To Cure a Restless Mind

The dog next door has taken to barking nonstop at different points of the day. His name is Lucas. He's a tiny little thing, light brown curly fur, with so much of it his eyes are hidden most of the time I've seen him. He has a blue cast on one leg, and you can tell when he's outside because amongst the cute little pitter patter of his feet, there's the occasional thunk of plaster on wood. He's a sweetheart, and whenever I see him with his owner when I'm out and about, I stop to give him a scratch behind the ear.

Sometimes he whines, sometimes he barks. We can hear him from the other side of the kitchen wall. His owner has apologized profusely for the sound. I told her it's okay; dogs will be dogs.

We live on the second floor of our tiny complex. Our neighbors below us are Korean (I used to work with one of them), and I often hear him singing, mostly in the morning just after I step out of the shower  or in the afternoon right before dinner. He has a clear voice that's quite soothing to listen to.

There's a married couple on the ground level that like playing a downsized version of badminton in the tiny parking lot. I've seen them most often at dusk, as the atmosphere makes everything glow orange and red, and when things have calmed from the day. They stand about twelve feet apart, batting the birdie back and forth. The woman is beautiful. She has long black hair that she wears pulled back or in a long braid that reaches to the backs of her knees. Both she and her husband came over to meet Emma's dog once as we were chatting in the parking lot. They are very nice people. Everyone we've met here is.

We hear conversations in Chinese next door on the other side, late into the night. It's those times I wonder how much they can hear from our apartment.

I play music sometimes around midday when I'm making lunch or doing the dishes. My roommate has a laugh that could easily carry through walls. I tend to yell a bit when I get excited about something, as does my roommate. I watch a lot of movies on the DVD player, and I often wonder if the volume is too loud.

In those moments when I sit in our living room, thinking too much about all the things that are happening, the things that are worrying me, I notice these little things. I keep thinking about Harriet the Spy and how Ole Golly was always encouraging Harriet to write down everything she saw if she wanted to be a writer. And yes, Harriet was spying on people. But what she came to realize was that as a writer, she was less of a spy and more of an observer. It's the little things that you notice, how everyone has their own way of eating tacos, for instance, or the strange things people put into their shopping carts at the grocery store.* The way light comes through the window in the early morning, how people talk to one another in church as opposed to how they interact at a party or in intimate conversation. It's anything and everything about growing up and living in a new town or in your own hometown. The smell of your grandparents house, or the memories that float in the back of your mind without explanation. It's making sense of how crazy life seems at two in the morning or when your emotions are so overwrought and wrung out you're not sure where to go. As writers, as artists, as people, we are always noticing things. It's proof of the complexity of life, how things are continuously changing, and how it goes on.

We are observers of the world, of the unique life experiences we have. All we need to do is notice them. It's one reason we're compelled to create. We're always on the search for some kind of understanding.


*A few weeks ago, I saw a man pushing a cart entirely full of chicken. I think they might have been leg/thigh combinations.

The Worst Block of All

Drawing and I have always had a strange relationship. It's rare for me to be completely satisfied with a drawing, and I get discouraged easily. If something isn't looking right, or if I'm not connecting to the process, or even when I feel like all I'm doing is slapping media on to the paper, I shut down. And when that happens, I get really discouraged.

It started the week leading up to my birthday. I knew I wasn't making enough work (something that tends to come up a lot in talking with my drawing professor), but I was still waiting to hear word on a studio space. Thus, I hadn't had a lot of time (or, frankly, motivation) to make as much work as she had wanted me to. The weekend of my birthday, I made five drawings in addition to the two I'd started earlier that week, and I got so frustrated with myself and the unresolved status of a studio space and my upcoming show to be in the mood for any sort of discussion about my work. But, of course, on Valentine's Day, my professor wanted the class to have a critique of the eight drawings I'd done. I wanted to cry. I crossed my arms a lot and didn't pay much attention to what was being said, responding with a resounding "I honestly don't know" to every question asked of me. That same day I found out that because there wasn't a particular space for me to use, I'd be able to use the watercolor studio, a fairly public space for art students, as a studio space. That made me want to cry more, though I understood that the circumstances were beyond anyone's control. Everything combined together made me feel the worst I've ever felt as an art major. What was the point of drawing if all I could contribute was poorly-executed mixed media drawings that failed to connect with my artist statement? Where could I go?

I didn't draw anything for a week. This past week, however, was a little better, though the procrastination has seemed to worsen. I started two drawings that I have yet to finish but haven't had the energy or desire to do so. I started using the watercolor studio, but froze up when other students came in to work on their watercolor assignments or other homework as they waited for their next studio or art history class. I get nervous with other people in the room when I'm drawing. I hate the feeling of someone "looking over my shoulder" and my arm stiffens up and I'm uber conscious of my mark-making. I feel like I can't focus nor let everything go and just draw. It's horrible.

One guy in particular came in on Tuesday, and literally walked up to where I'd taped up the drawing across two drafting tables and was waiting for the gesso I'd applied to dry. He started asking me questions: "What are you using on this?" "Why did you choose to use the gesso with the charcoal?" "How do you like working this big?" And as nice as this guy was, I couldn't help getting secretly annoyed that he was asking me so many questions I wasn't prepared to answer. As far as my bad drawing side was concerned, he was a gawker and I would have given my drawing hand to be anywhere other than in the watercolor room at that very moment.

I feel like I've been drifting in every direction in the last few weeks. Graduation, unresolved studio space issues, the BFA show, preparations for the Sigma Tau Delta Convention, my unwanted but unrelenting senioritis, and the upcoming drawing portfolio all BFA seniors are required to turn in upon completing their BFA show...I've been so distraught I even entertained the idea that I was regretting becoming a drawing major. The other day I tweeted* about how annoyed with myself I'd been because I'd left some of my drawing materials at home, and ultimately that I felt my BFA show (which goes up on Easter Sunday) will suck. Almost immediately after I tweeted this, my friend Hunter, a painting major and fellow graduating senior, responded with:

STOP IT Stop complaining, stop doubting, and#GetYourShitDone If I, THE KING OF PESSIMISM, am telling you to stop, do it #believe

It was quite a wake-up call, and I told him so later that day when I saw him.

I don't think I'll ever be able to shake my low drawing self-esteem. I've toted it along with me against my will for a long time, managing to overcome it once and awhile (those are the good drawing days). I just want to be making drawings that I'm satisfied with, and thus far, it hasn't worked out that way. And frankly, of all the times for me to experience such a terrible bout of artist's block, this is the worst possible time for it. I cannot afford to be lost this close to the culminating event of my pursuit of a BFA degree.

Last spring, Heidi sent me the link to this song, hoping that it would help me find the understanding I needed.

Have I mentioned how incredible my sister is?


*I hate emotional tweeting, but I realized I've been doing it unconsciously as of late. Alas.

Birthday

On my ninth birthday, I was sick*. I insisted on going to school, though, because I had a birthday party after school that day, and I didn't want to cancel it. (Also, I've always hated missing school.) There was also a magic show at school that day, and I got called up to help perform a magic trick that involved pulling out a classmate's underwear. When the magician asked what my name was, I more or less croaked it because I was slowly losing my voice.

Yesterday was my 24th birthday. My parents came into town on Friday night and took me out to dinner. They brought me waffles, spaghetti, and cheesecake. I spent the majority of yesterday running errands or drawing (more of the former, however--I headed out to do errands late morning). My original plan for the weekend was to go home to spend some time with my mom and dad, but since I hadn't had the chance to get some serious drawing done, I needed the weekend to work. I was pretty bummed yesterday, to be honest. I had to remind myself that as far as birthdays go, it wasn't bad at all. I just didn't want to be stressed, and I was.

But it was a good day. I had the chance to see my parents the night before (they gave me a Coca-Cola cookbook, which I'm pretty sure is one of the greatest things in the universe, along with a few other things including a book about the Harry Potter movies and the soundtrack to the broadway cast soundtrack to How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying). I bought myself the Monster Ball DVD and put it on when I was drawing. I browsed the Dusty Bookshelf and bought three books with some of the birthday money I got from my parents. My sister called me to sing me 'happy birthday'.

And I spent the evening of my 24th birthday with friends at the 6th Annual K-State Drag Show. I didn't have to think about schoolwork or anything related to it. I just lost myself in the music and each amazing performance. I knew the moment when a mother sitting near the front brought her one year old up to the edge of the stage, and the toddler held out a dollar bill to the performer, that this is what would become part of making this birthday unique. The birthday I drew and went to my first drag show.

Happy February.

The cake my roommate Alisha made for me for my birthday. She had me blow out the candles on Friday afternoon before my parents came. They were arranged in the shape of a lightning bolt. 'Twas awesome.

*I think it was my ninth birthday. I was in second grade.

Keats and Various Drawing Things

The last two weeks have been really interesting. Classes are going well so far; I am taking my last advanced drawing class, intro to illustration, a BFA exhibition class, and Advanced Creative Writing fiction. I'm really excited for what this semester is going to bring, but the stresses of the incoming BFA show have really started to creep into my system and suddenly everything seems so much more daunting than I thought they would be. 

This uncertainty and (since we're being honest here) absolute terror aside, I've been trying to gather my thoughts for my drawing thesis. One of the inspirations that I will be studying/looking to in my research is John Keats,* one of my favorite poets. Thus, I went looking for a collection of his poetry so I could read a little more not only for my own interests, but also for the research for my thesis and artist statement.

Look at that cover....so gorgeous! I think it's a still from the movie about Fanny Brawne, Bright Star.** 

This is a collection of letters Keats wrote to Fanny Brawne. I might have to wait to read it around Valentine's Day--appropriate, I think. 

There's just something so intricate and beautiful about the way Keats uses words. I can't get over it. But, more another time. Tonight's goal is to get some serious drawing done. 

 

*I'm also really interested in the things W.B. Yeats explores in his poetry. I won't go into too much detail now. I'm still trying to gather my thoughts. Perhaps another time.

**I highly recommend it. It's such a beautiful story, and the movie is wonderful. 

"Shake It Out" by Florence + The Machine

One of my Christmas presents was Florence + The Machine's "Ceremonials," and I think I may be a little obsessed with it. This is definitely one of those songs that is perfect for writing and drawing--and I'm sure that the entire album will end up going on my art playlist. Of the three CDs I got for Christmas, this album is the one that I've kept in my Walkman* the most. Everything about the album is amazing.

I updated my iPod playlist last night to include this album in addition to songs from the respective greatest hits collections of The Cure and Tom Petty. I get ridiculously excited whenever I add/switch around playlists--I wonder if that's any indication to how silly the things that make me happy are, but no matter. Music gets me through my day, and I love switching playlists around. I really wanted an updated playlist for the ride back the Tiny Blue Room later today.

Speaking of which...I've been up for three hours and I really should get stuff pulled together. It's so surreal that the vacation is almost over.

*My friend Jessica had to explain what a Walkman** was to her daughter, who is about 5 or 6 years old. When she told me that I nearly fell over. I feel so old (which makes sense, I suppose, since my birthday is coming up next month).

**In case you don't know what a Walkman is, it is a portable CD player that was really popular through the '90s and into the 2000s, just before iPods and other such mp3 players became popular. I think it also derived from the Walkman cassette player, which preceded the Walkman CD player. Anyway, a Walkman can be seen at about :41 or :42 in this early video from Mandy Moore. And the one she has there is super fancy--mine is a simple silver Sony Walkman.

Imogen Heap, "Lifeline"

I've been poking around, looking for options for a project we're working on for Drawing III, which involves us compiling a list of our various formal and conceptual influences as artists. I came across this amazing, beautiful song and the accompanying video in my search for "new" non-artist influences. 

I absolutely adore Imogen Heap. She is an incredible, all-around poet, artist, and musician, and I can't help myself but get caught up in each of her songs. This song is no different. I cannot wait until this album comes out. Goodness me, is it good....I just wish I'd known about it before today. 

*adds it to list of inspirations for any kind of creative block*

Inspiration Can Come In the Simplest of Forms

Last year in Drawing 3 and Advanced Drawing, the drawing majors decided to dub ourselves "The Drawing Rangers" because we started out as five (and then grew to eight and then six, if I'm counting correctly) and we had grown really close from having spent so much time together in studio. Naturally, we all tended to hold each other up when things got rough or when any one of us faced some bit of an artist block (or, as was often the case, more of a crisis). It was through these moments when we grew even closer and were able to pull through the darkness and find our way back.

Anyway, Brianna, who is so sweet and super awesome, tagged myself, Whitney, Caitlin, and Nicole in a post of FB earlier today. The link was to this gorgeous strip, which provides a kind of pick-me-up for the artistic soul (be sure to click to enlarge). When I read it, I teared up, because sometimes when the frustrations get too much, and the discouragement in self and abilities skyrockets, it is so important to be reminded of what got me into art in the first place. The possibilities are endless, and each beautiful in their own way. (Plus, it's what the Drawing Rangers do.)

Thank you, Brianna, for reminding me of that. It's exactly what I needed to hear. <3

Today's Art Moment....

...comes from the portraits of Emma Watson by Mark Demsteader. GORGEOUS.* The absence and simultaneous presence of marks and value, how mute some of the value is, the simple linework...and each piece is unique while still fitting with the others. I can't get over it.

This kind of thing always makes me really happy. I have a much bigger appreciation for abstract now than I did two years ago, but this kind of thing is what I'll always have love and adoration for. I am determined to try to preserve traditional methods for handling the figure in my work as much as I can while also experimenting and pushing it to see where it takes me. Artists like Mark Demsteader, Graham Little, Elizabeth Peyton, and many others are hugely inspirational for me in this respect. Modern art is not just limited to abstract (though it's certainly a huge part of it, as is seen in these works.) Wonderful, wonderful stuff.

*Sidenote: Have I mentioned how much I LOVE Emma Watson?


Source: The Leaky Cauldron

Little Known Fact #1

I'm fairly sure that this scene is the reason I love drawing so much.* I mean, I drew all the time when I was little (when I wasn't reading, anyway), and Mom taught me almost everything I knew about art until I got to college. But this scene fascinated me, captured my heart and my attention and my wonder, captivated me so much that it still haunts me today. I struggle to find the words to truly explain to you the feeling.

This is drawing. I mean, really drawing. There isn't much else like it.

*There are many other forms of inspiration that I cling to regarding drawing and focusing on the figure--including but not limited to Caravaggio, Sidney Goodman, Degas, etc.--but this is one of the very first ones. (Well, this and The Little Mermaid. I know it sounds weird, but seriously--I probably would be doing something very different had I not grown up with either that or Beauty and the Beast. The first of many "defining moments.")

Graham Little, "Daffodil Shoe Lady"

For the Human Form and Composition class I'm taking this intersession, we had to look at a few artists of our choosing (master or no, old or contemporary) from which we are to incorporate elements, styles, techniques, etc into our own exploration of depicting/presenting the figure. Because I'm bad at making a single choice, I decided to pull from two or more artists (because I'm doing that kind of thing anyway with my own work). Two of my favorites artists I looked up again were Caravaggio and Degas, but I felt like I should look at some contemporary figurative artists as well.

The third I chose was Graham Little, a British artist who works in colored pencil (!!!). I googled his work to refresh my memory and found this piece:

I can't stop looking at it. I LOVE IT. Also, for some inexplicable reason, all I can think about when I look at it is Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott." (Which, incidentally, is one of my favorite poems and the inspiration for another of my favorite paintings.)