March Art Journal Challenge and Alice (again)

So I'm following the March Art Journal Challenge here. I'm enjoying it, although I have trouble with the idea of unfinished pages. Some of these pages are frankly ugly, due to either lack of time or no clear inspiration or some combo of the two. But nonetheless, it is a good practice to try to do one every day.I was going to try to update here with pics daily, but that has so not happened. Perhaps I'll try for once a week, bearing in mind that for both sides of the spread to be done, it needs to be an even number of days. So here's the first 8 days.

3/1- Start your engines; 3/2- Credit cards

3/3- Blue; 3/4- Doodle

3/5- Past; 3/6- Present

3/7- Future; 3/7- "Wanting to be someone else is a waste of who you are" - Kant

(the small illegible text in the heart says "we're all a little bit mad here")

And because I'm still feeling very Alice themed, a spread I finished today in my Watercolor paper Moleskine.

 

  

I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it....

"Be patient" is very good advice, but the waiting makes me curious. 

PS Get the Almost Alice album. It's fucking awesome. I'm in love with Always Running Out of Time and pretty much everything else, except the painful Avril Lavigne song that was at the end of the movie. Which was quite good, by the way. And I want that HAT. (Plus he does a much mocked but truly epically fabulous hat dance on the framptious day. I can't remember the name of the dance though.)

Tim Burton!

So, today, I went to the Tim Burton exhibit at MoMA. Oh. My. God. And I do not say that lightly. Holy shit, it was amazing. Seriously, if you're in the NYC area, get your butt over there before it closes (April 26). Even my non-artsy friends really enjoyed it. It is epicly fabulous, as Tim Burton is wont to be.
Edit for brief art talk on why Tim Burton's work is fabulous:  It seems simple and almost child like, and is highly imaginative. But it's rich with layers of meaning, way more than you can take in in a couple of hours of an exhibit. Plus he's technically brilliant, using a wide variety of mediums with complete control, without sacrificing fluidity. His painting style is very different from his pencil work, with brush stroke movement similar to Van Gogh, while his pastel work is heavy, but still feels spontaneous. Really, his ink/watercolor work is my favorite. His line quality is superb, and his pieces looks very unplanned, like everything is a doodle that just came out perfectly, and nothing is overworked. He uses touches of color to liven up the work further, while retaining the freshness that keeps his pieces, which are often creepy as hell, from becoming moody. Now that I feel like I've written a gallery report on why Tim Burton is excellent, I'll stfu and go to sleep.
At first, I was kinda depressed because it was all holy shit awesome, and I will never be that awesome. But then I remembered that pretty much everything in the exhibit was done when Tim Burton was substantially older and more trained than I am, and one day, I too shall be awesome. Perhaps even awesome enough for my own exhibit at MoMA, but expecting that would be ludicrous.
And now that I have a connection cable for my camera I give you: Tim Burton Style Monsters, which I just created this evening:

And Valentine's Cards, which I must write in and send off. They will be late, but not because I don't love the recipients. I'm just slow. These are being sent because I failed new year's cards epicly.

And a journal page from a few days ago that I really love, unfortunately the camera failed a bit as I was working (really it was user error- the bits I was working on were not in the shot etc), so there is no video, well, not one I'm willing to post.

The quote is from Weakerthan's Reunion Tour. Lyrics here. Such an excellent song.
In the morning, I have to color page 2 of my 8 panel exercise, plot and thumbnail the first 3-5 pages of my stroke comic, and write the messages into my valentines. Plus I want to work on some more whimsical Tim Burton type art. Now that I have a camera cable, I'll try to update with pics more often.

Wow

No, seriously. This is epic. And brilliant. And perfectly executed. I'm in love. Go. Now. Why are you still reading this, and not downloading Blame it on the Pop?

thnks fr th mmrs

Do you remember when we went out in any weather, pretended to be wizards and stayed up all night. When glitter and top hats and tutus were worn without reason, or concern for what anyone else might say? When pajamas were selected for snugglyness and excellent patterns, not for how sexy someone else would think you looked in them? And everything else was to? What happened to that? Where did those people go? Who stole my magic? I keep trying to blame it on external forces, but the truth is, I did it to myself. Slowly, I let other people tell me who to be and where to go and what to do and what to want. I bet you did too. I ignored myself long enough, hoping I'd just go away and be left with who I was "supposed" to be. But that is so not happening. Normally, when I realize that this is what I've done to myself, and why I'm so unhappy, I get angry and decide to basically tell everyone to go fuck themselves, but in the morning, I can't actually tell my mom to bug off, so I slip back into my old pattern. This time, I'm going to try a different approach. Slower. I'm going to buy a video camera and make art and try to work on writing a book. We'll see.

First Snow

Outside my window, soft, not as cold as it seems it should be. The world is subsumed, hard edges of reality softened and melted into white rounds. Wind defeats gravity and retrieves deposited powder, lifts it into swirls and billows that obscure the streetlight. The day was darkly grey, but the night is bright, refracting, reflecting, amplifying ambient light to create a silvered illumination to rival the sun and dwarf the hidden moon. If only everything could be this beautiful forever, empty chill world drawing me to walk forever, rediscover the infinite in the landscape I trudge through daily. But in the morning, modernity will eclipse beauty, and society will choose convenience over magic. My shrill alarm will wake me to a world ravaged by plows, footprints, salt, and noise. The grey asphalt will be uncovered, and noises of life will resume. The neighbor's angry dog will warn the snow away, cars will burst through the slush in their hurry to resume normalcy. Tonight's perfect hush and blissful white will be muddied, muddled and shoveled aside. And I will worry about waterproofing and warmth and productivity, forgetting what is revealed every first snow, leaving this serenity for the comforting weight of the expected. Tonight's joy will be erased in the necessary tasks of the day, and I will bundle and grouse about the inconvenience and cold with everyone else. But for now, the snow is a miracle. Glory and magic and possibilities. If the world can bring this, anything must be possible, even probable.
And if I had snowboots and my mom wouldn't be difficult, I'd go explore. Alas, there is no traying party to create, no golf course to disappear into. So I guess I'll just dream and sleep and wish.

Excellence and amazement

Making good progress on the holiday cards I'm painting- 7 almost finished, plus completed backgrounds for 6 more- this means only details and stamping remain for those, and 8 more backgrounds. Also, a couple of really good paintings finished or in the works...
I saw a really inspirational exhibit of Georgia O'Keefe's abstract work at the Whitney on Saturday, which was good. Makes me excited about color and watercolors all over again, so I'm playing a bunch with those.
My knitting projects are going well, still have to do David's hat, plus the one for the grab bag, and I got this amazingly beautiful yarn for a scarf for me once that's all done.
Today, I went to the Tuba Christmas at Rockefeller Center. It was fun, albeit very wet. And I was slightly disappointed to discover that Tubas on Ice doesn't mean they skate while they play, rather that they stand on mats which have been rolled onto the ice and the stage behind the rink. But still, an army of tubas playing Christmas carols is win.
But mostly, I'm in a really good mood because today I got a job! Yes, that's right, gainful employment, where they pay me. $20 an hour, about 15 hours a week, mostly from home, managing the yoga studio my mom and I go to. And I'm probably going to take a couple of classes next semester, psych and art, at Hunter in the city, so that I can think about going to grad school for art therapy at some point.
So basically, I'm feeling really good about all that. Money and classes and art. A good direction for my life. Now if only I had a circus to play with and a way to live somewhere other than with my mom, everything would be pretty much perfect, but still, can't complain.

I think I'm in love

So, a couple of weeks ago I went to the Met to hang out in the Greek/Roman wing and do some sketches. It was disappointing, and very full of people. It had lost the magical old-world "British Library feeling".
Yesterday, I decided to go to the Cloisters (which is the Met's medieval building, in Fort Tyron Park). I'd never been before. It had the "British Library feeling" 100%. It was amazing. Where has this place been all my life? I don't even find the medieval art particularly interesting in general, but the cloisters are made of old stone and magic. I had a great time. And the park is lovely.
Then I went on a failed quest for a few knitting things I needed, met up with Jove (spent way too long in St. Mark's comics, but they had the end of the Joss Whedon Astonishing x-men run, which I'd been on a quest for for like a year and a half). Then we found Jon and Robin, had really cheap, but good, Indian and saw The Blind Side, which was good.
Today, I am going back into the city to meet Jove for some sort of free "NYC Jedi" show (sounds weird, but might be fun) and then Jon and Robing and some people they know to go to a bar. It will be a good weekend.
Except that everyone else has snow, and I just have yucky rain. Who ordered this weather?

Remember the Alamo?

An unfocused and unproductive week.
Well, except that I finished the hat I was knitting and started a new one.
But enough about that- today, I am reminded that the internet is a magical place.
Two things to share:
1. I want an LED tattoo. So fucking awesome. I really think step two would be to make it touch sensitive, so you could draw on your body with your finger and have it show the strokes (or on someone else's body, even better).  Like the best body paint EVER. I want. Make this. Make it cheap, and make it safe and make it now.
2. Glen Beck is a rodeo clown. But a rodeo clown with a good point:  "Will anyone look at these issues instead of looking at my past? We will continue to fight this, you and me together, you and me and quite frankly, Fox News, the Alamo for truth!"
Yes. Fox News is the Alamo for truth. Where it is brutally massacred, so people with no sense of history can use it incorrectly later. Well put. 
In other news, I will never understand men. Anyone with an explanation is more than welcome to try, but I really think they're all just either completely mad or incurably stupid. Or maybe I am. Because more and more of them keep being added to the "he's being weird and I don't know why" pile. 

Truth

When did I stop
Keeping secrets
And start
telling Lies

Don't be offended

I think they're true
Or I did when I spoke
At least I wanted them to be
Now I'm not so sure

What is truth anyway?

If history is only lies
agreed upon
Why can't we write the present?
Write it, and in so doing,
Right it.




Blaise Pascal:

We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart.

Brad Holland:

Postmodernists believe that truth is myth, and myth, truth. This equation has its roots in pop psychology. The same people also believe that emotions are a form of reality. There used to be another name for this state of mind. It used to be called psychosis.

Demosthenes:

Nothing is easier than self-deceit. For what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true.

Galileo:

All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.

George Eliot:

Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult.

George Eliot:

[I]t is very hard to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings – much harder than to say something fine about them which is not the exact truth.

Michael Friedlander:

There are many more wrong answers than right ones, and they are easier to find.

Plato:

Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.

History is made by stupid people.

Good art = Happy Felicia

Sometimes, it just all work. I don't know what else to say. I was tired and had no plan to paint, but I spent an hour on it. First I did what I'd been planning, that looked fine, then I added some more stuff, looked fine too. Then I didn't feel like stopping, even though the plan required this layer to dry before I added the next. So I added more, which was ok... and then I ruined it. I was very very upset, as I'd really liked the piece and invested several hours and quite a bit of materials on it. So I thought, fuck it, I should go to bed, and I'll cope with it later, but instead I kept adding and smushing and now, it is wonderful. So much acrylic and gel medium and magazines and tissue paper and cigarettes, and layers and colors and texture and I'm so happy. Ok so clearly then it is bed time, right, but no. I turn to get into bed and see my new bag of Dr Ph Martin Bombay India Inks... hmm... those might be interesting.... so I splattered some of those on top. I don't know how well those will dry over acrylic or how well they'll hold up under the next layer, but right now it looks amazing. But I can't be bothered for a camera hunt. Eventually, there will be pictures. I swear.
In other news, this is further proof I can only make art while depressed. Hmm... I wonder if having just finished my color theory hw made it better? Very precise cutting and measuring and gluing bares little relation to this piece, but I had already spent an hour making art, using that portion of my brain....
I'm planning an ink and watercolor piece of "real" me (actual appearance) and "shadow" me (how I think I should look in my head/would look in the matrix) reversed so the shadow is standing and the real me spreads along the floor. the problem in with the perspective and compensating for the distortion you normally have with shadows. Also, my poor realism skills.

I've been distressingly unproductive this break, which is why I haven't posted. I've slept, hung out with friends, tried to snowboard (ouch) and lazed about. Also, fought with my mom.

Yesterday, Robin, Jon, Allie, Friedman and I went to MoMA- I am super inspired right now.
We saw: a huge Miro exhibit, which the boys hated and after a while, I started to be rather sick of. Some of his work is really interesting, but mostly, I just find it too minimal, neither pretty nor especially interesting. And there was just too much of it, about 8 rooms.
Then we saw an equally large Marlene Dumas exhibit, which I really liked, even if they thought it was creepy. Best parts: use of shadow and color, painting of a drowning woman (couldn't find my notebook to write down the name, or the amusing quotes outside the exhibit) which I want to hang opposite a bathtub, and the room with about a hundred ink paintings -quick sketches, really- of faces, which we walked into, and Friedman goes "This is creepy" and turns around and walks back into the room we'd dubbed the porn room. Also, the erotic babies were massively improved by Friedman noticing how much one looked like McCain.
This was one of the quotes: "My best works are erotic displays of mental confusions.. with intrusions of irrelevant information." ... me likey.
Then we saw the permanent collection. As always, water lilies was beautiful. I ogled some Pollack and decided to make a piece with cigarette butts in it and glitter. We all enjoyed the Jasper Johns, and I also have a plan for a Clyford Still inspired piece.
Then Friedman and I went to the Van Gogh at Night exhibit. Having seen the major exhibit at the Met a couple of years ago, this was a disappointment, because I'd seen all the pieces, and it was quite small- 4 little rooms- and mostly paintings, not as much of the ink work I love. But really, its hard to go wrong with Van Gogh, and the concept of looking only at his night work was cool. His use of light to represent dark is very individual, and while I don't love it the same way I love his line work, it was interesting to think about. Plus there were quite a few early works, so you really saw him evolving as an artist. Maybe I'll do some night work of my own, and I was planning to experiment with ink and line on my new vellum anyway.

I've started knitting a hat, although I'm not quite done with the bag yet. I'm using a much finer (worsted weight) yarn, in a striated purple-green mix. Also, I've learned to purl.

I'm going to make art, rather than talk about it now.

Sleep

Sleep is the most amazing thing. You don't have to do anything else while you sleep. I want to sleep but I have so much to do... and I'm not sleepy. I want to sit up all night, drawing and painting. But Ballet is at 10:30, and I can't be any more sleep deprived than I already am. I'm not sleepy though. Just tired. I don't even really like to sleep, just curl up in that half asleep state where you don't have to get up yet and nothing matters forever. You can't have that before you go to sleep. That drifting, magical place where you have brilliant bursts of inspiration, which you need to write or draw immediately, but can't be bothered to get up, find pen/paper, turn on the light. Its so good, I'll remember it in 15 minutes when I get up. But you never do. Hours later, there's a ghost of it in a feeling you have for a second, but you can never quite grasp it. Usually I sleep either because I am exhausted and fall asleep right away or because I have stuff to do tomorrow, I can't be tired but I can't fall asleep and I get increasingly concerned about how late it is and how little sleep I'm going to get and how tired I'll be... and getting worked up about that can't be helping me fall asleep either.
I have no energy or interest. I have to go to class tomorrow, because I can't afford to miss more ballet, and there is a midterm in Public Finance. Yuck. I haven't studied at all. I don't really care, it doesn't matter. I don't want to ever do anything productive or social ever again. Sasha and Adin are coming for Rocky this weekend, and I'm hosting the cast party as well. Grumble. My glasses just fell behind the bed. Fuck. I'm not so much depressed as apathetic and antisocial. Which means I'm depressed. I should go to bed.
I feel bad because I meant to use this blog for talking about circus, art, recovery, deep thoughts, not just emo whining. In fact, not at all emo whining. I apologize to anyone who reads it, because you shouldn't have to put up with this. I assume you mostly don't, that no one is reading this and that it is out there but ignored. Which, depressingly enough, is quite apt.
I'm miserable and lonely. I'm going to retrive my glasses, finish my beer, set my alarm, and snuggle my teddy bear til I fall asleep.