3.21.2011
Exclamation!
Free internet in my living room right now! woot woot.
So, i will take this chance to act quickly and directly. i just finished Tom Robbins"Fierce Invalids Home from Hot climates". And shall i re-iterate that i love love love tom robbins. me makes me laugh and cry, smile and gasp.I just cant get over him. Hes got me. he gets me. He gettin' MEs. ( had to complete the series) anywho. I will share..... heh.hemmmm
how could anything as commonplace- and in their pink, fatty, babyish way, dumb- as human lips produce such mysterious pleasure? Their kiss was like a paper airplane landing on the moon.
this guy, is just too damn vivid. crystal clear and opaque as whole milk , not in tandem, but at the same time simultaneously, the same words and same meanings spanning millenia.
Now and again, one could detect in a childless woman of a certain age the various characteristics of all the children she had never issued. Her body was haunted by the ghosts of souls who hadn't lived yet.Premature ghosts, half-ghosts. Y's without X's... Like tiny ectoplasmic gophers they hunkered in her tear ducts. They shone through her sighs.- yet they no more bore her resentment than a seed resents the uneaten fruit... like a phosphorescence, like sighs on a string, they would follow her into eternity.
So, i will take this chance to act quickly and directly. i just finished Tom Robbins"Fierce Invalids Home from Hot climates". And shall i re-iterate that i love love love tom robbins. me makes me laugh and cry, smile and gasp.I just cant get over him. Hes got me. he gets me. He gettin' MEs. ( had to complete the series) anywho. I will share..... heh.hemmmm
how could anything as commonplace- and in their pink, fatty, babyish way, dumb- as human lips produce such mysterious pleasure? Their kiss was like a paper airplane landing on the moon.
this guy, is just too damn vivid. crystal clear and opaque as whole milk , not in tandem, but at the same time simultaneously, the same words and same meanings spanning millenia.
Now and again, one could detect in a childless woman of a certain age the various characteristics of all the children she had never issued. Her body was haunted by the ghosts of souls who hadn't lived yet.Premature ghosts, half-ghosts. Y's without X's... Like tiny ectoplasmic gophers they hunkered in her tear ducts. They shone through her sighs.- yet they no more bore her resentment than a seed resents the uneaten fruit... like a phosphorescence, like sighs on a string, they would follow her into eternity.
3.15.2011
celebrate it or ignore it.
when and how . and to what degree.
I think about making pots well into the foreseeable future. maybe forever but forever is a long time.
I wonder about becoming an artist, or coming into being an artist, or having been an artist all along.
This weekend i went and heard a panel of "seasoned" (as they were on multiple occasions referred) ceramic artists talk candidly and casually about each of their careers, spawning from one similar undergraduate experience that they all shared together. Classmates . while their stories were inspiring, they remained un-inclusive seemingly unattainable through the contemporary lense. paying thirty dollars for rent, to save money for making is just simply impossible. nonetheless we try, try and try again to live where we want, work where we want and make what we want. but for me this is just the beginning. I'm gaining new experiences in new places to make new work and ultimately have more to offer as a graduate student in a few years. I hope to attain my terminal degree by the time im ... say 30 and then make my own work. with the hopes of becoming an instructor in higher education.
imagine as this discussion comes to an end, one of the artists unhappily reports that by recent polling of his students, each and every one imagines themselves to become a teacher at some point in their future. He says that this proves a severely overlooked shortcoming of arts education and the art community in general. If no one can imagine a career beside that of a college educator, than no one can pursue anything else. And the reality of the situation is that the field can not support or sustain the volume of students out-coming, to eventually feed back in as educators themselves. daunting. upsetting, but true. although we are all led whether right or wrong, to understand and believe it nearly impossible to survive solely as a maker. And only a handful of the hundred plus classmates we graduated with will even begin to come close to this sort of reality.
I haven't the thoughts to conclude one way or the other on the issues at hand. while i found the weekend enriching i also found it a hard pill to swallow. I just don't know.
I think about making pots well into the foreseeable future. maybe forever but forever is a long time.
I wonder about becoming an artist, or coming into being an artist, or having been an artist all along.
This weekend i went and heard a panel of "seasoned" (as they were on multiple occasions referred) ceramic artists talk candidly and casually about each of their careers, spawning from one similar undergraduate experience that they all shared together. Classmates . while their stories were inspiring, they remained un-inclusive seemingly unattainable through the contemporary lense. paying thirty dollars for rent, to save money for making is just simply impossible. nonetheless we try, try and try again to live where we want, work where we want and make what we want. but for me this is just the beginning. I'm gaining new experiences in new places to make new work and ultimately have more to offer as a graduate student in a few years. I hope to attain my terminal degree by the time im ... say 30 and then make my own work. with the hopes of becoming an instructor in higher education.
imagine as this discussion comes to an end, one of the artists unhappily reports that by recent polling of his students, each and every one imagines themselves to become a teacher at some point in their future. He says that this proves a severely overlooked shortcoming of arts education and the art community in general. If no one can imagine a career beside that of a college educator, than no one can pursue anything else. And the reality of the situation is that the field can not support or sustain the volume of students out-coming, to eventually feed back in as educators themselves. daunting. upsetting, but true. although we are all led whether right or wrong, to understand and believe it nearly impossible to survive solely as a maker. And only a handful of the hundred plus classmates we graduated with will even begin to come close to this sort of reality.
I haven't the thoughts to conclude one way or the other on the issues at hand. while i found the weekend enriching i also found it a hard pill to swallow. I just don't know.
3.07.2011
3.03.2011
Wild walker Saloooon
tonight at the Walker, i entered a gallery to find an overabundance of paintings nestled and stacked, hung and huddled nearly floor to ceiling around the four large walls of the room. Immediately i remembered my fondness for such a format. I've seen this before, quintessential to a museums permanent collection. So as to give many a piece the chance to shine, and its fair share of the lime-light. I find that my attitude changes in this environment, like the Parisian art salon, where schools of thought and creation are on parade. paintings both at war and in business with one another. Fighting to be noticed, and working together in scale and number towards greatness. I am certainly left thinking considerably more about the salon room than any other gallery that i saw tonight.
In my minds eye strong pieces become stronger, but weak do not become weaker, because they still hold the power of a dialogue with other works. singular objects sentenced, and disparaged to exist in solidarity to be surrounded by 3 cubic feet of white wall have no choice but to be , and be... self reliant, clear and concise, final.
But, this jumbled high-traffic mess that we may call context can allow any singular piece to thrive, and jive conversing with anyone of its close neighbors. They relate, and interact, providing a baseline and all of the highways and byways that may matriculate away from point A. In terms of pots, this baseline may be drinking vessel... in an exhibition, on a shelf, in a sink waiting to be scrubbed clean again.
Pots in context of one another, pots in context of life. What does mine say about yours , and yours of mine.
these are all just thoughts... but i smell an artist statement revision coming on. not now, because I've exercised my brain enough today.
In my minds eye strong pieces become stronger, but weak do not become weaker, because they still hold the power of a dialogue with other works. singular objects sentenced, and disparaged to exist in solidarity to be surrounded by 3 cubic feet of white wall have no choice but to be , and be... self reliant, clear and concise, final.
But, this jumbled high-traffic mess that we may call context can allow any singular piece to thrive, and jive conversing with anyone of its close neighbors. They relate, and interact, providing a baseline and all of the highways and byways that may matriculate away from point A. In terms of pots, this baseline may be drinking vessel... in an exhibition, on a shelf, in a sink waiting to be scrubbed clean again.
Pots in context of one another, pots in context of life. What does mine say about yours , and yours of mine.
these are all just thoughts... but i smell an artist statement revision coming on. not now, because I've exercised my brain enough today.
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