, so now I gotta keep updating it or whatever. How am I supposed to
Anyway, I went to see Mallory and Heather's show Amigas Muertas at 37th and Zen the other day. Proof:
This is your classic "The flash sure is taking a long time, I wonder what's wrong with FUUUUUUU**" shot, where I proceeded to inspect my camera at the exact moment it decided to take the picture. Perfect comic timing like this is proof that God exists, and he's a smartass.
That's more like it.
And so what if I'm sporting my "Not homeless, just too lazy to shave" mustache.
The show was really nice - great food, super comfy couches. Oh, and I guess there were some paintings up on the walls. Wasn't really paying attention.
I was busy sketching. Because I always like to feel productive when the conversation wanes and I'm left to my own devices. This is a drawing I did of Mallory, which I had her sign because I used to do that to girls in high school. At the time, I rationalized it as giving them credit for modeling for my art. In reality, it was just a clumsy starter to a creepy conversation that went nowhere very slowly.
"I drew this of you. Would you sign it?"
No, I'm not a serial killer. Why do you ask?
So glad I gave up social interaction after high school.
Another drawing. This makes up for the really crappy sketch I made right before it that we SHALL NOT SPEAK OF AGAIN.
My bootleg of one of Mallory's pieces. I'm thinking of parking my car outside of her shows from now on, and selling sketches of her paintings from my trunk.
Why yes, I have a rich and fulfilling fantasy life. Thanks for noticing.
There was a fishtank in the middle of the room. Above the fireplace. I'm not sure if that's ironic, but it's at least Alanis Morissette ironic.
People spent more time staring at the fish than the art. I find that somehow charming.
From conversations I overheard, it sounds like Mal and Heather stand a good chance of selling some pieces. Bleh. So capitalist. What part of 'starving artist' do they not get? You can't be avant garde and pay rent, guys. It's the law.
It's a shame I can't really sum up the night in words, but I will say that it was good to have an actual conversation with people who appreciate my genius. It had been awhile. Also, Heather and Mal's work looks so much better in person than in Facebook photos.
Speaking of Facebook photos, it was weird having Mallory continually introducing me to people whom I recognized from pics on her Facebook albums.
Dramatic Reinactment:
Me, to myself: "Hey, that's Mallory's mom."
Mallory: "Hey Chris, this is my mom."
It's odd feeling like an unintentional stalker. This is why I prefer having conversations with anonymous strangers on the internet.
Also, this:
Not a reinactment, but it's probably what people were thinking.
Because they don't understand my dark tortured whatchamacallit.
I'm an artist, dammit. I must do art. It's what I do.
Great show, Mal and Heather. Looking forward to the next one.
Peace!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
A Post A Week Is Acceptable,
Right?
Fam(ly) is down from upstate New York.
No time to post.
Didn't get into Art | Everywhere.
(Actually I'm on the "waiting list" - so if someone drops dead...crosses fingers.)
Gotta go hang.
Laters.
Fam(ly) is down from upstate New York.
No time to post.
Didn't get into Art | Everywhere.
(Actually I'm on the "waiting list" - so if someone drops dead...
Gotta go hang.
Laters.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Oh, right - this blog exists
Actually, I've just been too busy/tired to update, but I forgot that I had some delicious images just waiting to be uploaded, so let's look at them! These are all sketches I drew while at the Renewal show - after I ran out of business cards and things started to wind down, I thought I could pass out sketches as momentos. But I wound up liking them so much that I kept them instead.
(I also did them because I drew sketches at my last solo show, and I wanted to keep the tradition alive.)
I'd forgotten how much fun it was to just grab a sharpie and dive in. I've actually done a lot more straight sharpie drawings since the show. Hooray for inspiration!
Cobras are always awesome.
I was doing okay with the bottom half, then I apparently forgot what a giraffe's head looks like.
I had another drawing of a flaming eyeball, but I gave it to a (very) friendly drunk girl who wanted it. I had tried to give her this drawing of a pissed-off flower, but she said it gave her bad memories of the pirahna plants from Super Mario 64, which was a sensitive issue that she "didn't even want to get into right now."
I've had a thing for squids since I was in middle school. By which I mean, tentacles are fun to draw.
I had an audience for this one. I looked up from drawing the top fin to see a young man staring down at my drawing. "Sorry." he said.
Why do people feel the need to apologize for watching an artist work? I was drawing in the middle of a giant crowd. I don't mind if you stare, dude. Actually, it's kind of flattering.
Bad ass. I didn't even know I had this drawing in me.
Bats are also always awesome. But this one seems to have a complex or something.
And now that I think about it, do bats have eyebrows? I'm pretty sure they don't.
(I also did them because I drew sketches at my last solo show, and I wanted to keep the tradition alive.)
I'd forgotten how much fun it was to just grab a sharpie and dive in. I've actually done a lot more straight sharpie drawings since the show. Hooray for inspiration!
Cobras are always awesome.
I was doing okay with the bottom half, then I apparently forgot what a giraffe's head looks like.
I had another drawing of a flaming eyeball, but I gave it to a (very) friendly drunk girl who wanted it. I had tried to give her this drawing of a pissed-off flower, but she said it gave her bad memories of the pirahna plants from Super Mario 64, which was a sensitive issue that she "didn't even want to get into right now."
I've had a thing for squids since I was in middle school. By which I mean, tentacles are fun to draw.
I had an audience for this one. I looked up from drawing the top fin to see a young man staring down at my drawing. "Sorry." he said.
Why do people feel the need to apologize for watching an artist work? I was drawing in the middle of a giant crowd. I don't mind if you stare, dude. Actually, it's kind of flattering.
Bad ass. I didn't even know I had this drawing in me.
Bats are also always awesome. But this one seems to have a complex or something.
And now that I think about it, do bats have eyebrows? I'm pretty sure they don't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)