Comic Reading: 5

          Comics are a relevant form of communication using art.  The entirety of human existence is based upon understanding what someone else is trying to communicate, and Comics are an avenue for such understanding.  Comic book artists and writers utilize a wide range of iconographic imagery in order to relay their thoughts into the viewer’s brain.  According to McCloud, cartoons have the ability to command the viewer’s attention and participation.  Sequence is achieved only because the viewer has the capacity to understand closure, and Comic book artists are constantly searching for ways to correctly portray a sequence.

          Comics allow artists and writers to expand their art making practices and are a versatile resource for them to be heard.  In order for a story to be successful, the writer or artist needs to evaluate the balance of their message.  Is there too much information or not enough?  Is the carrot too close or too far?  Like all artists utilizing any medium, Comic book artists just want to have their opinions heard.  A step further would be to have those opinions understood.  I think that is the bar that artists are striving for today.

A story that will change your life.

Narrative Proposals

1.          Well, everyone’s heard of “Asian glow.”  I’m half Asian.  And I am no exception to this phenomenon.  I would photograph the gradual progression of the phenotypic effects that alcohol has on my Asian body.  I care enough about documenting this because I find it very embarrassing that I cannot control how flushed my face gets when I consume alcohol.  And the insensitive people that point it out only make the situation worse.  I just think it would be interesting to see myself as they do, and really evaluate the situation for myself.  Or, should the narrative that other people relay to me bear any weight on my self perception?

2.          I think it would be an interesting thing for me to try to think like one of my roommates.  This one is particularly obnoxious, but I’m not entirely sure if she sees it that way.  So I would write a story about her day, from the point of view that I would think she has.  The only problem I see with this idea is that I don’t want it to come across as mean-spirited or rude.  I genuinely feel that she lacks all self-awareness, and all I would want to do is try to think like her.

3.          Drawing from Prompt A, depicting a narrative in the style of another artist, I would actually carry over from my “Favorite Artist” blog and depict a story in the style of Claude Monet.  I would consider presenting a very clear-cut, objective story, but illustrate it in Monet’s Impressionist style.  These two styles of representation are inherently opposite, and I wonder what the conceptual significance of the results would imply.

Favorite Artist

          I can't pick one single artist to call my favorite.  I have been influenced by so many different artists, from Leonardo and Botticelli to Monet and Whistler to Pollock to Dalí.  But if I have to pick one to talk about, I pick Claude Monet.  I love his Impressionist treatment of color and his depiction of natural light.  His work reflects my own reality, in that I can see my surroundings similarly to how he renders his paintings.  I have an eye condition called Amblyopia, where my eyes do not work together and my vision is poor in one eye.  I can see perfectly with both eyes open, but if I close my “good eye,” then the whole world becomes fuzzy and I can only see blocks of color.  Often, I cannot recall imagery in perfect detail, and instead I remember scenes as if they were Impressionist paintings, where only color and form matter.

Houses of Parliament, 1904

Garden in Giverny

          Not only are Monet's paintings gorgeous to look at, they also simply make me happy.  I love all the bright colors he uses, because they make the painting come alive.  There is so much movement present in his paintings, it's as if we can see the sun moving across the sky and feel the wind blowing through the imagery.

The Japanese Bridge

Letter

I miss you, Shane.  This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  I don’t know if what I did was right.  I’m sorry I hurt you.  I’m hurting too.  These past couple of days have been a blur.  I don’t know how I’ve been functioning.  I tear up every time I think about you.  And I have been thinking about you a lot.

Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s you.  And every freaking time Kenny knocks on the door, I hope it’s you.  But it’s not.

I’ve never been this sad.  I don’t know if what I said was right.  I don’t know if I can know.  I just don’t know.  I have so much doubt, and now I’m afraid.  I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.  I’m afraid that I’ve hurt you too badly that you won’t ever speak to me again. 

But I think that if we really are meant to be together, then we will be.

I noticed something today… I was completely distraught this afternoon.  But when I thought about the possibility of us together again I felt so much better.  I think that means something.  It could probably be me just trying to cope, but I really do think that feeling was important.

            I think that I definitely needed to be honest with you.  I am glad that I could tell you what I need to do.  But I’m not so certain that I need to do it on my own.  I want to pretend like I know what I’m doing.  I want to feel certain about my decisions.  My problem is that I don’t, and I can’t.

            You mean so much to me.  I still can’t fathom life without you.

Confessions: Review 3

          I appreciated the conceptual significance of all the pieces presented today.  I don't think the pieces today were as strong as they could have been, including mine.  However, I think the strongest piece today was Jenny's because she obviously considered the symbolism attached to each object that was part of her piece.  It was well thought out on her part and I was able to empathize with her on the issue she presented, but only after she explained some of the more technical significances relating to tennis as a sport.  If she hadn't explained what the "sweet spot" was or if Caity hadn't brought up the meaning of the term "love," I wouldn't have fully understood the piece, but I would have understood it enough to get the general message.
          I also thought Andrew's piece was good.  We were immersed in darkness and experienced his piece only through audio.  However, some of the aspects of his story did not equate with some of the audio we heard.  Why was there a baby crying? I thought he said he was five or six? That is the only critique I can give him, though.  Other than that, I liked his piece.
           As I am reading through the class's blogs, I am finding a lot of criticism about my piece.  I agree, it could have been clearer.  As a side note, I juggled with the thought of having the class bow their heads with me as I read my letter, as one would if they were praying.  Perhaps this act would have immediately put my message into context.  Obviously, I decided against this.  I wanted my presentation to be vague, like my relationship with God.  But even if my presentation was clearer, I don't think that would have mattered.  People generally don't react positively when God is brought into the classroom, or in public at all.  I honestly expected these reactions, and I'm glad that people felt strongly enough to write about my performance, even if they didn't like it.  Like Kip said in lecture, he would rather have people hate his work than be indifferent to it.  I will take all the formal criticisms I got relating to the performance as art and consider them in my future work.


A copy of my confession project:

I am sorry I have ignored You all these years.  You would pop up in the back of my mind, but I would quickly shoo You away.  I would think, not now, I’m busy.  I don’t have time to spend with You.  I am busy.  I have so much to do, how could I possibly spare an hour to talk with You?  Can’t You understand that?

What a silly question.

I am sorry for trying to bribe You.  If You would only turn your head this once, I promise never to do it again.  But I always do it again.  And before I do it again, I have that same conversation with You.  But today is when I say no more.  I will not shame myself anymore.  I am worn down by grief and guilt, and I don’t want that anymore.

I regret avoiding You.  I have only been harming myself.  I am sad that I am only realizing this now.

I am ashamed of being ashamed of You.  I am ashamed of trying to hide You from people.  You have done nothing but love me my entire life.  What kind of child does that to their Father?

I am angry with myself.  And that makes me angry towards everyone else.  What kind of way is that to live?  I know I can’t forgive myself unless You forgive me.  So I am asking for forgiveness.  Help me be what You made me to be.

I feel more at ease now.  I know that I need You in my life.  But with that realization also comes more realities.  How do I tell him that I can’t continue on the path we’ve created?  How do I act around people that know me without looking like a hypocrite?  Please help me shake these feelings of uncertainty.  Because I do know, deep down, that You will make everything okay.

Kip's Lecture: 5

          So I assume our next project deals with personal narrative.  This should be fun, I like writing stories. I think my favorite topic that Kip covered today was Sally Mann's photography.  I really dislike how much the media has sexualized everything, and I appreciate Mann's perspective on the subject.  Because she is looking at her nude children from a maternal point of view, she is taking focus away from the inherent sexuality that is associated with nudity.  Her photos were not provocative in a sexual sense, but more stirring in a cultural context.  It is not a regular thing to see children above, say five years old, naked in a public setting.  So when Mann confronts us with her typical life, we don't know how to react at first.  Her photographs are beautiful and strange, and I enjoyed learning about her today.

          Lynda Barry's comic, The Aswang, was hilarious. I love stories like that.  Barry made the personalities of both her grandmother and her mother known through simple dialogue, and also tied in the complexity of mother-daughter relationships over the span of three generations, all in a few pages of a comic. Awesome!

          I'm still a little confused about Marlon Riggs' piece from Tongues Tied.  I'm not sure what it was about.  Did it concern a personal narrative in the form of snapping fingers? I don't know.  It was weird, and I feel like it was parodying something.
          I feel like I have a better sense of what a personal narrative is supposed to entail now. Bring it on!

Art Show Review

          The VIP (Viewing In Private) Art Fair is an online exhibition that was active in real time from January 22-30, 2011.  However, the entire website and its interface are still up and active.  "VIP Art Fair is the first art fair to mobilize the collective force of the world’s leading contemporary art galleries with the unlimited reach of the Internet."  Basically, the event compiled the content of galleries from around the world on this one single site.  The site is open to the public, and people can access thousands of art located around the globe with the click of a button.  People can click on images, view close-ups of the work, and read more information all from this website.  So with a good chunk of the art world at your fingertips, all there's left to do is begin randomly clicking away!
         As I searched through this massive archive of art, I came across an artist called Patricia Piccinini, who was exhibited at Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery in Sidney, Australia.  Piccinini's work is hyperrealistic, disturbing, and totally weird.  She makes fantastical renditions of human-like figures, which are so obviously not human.  She uses materials such as silicone, fiberglass, and human hair.

Bottom Feeder, 2009

          Seriously, what the heck is this thing? It's so realistic, it looks like it could actually be a creature of this earth, but it is so totally wrong.  I can't un-see this. I will probably have nightmares tonight, not gonna lie.  Oh, and in case you wanted more, here is the backside of this guy:

          The craftsmanship is amazing.  The texture of the skin is so convincing.  Why did I ever look at this website?  Well, this one is actually a little cute:

Newborn, 2010

          It really is astounding how Piccinini has rendered her figures.  She created incredibly fantastical and organic looking beings out of mainly synthetic material.  Her work is totally weird, but strangely nurturing.  It's as if she coddled these figures into existence.

Patricia Piccinini's site

The Gallery's Website: Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery

VIP's Website: Viewing in Private

Some New Thoughts on Confession Week

          I haven't had the opportunity of presenting my confession piece, yet.  So, as my reflection for this week, I will discuss some new thoughts I have.
          Originally, I wanted to share a confession that was not-so-typical.  I was having a really hard time coming up with something to present that was as stirring as some of the rest of the class.  I think the reason for this was because I have had it relatively easy in my twenty years of life.  My parents are not divorced; they actually like each other, I've never been poor, my family has healthy relations with one another, I have never been physically or mentally traumatized, nobody close to me has ever died, I've never had a serious problem with drinking or drugs and neither has anyone in my immediate family, my boyfriend loves me, and I'm doing well in school and life in general.  So, what the heck am I supposed to say to the class to make them cry and what not?  Well, believe it or not, I can remember having feelings of resentment towards people in my life who have actually experienced some of these problems.  I used to think it would be cool if my parents were divorced, or I had to use the welfare lunch tickets, or if I had some sort of drug problem, because then I'd have something to complain about.  I know it sounds sort of stupid and ridiculous and ungrateful, but sometimes it's hard to find inspiration for my art because I don't have that one thing in my life that stirs up all the emotions that are inherently attached to each of these problems.  Seriously, think about the best art piece you have ever created.  It was probably a reflection about a dead relative, drugs, drinking, etc.  Well, I don't have that.  Yeah, I've made mistakes in my life that involve some of this stuff, but nothing that has ever seriously jeopardized my life or well-being.  But I dropped this idea, because I figure that nobody wants to actually listen to how seemingly perfect my life sounds.

A Perfect Day

          I also had a confession that involved me hacking off my hair in class, but I decided to forego the drama.  I'm really not that dramatic, and I probably would have criticized someone who did do something that dramatic as seriously starved for attention.  Cough, cough, the girl who got published in the Nexus for parading around in bloody underwear.  *Side note, let's make a connection here.  Hmm... She works for the Nexus.  She got published in the Nexus for her project.  Coincidence? Probably.  Kudos, though, for using your resources, sister.

HAHAHA this kid.

          Anyway, I do have a new idea for a confession.  I won't go into detail, because what's the fun in that?  My confession doesn't involve something terrible that happened to me.  It's actually the exact opposite.  Something amazing has happened to me.  But I have resisted letting this amazing thing happen to me for quite some time.  And that is what I regret.  And that is my confession.  I intend to write down my most personal thoughts on paper, then read that paper to the class.  You probably won't cry, but I might.  And just because you don't, doesn't mean my piece wasn't "effective."  It's going to act as more of a therapy session for myself.

Reader: Week 4

          I love Robert Rauschenberg.  I was lucky enough to see/smell/experience his work at MOCA.  I really appreciate that he wants the viewers of his work to really understand the meanings he is trying to illustrate.  His work may seem arbitrary, but there is definitely a method to his madness.  I find his ability to successfully move on from one area to another really refreshing as an artist.  Yeah, it's great to recognize an artist's style, but if they are just reproducing the same idea in, say, a different set of colors, well, that work gets kind of boring.  He not only manipulates and uses found objects in his work, but justifies them as legitimate art making material.  "If it was all right to make pictures with bits of pasted paper or metal or wood, he asked, then why couldn't you use a bed, or even a goat with a tire?" (193).

There is so much texture on this piece, it's insane.

          Many art critics did not take Rauschenberg seriously as an artist, and some of his contemporaries did not see him as a competitive threat.  Whether or not Rauschenberg would agree with such criticism, I think that his reasoning for creating art and using unconventional materials has made a mark in the history of art making.  An artist can't go to a contemporary art museum and not hear an utterance about Robert Rauschenberg.  His interest in reality, in portraying a subject as it was, instead of trying to create a false reality with the illusion of depth, is what makes Rauschenberg so interesting to me.  I can appreciate his perspective on our world, and attempting to understand all perspectives can only propel me in a positive direction.

Comic Reading: 4

In chapter 7, McCloud defines art as “any human activity which doesn’t grow out of either of our species’ two basic instincts: survival and reproduction” (164).  By this reasoning, comics (and many other things that may not usually be considered art) are undoubtedly considered art.  Our desire to express individuality is not only a useful byproduct of evolution; it is also one of the causes.  Art as function, self-expression, and discovery are all motifs that have existed for as long as humanity has been around.  I appreciate that McCloud has broken down the practice of art making into six tangible steps.  However, in order to be great, the artist cannot limit themselves to just these steps alone.  The artist must realize his/her own purpose for making art and be able to innovatively convey that purpose.

In chapter 8, color in comics is discussed in terms of commerce and technology.  Bold, bright colors are cheaper to use in mass production, and such colors also happen to grab peoples’ attention.  Win-win.  As consumers, we can also subconsciously identify comic book super heroes by merely recognizing the color palette used in the comic.  Color is not only a powerful marketing and recognition tool, but an entire dimension of art making.  Color makes the whole viewing experience drastically different than if viewed in black and white.

Random Act of Kindness

          It turns out that I'm randomly kind all the time and I don't even realize it.  I guess I'm just that awesome.  Humility is a different issue, though. Haha!
          I came home for the weekend today.  I am usually helpful around my house when I come to visit, but today I was extra helpful.  I wouldn't say that I did one single thing that I would say was my "act of kindness," but more that my whole day at home was an act of kindness.  I helped my mom clean, I did the majority of everyone's laundry, and I played with my little brother (usually he just bugs the crap out of me so I tell him to leave me alone).  It was exhausting.
          I think that instead of focusing on what we can do to help random people we should be focusing more on how we can better the lives of people who are close to us.  I'm not saying that we shouldn't lend someone a dollar every now and then.  But I think we should be trying to create peace in our own lives and the lives of people we interact with regularly, instead of striving to help everyone in need in the world.  That's a lot of people and a lot of time we aren't devoting to our loved ones.

Confessions: Review 2

          I'm really proud of the performances our class has created.  They have all been very effective in presenting their point.
          I thought Caity's confession about her grandmother passing away was very successful.  She utilized various forms of media to present her piece.  She did a great job with the visuals mixed with the sound recordings.  She represented her ignorance to the terrible news by sitting blindfolded with her ears plugged while the rest of us were experiencing the visuals.  All in all, we could tell that she really thought the presentation through formally.
          There was no presentation that failed, in my opinion.  They were all pretty successful.  I guess if I had to pick one to criticize, it would be Johnson's piece.  Although his message came across perfectly, his presentation was a little bit lacking.  If there were some way to present what he wanted to talk about without pulling stuff out of an envelope and saying what it is and why he pulled it out, then he should have picked that way.  But other than that, I think his piece was very strong and he conveyed to us his sense of loss and his willingness to be a great friend to the people he cares about.

Free Form

          Today was a good day. I went to my one class in the middle of the day and proceeded to do zero homework for any other class.  Instead, my roommate and I went downtown and to go shopping.  We searched for this one salon and got some feather extensions put in our hair.  They are pretty useless, but I think they look cool.  Then, we walked around and looked for shoes, but I can never find any good ones that fit because I have midget feet.  The only ones I can ever find are heels, and I don't fucking wear heels so leave me the fuck alone.

          Then, we went into the makeup store and looked for around.  I don’t really wear makeup either, so I was mainly just watching the people in there who do wear make up trying to shop for makeup.  Let me tell you, if you want to find the most arrogant yet air-headed sales people, go to Sephora.  It’s pretty funny to watch.

          Next, we got some food. I was about 10% sure I would get food poisoning from this sushi place, but it seems like everything turned out okay.  Oh, I also got my ear pierced.  All in all, the downtown outing went well and we got to waste a good chunk of time down there.

HAHA

Confessions: Review 1

          Today, Tuesday, we saw a lot of amazing confessions in class.  I will go out on a limb and say that everyone did a really great job with their performances/presentations.  Some were more moving than others, some were more light-hearted, and some totally blew my mind.  I'll start with some constructive criticism, and then end on a good review.
          I thought that Dane's presentation about cooking eggs today was a really awesome concept.  However, obviously, there were some technical difficulties, which prevented him from completing his piece.  I get how "not everything always works out" and that whole bit, but it would have been nice for the class to experience his entire presentation.  He didn't do himself justice by presenting today without cooking the eggs.  I think he should have figured out a way to improvise and return on Thursday, ready to roll.

         I freaking loved Michael's "alien baby implanted in his abdomen" piece.  To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure it was staged.  I have a weird, nerdy fascination with extraterrestrial life, and his piece totally freaked me out.  I was convinced.  He's a really awesome actor, if his piece was scripted.  I don't know! Ahh! I'm left struggling to understand which part was his confession, if not the whole presentation. Who knows! Michael, you definitely have a way of freaking people out. Kudos.

Kip's Lecture: 4

          I like the concept of mapping things out.  Everyday we are surrounded by maps, whether it be a geographic representation, or even just a mental visualization of what our day is going to look like.  I personally utilize mental mapping much more than I do physical maps on a daily basis.  Sure, if I need directions somewhere, I prefer a map that shows me how to get there.  But most of the time, I am hanging out in a general area that I am familiar with.  I like that Kip defined the purpose of maps as objects which break down incomprehensibles into comprehensibles, which then allow us to understand those incomprehensibles.

A funny map, click to enlarge

          I had never thought of the many avenues that were available to the art of mapping, such as space, vision, sound, multiples, physicality, language, social activity, and time.  I suppose anything that is considered "incomprehensible" could be theoretically made into a map.  But the real question is, "Who would benefit from a map of my brain?"  Besides myself, of course.  I don't know, the art that was correlated with this discussion was pretty interesting.  But I don't know what I could map out that would be relevant to society or stir up any discussion.  Maybe I'll think about it.

In case you're retarded, here is a demo on how to use Google Maps.

Art Show Review

          I did not go to an art show this week.  But, I did have a lot of dreams that I remember.  As visual manifestations of my own subconscious, my dreams are thus becoming tangible in the form of written language.  Therefore, by writing them down, my dreams have become art.  AND because dreams are merely reflections of the many stimuli that we experience on a daily basis through media, life experiences, and creative thought, my R.E.M cycles are inherently projecting visualizations that my mind has filtered from my daily experiences.  So technically, I did visit MANY art shows this week... But they were all in my head while I was sleeping... And they are just now becoming art in my attempt to recreate them through writing.  Here we go:
          Dream 1: My friend and I were in the back seat of a car.  We were projected out of the car, through the car, maybe dissolved is a better word.  We reincarnated in a blackened pit, with a never-ending staircase spiraling above us.  It was lit as if there was a single spotlight shining on the steps, the spotlight originating from infinity.  We began to climb.  I woke up, feeling exhausted.

          Dream 2: I was in an overwhelming swirl of color, people, things, objects, flying around me.  Everything was moving so fast.  I couldn't breathe.  An flash of red zapped the inside of my eye lids.  I awoke, about two hours after falling asleep.  There was no alarm, no lights, nothing.

          Dream 3: There was a calm blue floating in the atmosphere surrounding me.  There were no other colors or things.  Just the blue.  I was floating, I didn't feel the weight of my body.  Nothing happened.  It was a great dream.

Recap: Week 3

          This week was all about brainstorming.  On Tuesday, I was having a particularly difficult time coming up with things to confess to the class.  I know I have some weird quirks that nobody knows about, but I would have no idea how to convey that to people in an artistic way.  I can run on all four limbs, bark like a dog, my right eye doesn't work... Great start, right? Hmm... I'm trying to think deeper, but I don't have any long lost trauma in my past.
          I wasn't in class on Thursday, because I was backpacking to the summit of Mount Whitney.  It was a sick trip.  While I was surrounded by snow and rock up at 14,000 feet, I hallucinated a little bit.  I saw faces in the rocks.  They weren't trying to hurt me, they were just minding their own business.  After I came out of that trance, and calmed down at the summit, I had a revelation.  There is no way, no matter how you try to avoid it or talk your way out of it, there is NO way that God does not exist.  I had doubted this before.  But after the landscape had absorbed me into it as I experienced Alpine Glow at 5:00 a.m., and the full moon rising from behind the peak of a mountain, and the reflection of moon beams on the snow lighting it up so that we could clearly see a path in the middle of the night, I have no doubt.  My Lord, who I had been running away from for years had shown Himself to me.  I refuse to run any longer.  And I have an idea for a confession now.

Alpine Glow

Comic Reading: 3

Chapter 5 deals with the imperative influence of the Expressionist movement on the art of Comics.  McCloud quickly delves into how lines, shapes, and colors can evoke emotions, a quality that is inherent in Expressionist art.  Comic book artists utilize the stylistic breakthrough that fine artists such as Edward Munch and Wassily Kandinsky had achieved in the 1920’s.

Wassily Kandinsky's Composition VII, 1913

          Lines alone can be used to express emotion and appeal to all of our senses, a phenomenum called synaesthesia. What is important for Comic artists is how to utilize Expressionist techniques to evoke feeling in just a few frames.  Lines can even serve as visual metaphors, making something in the real world that is invisible, visible.  These types of lines serve as symbols, which are the basis of any language.  Therefore, visual language is just as important as written language.  The word balloon encompasses both visual language and written language and is an important aspect of the Comic.  Comics are essentially the art of the invisible.  What is not shown literally is in turn expressed metaphorically.

          Chapter 6 begins by discussing how all people begin expressing themselves using a mixture of words and pictures.  As we grow older, we are supposed to become more sophisticated and use words only.  McCloud questions this reality.  He analyzes how words and pictures had slowly separated over time, but many modern art movements such as Impressionism and Dada have since recombined the two in an acceptable art form.

Hanna Hoch's Cut With the Kitchen Knife, 1919

         Comics, however, are still considered a lower art form because they suffer from the “curse of all new media” (151) in that it is judged using old standards of what is considered “great art.”  When in fact, comics are not as young as people believe.  Cartoons are much like comics,  but they usually replace written language with audible sound.  I think that Comics and Cartoons go hand in hand.

Damn the illusion of movement!

Reader: Week 3

          John Cage is an American composer who created works in the avant-garde style. Because Cage composed music that was different than what people were used to, people reacted with hostility.  However, it was these differences that in turn inspired newer music writers to be different. His invention, the “prepared piano,” was a system that muted the strings.  The Prepared Piano transformed a regular piano into a percussion orchestra.  Known for his experimentation with music, Cage utilized new technology to further advance his understanding of sound.  He was the first to experiment with electronic sounds as music.

         Cage suggests that because the world we live in is one of constant change, the music created should be a reflection this notion. Unfortunately for Cage, his ideas were not received as well as they should have by the public.  He was often left penniless and moved around a lot.  I admire his ability to overcome these hardships and create amazing music.

Scary Doesn't Cut It

I was fourteen.  It was vodka.  The problem was, I had no idea what that meant.  Looking back, I probably consumed about eight ounces of potential poison that night.  Didn’t have a chaser, didn’t need one. I was too cool for that.  Straight up Smirnoff from a trashy Arrowhead water bottle.  It was just me, my friend Heather, and Ryan.  We sat in a sketchy basement room turned into a guest room.  And got wasted.  What the fuck was I doing?

            I don’t remember much.  That fact frightens me.  I have visions of that night, flickering in and out of my mind.  Heather.  Black.  Bed.  Black.  Ryan in a chair.  Black.  The ceiling and a light.  Black.  Lots of talking… Then nothing.

            I woke up in a car.  Ryan’s friend had come to drive Heather and I back to my house.  She was supposed to spend the night.  I don’t remember getting in my house.  I do remember turning on the light to my room and heading for my bed.  I attempted to climb under the sheets but full on slammed my head into the wall instead.  I don’t think that woke my parents.  I do think that my persistent vomiting for the next few hours did.

            My dad drove Heather home in the middle of the night.  I don’t remember how the next day went.  But I do remember thinking I was going to die in that car all the way until I was vomiting.  That feeling... you can feel it in your gut.  Death, with a hint of hydrochloric acid and bile.  It's the most frightening feeling that has ever engulfed my senses.

That one night was my first and only blackout since.  It is a terrifying thing to know that your body was present somewhere, but your mind wasn't.  I refuse to ever feel that way again.

I'm Still Feeling the High: Proudest Moment

          Holy shit, son.  I just trekked, glissaded, and fell down from the highest peak in the contiguous United States.  On Saturday, April 17, 2011, I climbed to the summit of Mount Whitney at 14,505 feet elevation with a group of seven awesome individuals.  That, by far, was the hardest fucking thing I have ever done in my whole life.  Hands down.  I am so fucking proud of myself!

That's me!

          After three days of intense hiking in the snow and carrying thirty-nine pounds on my back, I woke on the fourth day in the dark, cold of 4:30 a.m.  It was summit day.  I got my daypack ready to go; I carried two liters of water, my ice axe, crampons, some snacks, and extra layers.  After donning our gaiters and waterproof pants, the group hit the trail.  Well, actually there was no trail because the mountain was covered in snow.  So we made the trail.

Gaiters

          Upon reaching the bottom of a quarter-mile high, 45-50 degree angle snow slope, we fastened our crampons to our feet.  (This snow slop is more famously known as The 97 Switchbacks, but the snow completely covered the trail.  We were left to kick in our own paths: literally kicking into the snow to form footholds in order to climb this bad boy.) I ran into my first problem with the crampon process.  My feet are too small for the crampons the university provided us with, and they fell off twice: the second time falling completely down the snow slope.  Our trip leader, Natalie, had to trek down and retrieve them for me.  I was pissed, and more importantly, she was pissed that she had to lose altitude and energy to fix my stupid mistake.  I obviously felt like shit for that happening, but there really was nothing I could have done to prevent it. (I had never used crampons before, so I didn’t know how they should fit to begin with.)

The slope we climbed is on the far right

          Once that whole situation was sorted out and it was decided that I climb the mountain without crampons at all, we started again.  After a good hour or so of punching holes in the side of this mountain with my boots and ice axe, I finally reached the top.  Looking down the massive slope that I had just scaled was totally overwhelming!

          We then rounded a corner of the mountain and continued on the trail.  It meandered for about two miles, gaining about 1,500 feet in elevation.  I was feeling the altitude at this point.  I was nauseous, out of breath, and losing mental awareness.  These two miles were the longest two miles of my life.  I began hallucinating a bit: the rocks suddenly looked like faces!  I exclaimed to Natalie, "Look at all these new friends!"  How insane was I to be trekking on the edge of a fucking cliff while my whole world was spinning around me?

         After what seemed like hours of grueling, heinous, suffocating hiking, I scrambled to the summit of Mount Whitney.  I began to smile and laugh and almost cry!  The high was so amazing that I’m still feeling it even now as I’m writing this.  I scribbled my signature in the prized notebook that lay in a sheltered box fastened to the wall of a stone cabin at the summit.  I put my name, the date, and a little note that said, “Even art majors can climb mountains!”

          After reveling in the glory of standing on the highest peak in the contiguous United States, we began to head back to camp.  About half a mile down from the summit, I began to have a full body meltdown.  My altitude sickness had gotten worse, and my already severe headache had formed into a full-blown migraine.  I began sobbing; I was in so much fucking pain.  My head felt like it was splitting open, I could barely breathe, the sun was blinding me and cutting, nay, hacking into my eyes.  That was the worst pain I had ever felt in my life.

          But all pain passes, and I had gotten myself together.  Now with only a severe headache, I began to descend further.  Reaching the top of that snow slope once again was the turning point for me that day.  How does one get down from a quarter-mile high slope of snow?  You slide down, duh!  Glissading is the appropriate mountaineering term.  Fuck yeah!

Glissading: Ice axe in self-arrest mode!  Let's fucking bomb this!

      I will never, ever forget my amazing accomplishment.  I thank every single one of those in my group for helping me achieve such a fantastic feat.

          So… Uh… What did you all do this weekend?

Confessions: Proud of My Work

          The proudest I have ever been for creating a work of art is a tie between my first oil painting ever and a sculpture that I completed last quarter in Art 7C.

My First Oil

          My first oil painting was finished when I was about ten or eleven years old.  At the time, I was attending art lessons at this place called Kids Art in Northridge, CA.  The painting was of a still life of a white bowl with two apples in it.  I had drawn and painted these objects many times before, because the program was set up so that the kids would pick from a set of props to depict in their work.  You would start out drawing; move up to pastels, watercolors, acrylics, and then oils.  So by the time I got to play with oils, I had used these plastic fruits and ugly white bowl before.

          This is when I fell in love with oil paints.  They smelled good (the industry was still using good ol’ toxic turpentine), they were shiny, and the things I was painting came out looking more real.  Because I had practiced replicating these same objects, my oil painting turned out pretty good for a ten or eleven year old.  I was so stoked at the time.

          But now, looking back on it, I don’t think I have as much of a connection with that painting itself as I do with the memories commingling with the process of working on that painting.  My favorite instructor, Larson, was still working at the studio at that time.  He was an amazing teacher and one of my friends (as close a friend as a kid can be with a college guy).  Claudia worked there too.  She was more eccentric but still awesome to be around.  But it was Larson who mainly helped me with my painting.  He encouraged me, gave me tips, and demonstrated how to make depth happen with oil paints.  I learned so much from him and Claudia.  I’m proud that my first oil painting has their fingerprints all over it.

(I will find a and take a picture of the painting the next time I go home.)

Sculpture

          Last quarter in Art 7C, we were assigned to create a sculpture out of everyday materials.  I chose to make mine out of coffee filters.  I pictured massive, organic forms that could be constructed using this material only.

          While constructing this piece, I was in my living room and had nowhere to put this mass of coffee filters.  I leaned it against the glass door and immediately saw the beauty that the light coming from within added to it.  So when I installed the ‘finished’ product, I made sure to set up lights inside of it.

          I am mostly proud of this piece because of the sheer manpower it took to complete it in only a week and a half.  I used over 2500 coffee filters and a ton of hot glue, but it came together in the end.  I ultimately want to expand the piece, at least quadruple it in size, and mount it in a wooden frame.  I would have to create a system for lighting it, but that’s just a technical thing.

Coffee Filter Sculpture

Confessions: Embarrassing Moment

The Back Story:

          When I was a freshman in high school, I was on the varsity swim team.  My boyfriend at the time was also on the team, as well as his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, who I had serious problems with.  Our school did not have a pool, so everyday at 4:00 p.m. we (the team) would have to get on the bus and drive to our rival school to practice in their pool.  For some legal reasons, students were not allowed to drive other students to the pool, but they could drive themselves if they had a car and a license.

The Actual Story:

          The boy I was dating at the time was two years older than I, which meant he owned a car.  For whatever reason, he drove the two of us to practice one day.  Of course, the coaches saw us, and one of them confronted us.  I sort of ignored him and walked to the locker room to let my ex deal with it.

          Practice went on as usual.  It ended, we dried off, and I got on the bus so I wouldn’t get into any more trouble.  As we were leaving, I saw my ex’s brother and his girlfriend get into her car and leave the pool.  What the fuck?!

          On the bus, the lady coach confronted me about earlier that day.  By this time, I was furious.   She accused me of lying to the other coach about how I got to the pool.  I told her that I didn’t say anything at all to him and that he was making it up.  (It’s true, there’s no point in me lying about any of this.)  She flat out told me that she couldn’t believe what I had to say because she had to believe what the other coach had said.

          It was at this point that I told her about my ex’s brother and his girlfriend.  I asked her what she was going to do about it. She told me that it was only a problem for students to drive one another to the pool, not from the pool.  I was livid.  I was accused of being a liar, and the bitch and her snotty boyfriend that made my time on the swim team suck balls was getting away with something I couldn’t.

          Being the emotionally unstable and hormonal fourteen-year-old that I’m sure all of us females were, I just shook my head the whole time in disbelief as the lady coach was explaining to me the politics of it all.  Fuck politics.  She took that lying ass-hole’s word over mine, and nothing was going to happen to the other two who broke the rules because they were the biggest ass-kissers on the team.

          Well, apparently, shaking my head and tearing up wasn’t the correct response to the lady coach’s explanations.  I remember what she said, verbatim, in response to my head shaking: “Well, obviously you don’t give a shit about what I’m saying, so I don’t give a shit.”  She turned around in her seat and ignored me until the next day.

          Some serious injustice went on that day.  I was more humiliated than embarrassed at my reaction to her bullshit.  I wasn’t even publicly humiliated or anything, just personally humiliated.  I still feel shame about that night, though.  I should have been more mature about that situation.  I should have known a better way to handle my feelings.  I felt sort of betrayed, betrayed by myself in not kissing ass harder than those two had.  I would have felt more confident that I could bend the rules and be nonchalant about it.  Instead, I took life too seriously and made an ass out of myself.  Luckily, I got over it and moved on.

Kip's Lecture: 3

          Kip’s lectures are somewhat difficult to outline, but I would categorize this week’s talk as one with the theme of identity.  Actually, the lecture even included beauty and gaze as well as life and time.  So maybe I can’t categorize it as anything specific.  He discussed a wide range of topics. 

          Kip talked pretty extensively about Robert Mapplethorpe and Catherine Opie, both of whom created art to outwardly express their personal thoughts and desires.  James Luna’s art dealt with the objectification of his ancestors and his culture, and Lucas Samara created many self-portraits as he played with the technicality of Polaroid film.  Susan Meiselas archived instances of spousal abuse with commentary on the warped identity that victims don after experiencing maltreatment. 

          Tehching (Sam) Hsieh was an artist that exhibited much dedication to his work dealing with life and time.  His quote, “Life is a life sentence,” feels very profound and heavy with meaning, but I think that I will have to experience more of life to fully appreciate what he means.

A Bootleg on Youtube

          My favorite thing that was discussed was Joshua Silver’s invention of the water refracting eyeglasses.  It is very rare these days to come upon true altruism.  Silver is not only creating a message for us here in privileged societies, but he is also directly impacting the lives of complete strangers.  He had a great idea, and instead of selling out and making a ton of money, he realized the importance of providing to those that have no means of providing for themselves.  And he did so without intending to be compensated or recognized for his good deeds.

Art You Have to Work For

          Instead of visiting an established museum, today I went on a hike with my boyfriend, Shane, to a place where I knew there would be art.  That place is Cathedral Peak (actually Arlington Peak) in Santa Barbara's glorious front country.  The artwork that you are about to see may seem boring, mundane or even stupid.  But to a hiker on top of one of Santa Barbaras highest peaks, it means victory, accomplishment and triumph.
          Cathedral/Arlington Peak is 3333 feet in elevation.  It is roughly a 4 mile hike round trip, meaning that you pretty much gain 3000 feet in 2 miles.  That means very steep terrain, trust me.  Adding to very steep terrain was the component of strenuous boulder hopping, which is pretty much what it sounds like.  Getting to the top was a challenge, but it was nothing compared to getting down.  We lost the trail about half way down and ended up hiking the longer, steeper way out on the north face of the mountain.  I almost blew out my shoulder and we nearly took some serious spills on the way down.  Thankfully, we kept our heads and walked out with nothing but a few cuts and bruises.
          The most memorable part of today was this peace sign.  It's genius.  It embodies exactly how I felt when I stood at the summit.  Art doesn't always have to be pretty.  It can be a symbol that you are doing something right in life.

The Peace Sign is located up here.

This Peace Sign indicates that you are about a minute from the summit.  Success!