I am for an Art...

I am for an art that kicks ass and takes names.

I am for an art that blows my mind to bits.

I am for an art that rockets me into the future. 

I am for an art that puts me in a never time.

I am for an art that shoots planets and stars together into fiery light. 

I am for an art that has me scrambling to put my organs back into my body.

I am for an art that makes me really hungry. 

I am for an art that shocks my hairs into goosebumps. 

I am for an art that shaves thin layers of skin off my finger. 

I am for an art that sizzles with butter and olive oil. 

I am for an art that creases my brow and folds me in half.

I am for an art that has me saying, "Huh?"

I am for an art that splashes on my forehead and floods the halls. 

I am for an art that rips the fabric of space and time into arithmetic. 

I am for an art the implodes all over the gravel as strawberry jam.

I am for an art that doesn't take shit from no one.

I am for an art that hums a song that isn't real.

I am for an art that swallows me and spits me out as someone else. 

I am for an art that spoons me in the early morning. 

I am for an art that wipes mud off of the windows. 

I am for an art that loves diving into mud!

I am for an art that tirelessly stacks boxes. 

I am for an art that hides in my closet and gives me nightmares. 

I am for an art of a toothpick used to pick earwax. 

I am for an art you cut into a million pieces.

I am for an art riding a totally gnarly wave. 

I am for the art of my mother's red pen.

I am for the art you warned me about.

I am for an art yearning to meet that special ism.

I am for an art that flips you off.

I am for an art that threatens you if you look at it funny.

I am for an art sliding down a shear cliff into a coffee ocean.

I am for an art that gives me no answers.

I am for an art that gives me all the answers.

I am for an art that shines in a pitch black room.

I am for an art that hates me.

I am for an art that loves me.

I am for the art of delicate persuasion. 

I am for an art that uses a crowbar to lift taffy off the floor.

I am for an art that is alliterative and noisy.

I am for an art busting out of prison. 

I am for the art ready to bite.

I am for the art mapping out the broken dreams of childhood.

I am for the art of blasphemous giggles and blushing altar boys.

I am for an art that takes itself too damn seriously.

I am for artist's who make art. 

I am for totally redundant art.

I am for artistic shower heads and over beautiful mundane objects.

I am for an art that lowers you into the well.

I am for the art of slap happy apprentices in the sumo school.

I am for the art of dead birds, snakes, family cats, and baby rabbits in my backyard.

I am for the art of hopeless tears.

I am for the art a box turtles scrape and the waxy eggs inside.

I am for an art that carves out a log for knick knacks and antique toys.

I am for an art that destroys me inside and out.

I am for the art of beads out of bone and elaborate walking sticks.

I am for the art of a ladybug on your finger and a worm writhing in your palm.

I am for an art shivering behind the service entrance, taking a desperate smoke. 

I am for an art that doesn't apologize for its faults.

I am for an art that takes my lunch money.

I am for the art of pigtails, pig tails, and tail pigs.

I am for an art that wants to an astronaut when it grows up.

I am for art that knows me best.

Writing as a Romanticist

The Raft of the Medusa - 

I am swept away by this image of horror and gloom. The browns and viridescent waters drown me and I dwell upon those poor souls who unfortunately plunged into the depths. The pallid skin of survivors and strangely, the power of their bodies, holds me rapt in dazzled bewilderment. The storm clouds are about to explode over the waters and will soon ravage their ramshackle raft. The almost orgiastic pile of bodies, in the throes of death, pain, despair, but also hope writhes in the center of my attention. 

The group at the front frantically waves their tattered rags at a black speck ahead. It appears to be a boat. Rescue is close at hand! But still, my eyes linger over the dead immersed in the ocean waters. How many were lost to madness or cannibalism? I shudder at that thought. I turn away from this enormous record of tragedy, yet I feel staring deep into my soul into this night. How could this terrible event have been let to occur?

My Own Personal Commonplace Lab

I'm making this up. All by myself. Scandalous, right?

This is a bad time to be working. That being because its 4:42 A.M., my brain is dead, and I have a splitting headache. But lately I've been considering to myself what is art and what does it mean, especially while I attempt to not go completely insane at this school. I've gotten used to making "art" and "work" for people other than myself. That's not the problem. The problem is that I don't know how to make art for me anymore. When I "try" to do that, I lose something and I don't even like the work anymore. All of the ideas I have in my head about personal artwork either stay in the womb or I hate them and don't think I can create them. I'm convinced that until I get the hell out of here, in just a week or so, I will never be able to accept my attempts to make my own work. Granted, soon after I will be transplanted into another institution.

I look at so many "modern" and "postmodern" artists and I envy them to no end. They have these personas, do what they "love," and make it look so damn easy. Pollack, Warhol, Duchamp - they didn't even have to try that hard to produce. I feel like a fool that I can't produce with any sense of ability or abundance. I don't even know what I want in art anymore. I know what I want my career to be and to prepare for it. But in another way I can't but feeling I'm going to be up at times like this with these same conditions and emotional baggage for the rest of my life. 

I also feel like no one is listening. How do you get people to listen? For me its been a struggle my whole life. I have this whole notion that people need to know me or see my work. But shouldn't I just be creating for myself? Isn't that selfish? I keep getting caught between that. I am an artist. I guess. I don't feel like it now. This inescapable anxiety I have, the stress headache, the insomnia. Does this make it ok? 

I love art. I love looking at it, absorbing it, understanding it, and feeling it. I can't get past myself when I look at great art. I have a Deviantart account, for example. I am frightened to put up work because there is so much good stuff (and horrible stuff too) there and I am scared that everyone would put me down and shit on my crappy technique, composition, etc. I have put up work before and one time I ended up having an argument with someone about a damn figure study. (They didn't aesthetically like the model's body (well, my honest portrayal of it) and said it was too girly. I snapped at them for not knowing what real men look like. Great, I'm now an officially snobby, defensive bitch.) Another reason I'm afraid is that I don't have that much to show for anyway. I feel like a failure and like a fake, masquerading as an artist, but in fact not possessing any artistic talent whatsoever. 

But do I have to have talent to make work? So much of what I see now isn't talent, but good ideas or bad ideas that become marketable or valuable. Do I have to sell myself now, even though I'm still just a student. Do I have to make something new, strange, and unheard of to become valid? God, I don't even know anymore. 

(I'd love to upload an image, but this morning its not really letting me :(  ) 

Artist's that Inspire Me

Frank Cho - http://www.libertymeadows.com/index.html (I do hate the sexist imagery tho)Syd Mead - http://www.sydmead.com/v/01/home/Artgerm - http://www.imaginaryfs.com/Artist_profile_Stanley.htmlDonato Giancola - http://www.donatoart.com/

Yoshitaka Amano - http://www.amanosworld.com/

Mid Term Essay - Golden Lines

Aunt Mimi is dancing. She is 19 years old again. Her unitard glows a bright mustard. The lighting on the stage is quite intense, but this is the only record I have of her dancing. She danced at Goucher in the early 80's, I believe. My mother says she was a beautiful dancer. I don't know how she moved. I do know she had great lines and form. She tips over like a teakettle about to fall. There is someone behind her, but I could care less. I see her face and I recognize it as hers. But the youth within her face is so soft. Over time her body and face have become tight and almost harsh. She's still lovely,  but it is the beauty of aging well. My mother told me that my aunt was told by my grandmother that she was only pretty and not all that smart or talented, so dancing was all she could do. (I hate my grandmother) My aunt was a modern dancer at Goucher and after she graduated she never danced again. 

I have fully realized why this photo holds a strange hold over me. I see her, I see what she was, and I know she could never do it again. Then, I worry about my partner. He is a modern dancer here and he is graduating very soon. My fear is that he will leave and just suddenly forget his talent. (He plans on living with his mom during the summer and getting a job) My aunt stopped dancing because she fell in love and got married. Will my partner cease to do the thing he loves best to help out his mother? If so, I will not forgive him for letting go of something so precious, nor will I ever forgive his mother. My aunt's husband is not a good man. He can't parent, he used to gamble, he used to smoke, etc. He really frustrates my aunt. I blame him for her loss of art.

The first time I saw this photo, I had to ask my mother what happened. I also didn't believe her when she said it was my aunt. I now see this punctum within the photo that has never crossed my mind. Her right arm tipping low, as if to signal a future decline or loss. Its hard not to cry when I write this. My idealistic nature makes me rail against the forces of reality. Within this object, though, she is frozen in time, forever teetering on the edge.

Barthes wrote, "Cruel, sterile deficiency: I cannot transform my grief, I cannot let my gaze drift; no culture will help me utter this suffering which I experience entirely on the level of the image's finitude (this is why, despite its codes, I cannot read a photograph)...when it is painful, nothing in it can transform grief into mourning." Though she is not dead, I feel a pang in my chest. It is the death of art. The death of beauty, endlessly alive and dying. And I want to turn away.

Assignment 53: Give advice to yourself.

Advice to my 17 year old self.

B - the guy you're dating is a total asshole. But you know that. What you don't know is how he is going to ruin your art for you. Sure you'll get into the colleges you apply to, save one - and get put on a waiting list, sheesh. The important thing is its going to be hard to become that artist you were before you dated that fat lazy pig. You won't draw anymore, for a while I mean. You won't work on your poetry or film scripts. No, you'll just sit around with him playing games you don't even like (thats a few types too) and doing whatever debasing thing he asks for. Because you have no respect for yourself and even though you despise him, you want to sleep with him because you think you aren't worth real love with someone who is wonderful. You won't though, thank God. 

I'm looking at photos of you right now. Now I know what put me off about these photos. When you're with him you look happy, perhaps its because you're off some buzz about dancing with him during Winter Ball or you just made out with him (which trust me, its the only thing he can do right). But you aren't happy. The detail of your sweaty armpits in that pretty dress. You aren't looking at him. You smile, awkwardly showing your braces. And when you smile again the sides are turned down just a bit. You're upset in these photos - but I don't remember why. Was it when he got his pants dirty during the dance - lets not go into details huh? Was it because he kept urging to get a hotel room with you? The food was bad? Your friends weren't rescuing you? I probably won't remember until a time I don't need to.

Start trying to figure out what you want to do. You'll think you have it figured out but it won't be right. Hell, it never is the first time around. Truth is, you're going to start doing what you dreamed of just before you reached middle school. That will make all the difference. 

And please! Please try to love yourself. If you love yourself, you can love your art and your art will be much richer. You are talented and very special. Someday you'll have the life you've always wanted - it'll just be a little different.

Found some notes - what the hell????

I found these notes ripped within a book of Dance Posters in the Library. I have to tell you - it doesn't make a lick of sense to me, even when they fit together (except for band names). 

I'll write out the notes on each paper:

1. wind shadows - coyote oldman

2. door, merchant, runner, lava

3. artist, slav, the big, Jector

4. #68, #83, (dis)sturbs sleep, lonesome

5. on the road, machine, explosions, so long

6. stroumines (?), with, golden, moses, boring, tapes, emergence, team, to Helicon, (w)altz

7. enowish, Sbach, a silver mt. zion, explosions in the sky, Godspeed you! black emperor, sigur ros, nuage III, mogwai,  77 #36, p., Sylvain, Chavoud, Goldmund, New

Seems like a musician writing down notes about musical artists and perhaps potential song titles. Also, a lot of French is in here, especially nuage which means cloud. I looked it up and I found Sylvan Chavoud wrote  song named Nuage (clears that up). As I look deeper into google about each of these phrases, it is clear that most of these phrases are band names. Perhaps the writer of these notes was a dance student, who needed music for some choreography. That seems to be one of my only ideas in terms of why they were in a book full of dance posters. Maybe they had already picked their song (or songs) and had ripped the paper to note posters they liked. Maybe they were looking for ideas for their choreography's visual look. I don't know, but I like this idea!

Moral: first impressions may be strange and alluring, but often the truth (or assumed truth) can be much less otherworldly.

Love Letter to Albrecht Durer

Dear Albrecht (or Furry Jesus, teehee!)

I've loved you for so long. Ever since childhood I've dreamt of running my hands over your soft coat, with fur lining and touching those twisted, curly locks of yours. Perhaps your beard and moustache are touchable as well! Your eyes captivate me! I don't care about you having a wife - I must have you! Paint me, I'll be your model! Engrave my image, sketch, whatever the means! If it would bring us closer, I would do it in an instant! Though...in this painting you are a tad old for me. I mean 9 years is quite a difference and I'm just rounding up since I haven't even reached my twentieth year! Well, I mean, if you were Jesus, you would be the most materialistic Jesus I ever met (can't say I've met any, though)! All these trappings and fur! Are you being sacrilegious or do you think you are some hot stuff? What rubbish! I don't want a man who fancies himself and his art more than any woman! How insufferable! You should be wooing me, not I you! Well then, just friends?

Sincerely,

Bianca

P.S. I still want to model for you!

Modern, Modernism, modern...???? Conversations Inside and Outside

3. When I talked to Rena I thought about Art Nouveau a lot and what made that feel modern. I have a great affinity to Art Nouveau, especially as a young kid. I wondered, what person to me does that now and makes it modern or something of our time, without necessarily using the now to talk about it. I showed the artist who I deem to be this pillar of the time and he's not pretty well known. His name is Donato Giancola and he is a wonderful fantasy and science fiction artist. He takes Art Nouveau and its natural forms and unnatural forms and makes his own unique style and worlds that speak volumes to me. I think he knows the world so well that he can improve or change it so it makes sense in his art. As Baudelaire put it, "He began by looking at life, and only later did he contrive to learn how to express life. The result has been a striking originality, in which whatever traces of untutored simplicity may still remain take on the appearance of an additional proof of obedience to the impression, of a flattery of truth." What Baudelaire explains though, is the "mystery" artist paints his world around him. In my opinion, Giancola also paints the world around him but in a way that reflects the fantastic and hopeful (sometimes not) future or future past he wants for humanity. What I love is how in his science fiction work natural forms are everywhere within the unnatural metal and hyper technological settings. Its as if he's is telling the viewer to not forget nature in the coming years, especially in his integration of that giant tree into the city scape in the fourth one down. My favorite piece out of all of these and his other works is the second one down which is a book cover for a novel called, "Finger Pointing Solward," which is in fact unpublished. When I first encountered the artwork, I had no idea that the title was not his original title and thought it completely abstract and obtuse. But perhaps the woman is looking to the sun, because she is gazing where the light source seems to be coming from. In any case, the beautiful abalone type shell surroundings seem like the inside of a shell (ha!), like a cocoon or organic capsule of some kind. The woman seems to have been just awakened by the man behind her. There is a newness to her and her white garment is so simple, clean, and yet in its softness it is modern. How did she live in that tube she is coming out of? That doesn't matter! She is important and she is beautiful, something like a baby, but fully grown. There is a story here and I wish to know it, but there is nothing solid about the novel to go on by either online or anywhere. I feel like she is myself, coming from this slumber and in between action and inaction. She is in transition and she will stuck that way forever. (I don't think I be in transition forever, but just feel like we relate to each other) It is so rich and yet its richness tells me little of what I'm seeing. Perhaps it is for the viewer to make their own connections and conclusions. This woman is rising up to something and she could be anyone. And with Giancola as my inspiration, that to me is modern.

Sorry about the weird setup. I couldn't manually move the photos down for some reason, so I had to paste the other part down and its layout is all screwed up and unfixable at the moment.

1. I talked to some old friends and my significant other about modern life and this is what came about:

(Siris is 26 and was currently playing a role playing game on her computer while she was on the phone with me)

Me: What is modern to you?

Siris: Well...Not much separates us from our ancestors. The tools are better but we've just upgraded some things to make living easier than it was in the past. This modern age isn't wholly defined yet. Just kinda thinking about what it wants to be. Like maybe it'll be the greenest age, in terms of environmental concerns and practices in how we, you know, help out. We're trying to be that future we saw as kids. But it is going to take a while to get there. So...oh, dude, I gotta go. I have a dungeon raid in like 5 minutes...

(Alexander is 16 and was playing a game of Starcraft (a sci fi game) while we were on the phone - kinda a trend here)

Me: What is modern to you?

Alexander: Dude, technology. All the way. You think about Japan and all those kick ass robots they're making. And how their phones are, like, 10-20 years ahead of ours. I can't wait for my own mecha suit. I mean though we want to stay...human, you know what I mean? If the robots become self aware, like in Terminator, we are totally screwed. So, we have to make sure that doesn't happen and make sure we stay human in the process...does that make sense? I dunno. 

Me: Yeah, it makes sense.

Alexander: Okay...Shit!

Me: What?

Alexander: I just lost my second base. Sorry, I can't concentrate right now. Talk later?

(Rena is in her 30's and its not her real name but her screen name. We used an online chat to talk.)

Me: What is modern to you?

Rena: I think about the 1920's. Stuff like Art Nouveau and how we (laughs) became modernized.

Me: I mean, today's world. The now.

Rena: Oh! Um...Does it have to be something good about it?

Me: No, doesn't have to be.

Rena: I think our world is broken. You got hunger, the economy as it is, wars, hate, all this nasty stuff going on. We as a people say, "Yeah I wanna fix this" but it doesn't seem like much has happened that fixes anything. Perhaps we'll fix more in time. There is a light of hope, but I think a lot of people ignore it. I mean, I look to today's art to feel like everything will be all right. A lot of it can be ugly but it strives for...to be something greater than itself. I mean, I'm talking about the good art here. Sometimes it warns us, scolds us, or just wishes for us to do something better. Perhaps. I think. Did you want to talk about something else?

(James is 17 and we used online chat to talk)

Me: What is modern to you?

James: Metal! LAWL, I'm kidding. But kinda not. Hehe.

Me: So what defines modern life to you?

James: Modern life is like where I live and stuff. I feel like I'm growing up in this fucked up place and I have to get out of it. And if I could I would make it better. Like I watch the news sometimes. And it just freaks me out. I feel like I have no control over anything except what I do, like personally. I'm scared of the real world outside of high school and probably even college to. I feel like something bad is going to happen to me and pretty much everyone. Its like everyone is holding their breathe or something. 

Me: Um, thats a little all over the place.

James: Hehe, sorry.

Me: No that's cool. Anything else about modern life?

James: Hmm...I watch some TV other than the news. Like reality shows. They're crap but so many people are into them. Sooner or later, they're gonna go meaner and nastier and we're gonna not know what, like, monster we made. People act like cause humans are smart, or some shit, that they won't let bad things happen. But I think people are mostly stupid, especially the powerful people and things are going to get pretty fucked up before they get any better...Is that okay?

(Dillon is 22 and my significant other. This was face to face)

Me: What s modern? What defines modern life to you?

Dillon: The recession.

Me: Huh? Really?

Dillon shrugs.

Me: What about our moment now?

Dillon: I guess...Well...You know how they were trying to pin a name on our generation? Like Generation X or some shit? Our "generation" has no identity. Like its lazy.

Me: Shiftless?

Dillon: Yeah and like I dunno.

Me: Faceless too?

Dillon: Yeah, its not like this collective of people like the 70's were about the hippies and 60's about the baby boomers or something. Our generation has no name. The world feels all jumbled and a mish mash of stuff that doesn't make sense. Almost like we haven't found a purpose yet.

Me: We'll find it in time.

Dillon: We better. Or there won't be world left to use...This is depressing. Are you hungry?

I just wanna write.

This day is long. I'm tired. The class I am in right now is going to be 4 hours long. My teacher is literally sitting right in front of me, lecturing and I couldn't care less. I wish I could go home and sleep. Do I have to watch this movie again?

But enough about my current winging. 

I am in transition and I don't really want to be. I want it to be over and to be able to breath again. 

During my spring break I was in Boston to have a meeting with a potential professor. Ya, I know. I'm writing on my NCSA (University, if you want) Art History commonplace and I want to talk about my transfer plans. 

Well, we went through the facilities and he seemed to like me. But...I didn't really talk to him. I talked, but not to the extent I would have liked. My mom talked a lot - probably because she wanted to ensure that he knew how awesome I am. As usual, like every situation or event that occurs in my life, I felt what happened didn't go well, I doubted myself, and I feel I didn't show myself or even show a good side of myself. So, I'm beating myself for everything.

Also, I felt like I was a senior again applying to college for the first time, my parents leading the way. 

Why can't I be independent? And why can't I stop hating myself?

I am completely loved. My family is great. I am learning every day. I'm attractive and healthy. I love many people. 

So...what is the goddamn problem?

Okay. Tangent time.

I want to fill my life with art. I want to love and to feel truly satisfied and happy. I want to be so full of these things, that the skin which holds my body together is bursting open. This world I live in seems like it could give less of a shit about my hopes and dreams. The art does care, my family cares, my significant other cares, but the rest of the world seems to hate me with all of its being. Why is it this way? I am currently very afraid for my future, the future of the world's animal life, and for the future of the world's nations. I am deathly afraid this standstill of relative content is going to dissolve into some horrifying chaos that nothing I will do can stop. I am full of this fear. And I want to stop it from happening. What can I do though? 

How many more questions can I ask? <- case in point

My Fridays here are good though. I love to have my  lunches with my good friend Yoko. It feels like a moment back in Japan, where things are simpler and the cicadas are singing, I'm on a bus to a temple, and outside I was the sun set with a green tea crepe in my hand. You may find this happiness trivial and silly, but it means a hell of a lot to me.

Food means a lot. Maybe thats why I'm a tiny bit overweight. Maybe thats why I'm happiest with the people I love, talking and eating. If you don't have good food, why the hell are you alive? Thats what makes me so fervent about eradicating hunger in the world. People deserve to eat and eat damn well. If I had the money I would hold a big dinner for all the hungry children in the world every day of the year. I want people to be happy. And I guess to me that means food. 

I don't want to watch Amores Perros again. It made me hate the world just a fraction more. No thanks.

And why the fuck can't I watch a happy movie in this class? Next week is fucking City of God. AGAIN? Salaam Bombay? AGAIN? Heavenly Creatures? AGAIN?

The Death ships and Icarus: Westermann meets Breughel

I visited the Lennon, Weinberg Gallery in Soho (it has since relocated to Chelsea) when I was eleven years old. Other installations were up, but they were of no concern to my mother or to Jill Weinberg who was showing us to the Deathship exhibition. For H. C. Westermann was my great-uncle and my mother had in the past two years inherited responsibility over his estate and artwork since his spouse, my mother's aunt, Joanna Beall had passed away. This was one of my first encounters with Cliff's work (his nickname and what he preferred to go by) as I had visited his amazing home in Connecticut earlier. It may seem like I'm bragging, but I have always been proud of being related, though not by blood, to him and though he was a difficult human being, like we all are, I feel his work has influenced me and will always do so. This series of sculpture and paintings had a massive impact on my perception of what art is. Until that time, I had always considered art a serious business. Though the topics of the exhibition were quite morbid and solemn, there was an element of playful detail to the works, especially seen in the Untitled (Death Ship) covered in dollar bills and The Kamikaze which twists the idea of kamikaze pilots on its head, where a ship dives towards an airplane in the middle of a desert landscape. These works were so important to understanding Cliff. They all came from his very real experiences of being a gunner on the USS Enterprise during the end of  WWII and his witnessing a kamikaze attack on the USS Franklin. The memory of these Death Ships consumed him so that he sculpted and painted these watery coffins for about thirty years. There is very real tragedy to these pieces and strangely, what comes to mind is Breughel's Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, especially when paired with that last painting Death Ship in San Pedro. A battered and bloodied USS Enterprise lurches close to port, where on land a man walks by, rats scuttle past, and a noose like rope lies on the ground. The ship will never reach port and no one will come to receive it. It has been abandoned by those on land, for it carries death. In both of these paintings death occurs in the water, but this time the ship is the victim and not even many people are around to ignore it. Westermann was known for his surreal, violent, and often passionate landscapes. Where Breughel's piece holds some humor to it, Westermann's is hopeless, dark, and empty. But still with all of these pieces together in one room its hard to feel truly depressed. When I observed the works, I didn't understand the story and felt adrift in a watery graveyard of metal ships in wooden coffins. In my own work, I strive for this relevance of tone and content, but as well as the surreal and humorous nature Westermann's work possesses. His use of color is so odd; first it is subtle, then a moment or small object pops with some burst of color, like the lit window in the last painting. His breadth of materials is also stunning to me. Having seen other pieces at the MoMA or the Hirschhorn, his knowledge and mastery over wood, metal, and everything in between lets his work live and have a dynamic personality. I never met him and I am just starting to know him, but I feel in my heart he is a part of me like no other artist can be. 

Rococo - Sexy or Innocent?

First of all I would like to show you this comparative image.
This is a comparison of Fragonard's original "The Swing" and juxtaposed by Glen Keane's concept art for the newly in production "Rapunzel" by Disney. Glean Keane is an old world traditional animator and often looks to old masterpieces for inspiration in Disney films, for example he directly used Michelangelo's "Dying Slaves" as reference for the Beast's transformation scene in "Beauty and the Beast." Upon second glance, the influence is quite apparent. This film, Rapunzel, is unfortunately going to be his first film with 3d animation. 

PITY.

I also created my own work (pretty crappy I must say) which has two very strong meanings, at least I hope it does. 

Entitled "For the Love of God"

I looked at a lot of Pantocrators for reference on the hands, halo, and hair. Hope it makes sense. 

I'm beginning to really enjoy pens with India Ink, as the Brush pen I used does. It makes very strong lines and it feels much more comfortable than a pencil (ever since I broke my left middle finger). If you want to see more work, just ask me!

European Landscapes versus Asian Landscapes

Ogata Korin, Chrysanthemums by a Stream, c. 1700
Having been so deeply embroiled within Europe's fine traditions, I've 

lately begun to synthesize my knowledge of Far Eastern art with our 

current studies. The key to landscape painting of China and Japan, 

especially pre-19th century, lies in its deceiving simplicity but also 

its inherent complexity and lush personality. The painting appeared 

not so simple as to confuse my perception of it, but instead, gave me 

the clearest and upfront representation of a stream and its adorning 

chrysanthemums. No true background lies in the frame, just 

golden squares brightening the rest of the composition. There is an 

odd depth to it which is not the "traditional" European kind which 

points itself out and is wholly "realistic." But this depth works within 

its composition and is not necessarily true to life, but is not strange 

and alarming either. That is an admirable quality of this sort of art; it 

can be perceived as having three dimensions to it or it can be seen 

as two flat dimensions. This ambiguous nature as it shifts back and 

forth lends itself to a "mysterious" or at least spiritual, even playful, 

enigmatic identity. Everything hints at the photorealistic qualities of 

each item present but lets the viewer fill in those gaps with their own 

imaginations. What I truly appreciate about Ancient Eastern Art 

stands in its non-condescending attitude towards the viewer; the art 

speaks for itself without overtly shouting its meaning or over 

populating its world with needless complications and copious 

symbols. The art's heart and soul glitter like distant islands on the 

sea and invites anyone to explore and dream within this 

floating world I am presented with.  

Bernini and Caravaggio to Beautiful Agony - Petite Mort

In my experience, I find that when someone (this might be shocking to some) orgasms, the physical response as well as facial expression demonstrates this combined paradox of showing sexual pleasure and also conversely, resembling death. Perhaps its too easy to use this closeness of those emotions, but it works nonetheless. Many filmmakers and artists exploit this value of the petite mort (little death says it all), often in a glaringly blatant way, for example in the Matrix Reloaded, Neo sees his lady love orgasm then has a "vision" of her dying with an identical facial expression. 

For those who would like to "research," there is a website that actually records examples of people experiencing a petite mort. Called Beautiful Agony, I think some of it may not be free, but having just looked over it, an alarming amount of the participants look to be in large amounts of pain. 

This photo entitled Orgasm by Spinmenson on deviantart.com, perfectly shows this painful ecstasy. 

I know. This post makes me feel kinda dirty. 

When I look in the mirror what do I see? Caravaggio???

(not the best picture of me, but it has an ambiguous facial expression)

The color and pose reminds me a fair amount of a Caravaggio painting. Interestingly enough, this photo was taken before I read about the assignment. I really don't know what I was thinking when I took this photograph. Was it pride? Was it self-love? Was it curiosity at the mirror revealed of me? Or was it a dare for the viewer to linger over my feature, my expression?

I would not really have wanted to have been Caravaggio. His story is pretty cringe worthy. The only thing I want to share with him is an early squalor in life and perhaps the luck of being celebrated and renowned for my art later in life. Also, perhaps his ability for lovely and compelling portraits in his wonderful paintings. 

Wat Thai DC in MD - My Life as a Buddhist

As a child, I had a friend who was a Thai Buddhist. I went with her to temple a few times, my most vivid memory being the Thai New Years celebration, which occurred during the spring. Most of the time we were indoors, preparing for her "goddess dance" by playing Magic the Gather (a trading card game) or outside at the food vendors or praying, giving incense to, or placing gold leaf on the multitude of Buddhas, gold and stone. The image above is the outside of the main temple and to its left is the school building. Yes, just like Christian churches, Sunday school and school in general is held at the temple. 

The moment that I hold with me the most is meditating with my friend inside the main temple. We were the only ones inside and we sat on our calves, sideways, to pray. We chanted what she had taught me aloud, in the direction of the golden Buddha ahead.

For some silly reason the photos won't load any larger.

 Anyway, the golden Buddha was quite large and had a monk's orange/gold robe draped across his shoulder. There was a smaller golden Buddha seated underneath him, with the almost Christ-like blessing hand position. Even smaller versions sit to his left and right, some golden, some black, some even other Boddhisatvas. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTSTKdXExsk 

This video shows the interior during worship hours. 

The image of the Buddha has always been an intriguing one to me. I was quite young when I was first exposed to it, I'd say 6 years old. (Personally, I find Buddhist imagery much more approachable and serene than a lot of old Christian imagery. Funny, considering that Buddhists believe life IS suffering.) The elongated ear lobes to show intelligence. The third brain, or braided bun atop his head. The closed lidded expression and subtle smile. Truly, this man is at peace. Underneath the robe, Buddha sits in the Lotus position (and is actually on a lotus flower), that of Enlightened state and his hands rest over each other, folded up and opened, as to receive holy light and truth. A golden chandelier of sorts hangs overhead and flowers sit around him. He sits upon a throne that resembles a chest on places belongings within, which golden knockers on the side. 

The temple space did not feel foreign or strange to me. It looked modern and clean, and this makes sense considering it was built and founded in the 70s. The outside does not really illuminate what is inside and the inside does not really either, save for the Buddhas, portraits of monks and abbots, bookshelves full of sutras, and other assorted bits of iconography. The space was open, the ceilings were high, and I felt invited. Which sort of explains my short term conversion to Buddhism and my complicated religious beliefs in general. 

The funny thing about meditation in Buddhism is that the pursuit of meditation is to achieve the sense and realization of pure nothing. My friend told me to think of darkness, emptiness, and silence, and told me I'd be okay then. I could see the nothingness but once I reached it, the Golden Buddha would come to me in my meditation and sit still in my mind. Perhaps my issue was my upbringing surrounded by iconography and potent imagery, that caused me to see Jesus or the Cross everywhere. I could not escape that tendency and failed to become Enlightened. 

Sistine Ceiling - what's up with Lucifer and his chimera body???

When I saw this section of the ceiling, I was immediately drawn to it. Its Adam and Eve being seduced by the Serpent and thusly, being expelled from Eden at sword point. What weirded me (yeah I know, fake word) out initially was Satan's body. He's both man and snake. His human part is deceptively attractive, rightfully, and then it melts into anaconda-like huge tail manifestation. You don't even see what he's giving Eve, but perhaps that isn't the point. His depiction is rare in art. Either he is wholly serpentine or he is humanoid (mostly not), but not both at once. Michelangelo was a genius to create something so unnerving! <- Redundant comment here. Then there is the immediate shift to Adam and Eve's expulsion. Eve looks ultra masculine here, I laugh at her, but I know that Michelangelo's back must have hurt something fierce while he was painting all this. Quite a bit of the Ceiling is cause and effect scenes or perhaps one scene shown with its antithesis. Its very aesthetically pleasing, the comparisons shown on the ceiling. If it was all one mass of events without any referential points, it would be quite a "hot mess." But even in the most hectic of scenes, the Ceiling manages to be clear and Michelangelo achieved this by delineating and grouping things so as to properly inform the observer. He also made things beautifully, but not too intricate or complex, another way for him to avoid back pain. I'm sorry he had to go through all that physically pain, but he created something that will live on (hopefully) forever in the human concsiousness (sp?) as one of the greatest and largest works of art of written history. 

 Just to be silly, in the second half of this portion, it looks like Adam is saying "Piss off!" to the angel. Made me laugh. 

Vasari, Kristeva, Freud, and ME!

As I read up on Freud's book, I noticed the very sexual analysis that he made about Leonardo.  Freud always seemed to poised to read entirely more than really (in my mind) necessary, but he does make a valid point. The memory does seem pretty darn sexual. Other than that, Freud was a pervert who falsified a of his findings anyway. At least Kristeva puts up a really strong and complex case for her analyses.

On to my own analysis of a Renaissance painting. This is Colonna Madonna by Raphael. 

Raphael may have been infinitely sweet, but that was perhaps a ruse to hide his deeply mischievous behavior and personality. Just look at the painting! Baby Jesus is putting his hand down Mary's shirt. She looks up from her reading, glances at her naughty baby, and smiles, most likely shrugging off his groping at an adorable innocent action. But he's even looking at us, saying, "Look what I've got here. And you think I'm completely pure!" Even the Messiah can be impish. It almost seems as if Mary has blush on her cheeks, another coy fact exploited by Raphael's brush. This painting is so uncharacteristic of his work in the deviousness of subject matter, but it may have been a quiet joke he put out there to test if people were really paying attention to his art and not just blindly lauding him with praise.

The Magician - Bosch

The Magician

His hands reveal
A burnished ball

The man in red
Disbelieves

He should worry about
His back

The bespectacled man
Pulls purse strings

A boy with a walking frame
Amused

By the man in red's
Scrunched up face

The lady in red
Looks on

As the man in black
Attempts to entice her

The other spectators refuse
To look in the same place

An armored dog
Hides behind the Magician's table

Who knows what trick
Was played?

Only the owl in the basket
And his master

Babies, Boobies, Bellini, and...Kristeva? Motherhood is crazy!

1. Bellini is definitely influenced by the "Byzantine" artistic traditions, "Mediterranean architectural manner," and "Flemish landscape paintings."
2. Bellini's position and birth order is quite confused, as well as the information about a biological mother. Anna, his father's wife, did not list or mention him in her will. This shows that he could very well have been a bastard child. There is no mother present thusly, which explains in some ways for his almost detached adoration of his Madonnas.
3. The paintings appear to have a very masculine focus that holds a pretty sexist view of the mother only existing for the son. Also, with biographical evidence, his father overrode his mother(s) will and "seductive" quality, which explains the male centric Madonna paintings.
4. Bellini's Madonnas are not baby centric at all, but are directly opposite; the mother is never really looking or connecting with the baby, revealing a sense of loss and unreachable space for the "painter as baby."
5. The "jouissance" is present within the folds of the Madonna's clothing especially in the walled off separation of the "hots" and "colds" embodied by the red and blue.
6. There is a sort of dual issue within art depicting Christ's death, but specifically within the context of Bellini that explains the Pieta and adoration of Christ, as well as clearly revealing the Virgin's serenity.
7. The paintings begin as quite Byzantine especially as the Madonna barely touching the baby (just her fingertips), then become more and more possessive, causing the infant to increasingly fear her, then she begins to pull away from him almost completely, her serenity turning into near hostility, as well as the infant's supposed strangulation of her leading her into guilty territory. At the end, everything is separated and the infant now fearfully clings to a man, entrusting his babyhood to a saint and realizing his abandoning by his mother.
8. His wife and son died within that span of time which caused him to retract the seductive Madonna but to at last use paternity as a path to reclaiming the maternal experience and greater capture the jouissance.

Inauguration - I know its a tad late...

What I was immediately struck by was the almost wholly religious quality the inauguration had. I don't mean it was a holy event per se, but it felt like a service with all the standing and sitting, sermon-like speeches, music, and poetry, as well as the appearance from a preacher. But this is to be expected of a country founded upon Christian ideals and beliefs, in a sense. 

But the real "presidential" feeling of this event came to me in the form of the strange, perhaps nearly royal trumpeting and band music. It was all silly pomp and circumstance in the truly American way that cannot be feared but not disregarded as fluff either. It has a quality that is grand but also hides in itself at the same time, afraid to be too overbearing. The symbiotic relationship between this music and the announcing of the filing politicians in perfect coordinated lines, timed, and released as to seem appropriately stately, had a few slip ups but perhaps if it was too polished it would seem rehearsed and too rigid. 

One of the moments that really defined the day for me was when President Obama received his title officially. He seemed so excited that he didn't wait long enough to listen to all he had to repeat and jumped ahead like a little boy excited to recite his poem in class. 

I can't explain my admiration for this man. There is a weird sweeping emotion that catches me whenever I see him and hear him. I feel that even parts of his speech seemed like scripture for example, "they did it for us" just as "Jesus sacrificed himself for us sinners." 

Yeah, I cried. I'm a baby. Its probably a product of feeling as part of an entity, a group, and subsequently lose my own individuality, by surrendering it to the all consuming ecstasy of the "United States." Solidarity can sometimes be frightening and make you feel inhuman, but this time I experienced no such qualms or bad taste in my mouth. Perhaps this day ushered in my life as a true "citizen" of this country and world. 

Popes and Presidents - A How To On Big Name Portraiture

While these two power figures are different, the way they are depicted has seen a slow process of emotional value over the years. The early portraits of the Pope's in the severe and stoic expression wouldn't really swing in today's world. The portraits of the most recent Pope's are so positive they are almost disturbing, especially in the case of the portraits of Pope Benedict. Francis Bacon's play and experimentation on the archaic solemnity produces truly disturbing results with Pope's who seem to be either in peril or insane or they are placed with strange and controversial objects, such as chimpanzees, or seem to in cages, their faces melting or segmenting. What is the right way to do it? Perhaps all of them work for their purpose but either one type makes me laugh (the Bacon popes) or makes me uneasy (the recent portraits. The one's I am most comfortable with are the Renaissance  portraits. I can look at them and analyze the technique, the scene, and appreciate as art but not enjoy it. Maybe this is my personal aesthetics at work, but maybe the only way I would be awed by or admire a papal portrait is if the Pope were riding a dinosaur, sporting some armor, or doing something else "awesome." Perhaps I wouldn't be so unsettled by Pope Benedict's portraits if he were dressed as the Emperor from Star Wars. 

In the case of Presidential portraiture, things are quite varied. George Washington's portrait was the first and that set the standard, sort of, for portraits up to those in the past 30 to 50 years, meaning from the chest up. It was clean and stoic. But John Adams' portrait showed a humorous hint of a smile and sporadically since then few others before the mid 20th century showed such emotional value. Often, if they did, the smile seemed to be almost hiding or ashamed of itself. Up until recently, papal portraits were almost always seated portraits of the popes and have only moved into the territory of various posters and located. But Presidential portraits have never been uniformly just chest up portraits but often depicted them standing, sitting in a thoughtful posture, holding something awfully presidential like a pen or some sort of symbol of power, or in the case of FDR's portrait it was basically a glorified sketch, mostly interested in his various hand positions. The materials used and color palette only began being experimented with in the early and mid 20th century. JFK's portrait is especially intriguing in its very colorful, energetic, and almost fauvist representation. Old traditions are being left behind in both cases for a more "modern" take, perhaps as to not alienate the viewer with its cold emotion or structured pose. 

I do still wish there were more portraits of Presidents and Popes riding lions or even doing something heroic and epic. 

This reminds me of the many depictions of our soon to be inaugurated President Barack Obama. I remember a very funny pop type poster of him posing like Superman mid costume change, with a giant O on his chest. Even the Change posters had a pretty impressive quality to him. Its not like people are deifying him but perhaps making him larger than life. I appreciate those examples more than the cold representations of the past. Perhaps his portrait may show him as a defender of peace... complete with spandex. 

Engagement Rings - A Personal Interest

What about this object makes a woman squeal? I myself have been turning the question over in my head ever since I saw my friend flash hers in my general direction last week. The surprise was overwhelming. Why was I so excited about the idea? Perhaps its a hidden envy or perhaps joy at an adult decision being reached by those newly out of adolescence. The more and more I considered the idea, the less and less excited I was about the notion. For one thing, she's not even out of school yet. Two, as I said earlier, she is quite young. Three, I had no idea she was dating this guy before break and it came as a shock she was engaged to him. Who is he and what makes her so eager to make such a binding "contract" with him? I mean, yes, the concept makes me giddy and the idea of proposal sends me into fits of fanciful daydreaming. But financial security, decisions about living together, buying a house, etc. these should be thought of much more in depth before a snap decision is made. You may be in love but that doesn't mean everything is just going to fall into place.

This whole issue sent me into a flurry of research. Her ring was not some super tacky diamond monstrosity, but actually an heirloom of his family. Which also nags at me; what do his parents think of giving her this precious object? One of the origins of the engagement ring comes from the Egyptians whole believed that the vein of the ring finger went straight into the heart. Diamonds were pretty rare in the Middle Ages, so only the very wealthy and royalty could purchase diamond engagement rings. Those in the lower classes could wear Fede rings (faith) much like the modern Claddagh design of clasping hands. Diamonds were quite unusual so often precious stones were used instead. After the modern boom of diamond extraction in Africa, trends went back to using rarer stones, mainly birthstones. 

In these times of financial crises and faltering economies, I'm glad her ring wasn't some gaudy piece of rock. It is hard as well to separate engagement and marriage from the material and money world. I do hope she and her partner have done some planning, because this joyous yet risky idea of belonging could be worse for her in the long run. I mean, she's not even a senior. Is it better to wait and see, than to let our eyes override our brains just because of a jewel or is it right when you "feel" it?

Giotto and other artistic anecdotes

Giotto's anecdotes, as written by Vasari, indicate fictional (or perhaps real) events that boast/explain how much of a masterful artist he really was. These seem like godly endeavors but in truth, the characterization of them truly humanizes Giotto as a childlike but extraordinary man.

Now, I present a fictional anecdote about my fictional artist Cyrus Azgana:

Cyrus lived in the small town of Cabrinni located in the almost empty Isles of Lavia. As a young boy, Cyrus worked for his father helping him mine out precious crystals in the mountain by his hometown. These crystals were incredibly beautiful but also served as reinforces for buildings due to their strength and durability. Cyrus, as everyone who knows him can attest, is often very mischievous. One day while mining his father had gone higher up the mountain face and Cyrus took the opportunity to use his chisel (that was mainly used when carving the crystals for placement in foundations) to chip away at the stone into the likeness of the crystal. He called for his father to come help him. Dazed because their work day was already long, his father looked at the stone and thought it crystal. As he began to hakc at it with his pick, he slowly realized that the stone may have had the likeness of the crystal but not the luminousity nor color of it. Cursing, he scolded Cyrus and made him work late that day mining.

Not as inspiring as Giotto's but I feel it rightfully represents the feeling those anecdotes showed.

Gothic and Goth So Close Yet Worlds Apart

Gothic architecture is grandiose and enormous, as well as imposing. It may not seem like it has anything to do with the modern Goth subculture, but upon further inspection a similarity and related sense can be found, primarily when it comes to Goth aesthetics.
Looking at the Cologne and Notre Dame, I observed numerous flying buttresses, huge arches, expansive open spaces, and severity of style and articulation. The sombre colors, mainly of black and grey show a very surface relation to Goth aesthetics. Reading more on the architecture, one of the aims of the churches and architecture itself was to inspire awe and mainly, fear of the church and of God. Putting myself in the shoes of a worshipper, I can understand how such a monster of a building could inspire such feelings. This hugeness and greatness can also be described as sublime - to be indescribably incredible, fantastic, amazing, etc. Delving into the Goth subculture, these same concepts apply. What does a Goth imply when wearing darkly colored clothing, muttering about Satan and blood, trying to be evil or generally mischievous? They want others to fear them. Also, Goth's believe in the sublime in aspects of their culture such as embracing the night, darkness, or all things evil, these uneplainable, enveloping forces.
Within film, the ideals and style of Gothic architecture shine through in many modern instances. German Expressionist films such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (keep in mind that the Goths were of Germanic origin) uses simplified forms and dreamlike, surreal style much to the effect of a Gothic cathedral. Not just used architecturally, Gothic concepts can be injected into plots, characters, dialogue, and general visual style of a film. One series that comes to mind are the two Ghost in the Shell animated films. The wide scope, the almost impenetrable anecdotes and philosophical conversations, the sublime story, and vastness of the world, especially the frightening Doll's House in the second film, scream influence from all things Gothic, if only peripherally so.
This only goes to show how powerful and all encompassing the Church was and how something like a Gothic cathedral can strike fear in the hearts of men. Religion is almost the original aspect of society where real power originated. Politics seem to pale in comparison to the utter force and strength religions, especially Christianity, possessed and perhaps still does.

Jesus: Color, Style, and Presence for Thurs. 8

Artistic renditions of Jesus and other godly (or demigodly) figures are basically a form of advertising, as well as a way for the common man to either relate to or be distanced from. Many Asian religions mix their godly hosts as fearsome or placid, which is definitely visible in Hindu art when comparing the calm Christ-like Vishnu (though, I believe he is pre-Christ) to the blackened, multiarmed and fanged goddess of death Kali. Each are revered but Vishnu is revered for his compassion and mercy, while Kali is honored for her destructive powers. While in Islam Mohammed may have a body but his face is completely white; perhaps a blank slate that reflects on the religions strict focus on the teachings rather than the imagery.
Modern Christianity is known for its Aryan depictions of Jesus, that show an almost doe eyed, non-threatening Prince of Peace. Perhaps this concept of his merciful and calm nature is a recent attitude considering how the Pantocrator's we observed last term were downright imposing and seemed to be scowling at the viewer. This depiction of Jesus reminds me of the literary personifications of God within the Bible. In the Old Testament, God is a wrathful, vengeful, and almost unforgiving Lord, making bets with Satan, putting his subjects into dangerous, sometimes nearly fatal situations, and smiting people and leveling towns whenever he got pissed with people ignoring him. However, in the New Testament he seems beneficent and understanding, though letting his only son get crucified doesn't seem all that fatherly.
Perhaps with the forward marching of time, attitudes changed about Christ's demeanor and appearance. In most of the older depictions of Jesus he was mostly white, probably due to the fact that those who rendered him wanted the public to relate to their skin color.
But the delving done into history as well as genetic analysis shows that Christ was most likely either darkly colored or of a mixed variety. Christianity however was original accepted and performed in cultures and countries where such shades were not all too commonplace. Only after Imperialist and Colonizing cultures such as the French, British, and the Americans, with their harebrained schemes of slave trade, came on to the scene and decide to "civilize" Africa was Christianity used as a tool of power, quiet invasion, and a way to pacify the tribes of Africa. In recent history, thusly, there has been a clamoring on the part of both African American and other ethnic groups that Christ's white complexion be traded in for something darker. I, myself, have not necessarily seen any movement towards such change, but perhaps with the introduction of Obama's administration, such a alteration may be accepted and put into some use or effect.