Giving me a C? I'll take it. See y'all in Hell.
Peace.
Edit: Ok, I didn't mean for that to come off as dickish as it did. I know no one is paying attention anymore, but I'd just like to apologize for being a douche. It wasnt because I didn't like the course, or any of you, but because I thought you didn't like me. And to be honest I don't think anyone paid that much attention to even form an opinion. So, again, sorry.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
&@$%
The BFA undergrad thesis exhibition “First World Problems” began today, April 20th, and there it will sit as a testament to our hard work and dedication for the next 10 working days before we are badgered into getting our crap out of there and repairing the damage our artwork has left on the galleries precious walls. This is the culmination of my class’s careers and studies in the field of art and it is as wide a spectrum of work as my class is a varied spectrum of assholes.
First, let’s discuss the name. “First World Problems” was not arrived at democratically but rather by Jamian Juliano-Villani who stepped up to lead when all others were too timid to raise their hands. As part of the publication staff it was our job to come up with a name that we, all 6 of us who met alone, could agree on and as soon as possible. We kicked around a few until Jamian suggested the name we have now and no one seemed to mind it terribly so it stuck. To be honest, I think it is fitting. Even before we knew what kind of work our peers were doing we just knew that there would be a bottomless well of self pity and entitlement hanging up on the walls of the gallery and what better way to call attention to it than belittle the people involved. We are first world people, we have no right to complain, but being a part of the art world it seems that is 50% of what we can possibly do. That doesn’t necessarily give our warped perception of challenge any vindication; I overheard a fellow thesis student who disliked the name we came up with and said she felt it was patronizing. What she didn’t realize was that by doing this she was proving the name more fitting than we could ever imagine.
I have in my hand a copy of the First World Problems exhibition booklet that gives a description of each of our work in the artists own words. If one of these booklets happens to find its way into your hands you may notice that I am not in it. I missed the class when people discussed sending all vital information to one student who would print it out into these booklets, but no effort on any one else’s part was put in to see if maybe any student was missing from the list either when it was first retrieved or before the booklets became printed. So, alas, there are now few records of my participation in this show but it is not all my fault; my stage, which you saw, was apparently seen as an “eyesore” by the higher ups and voted out of the gallery unless I could replace it with something more fitting with the room that I had no say in getting dumped in. I do not, however, have any delusions that this stage was a great work of art that is simply being misunderstood. I realize that the stage was shotty looking and unpolished but if they had the patience to see it through until my performance on reception night then they would understand that it was absolutely the point for it to be as disheveled as it was. I am also being charged with the use of gaffer tape to give it some semblance of being held together, as they suggested, but apparently the tape was for everyone else to use – not me. That’s not even the point; the point is that since when is crappy art not allowed in the gallery? In ANY gallery? What if this stage was my version of an Undergrad Junk Pile? It may not be a good thing to some but I have every justification to leave it in the gallery. As it turns out I don’t, so I lugged the thing into the dumpsters, never to be seen again. Some might say “easy come, easy go,” but even moving that thing required a time investment.
Back to the booklets, I’m looking at a copy and will go through most of the students whose work I remember. First is Jamie An-Wong and “The Good Earth.” Taking a look at humanities impact on the Earth, Jamie recognizes that we are now creating a new, human geology. She shows this by assembling samples of the Earths crust in clear plastic stands. Between the dirt and under the grass are newspapers, magazines, and other forms of human waste. I think this piece is one of the most powerful in the show and is a clear example of a well thought out conception and flawless execution. I do, however, think Amie had some help with her description because, honestly, I have never heard her say a full sentence in English, surely not with the vocabulary in her writing sample. I’m just being a jerk.
Ariana Arancibia, besides having a palindrome for a name (it’s not, don’t check), is someone that I was friendly with before thesis began last semester so I know a little bit about how she operates. She is a confident artist with a real grounding in reality, which is somewhat of a contradiction – “artist” and “reality.” Her work focuses on the aesthetics of skin by means of projecting crisp scans of wrinkled and folded skin onto cone shaped sculptures draped in fabric meant to echo but not mimic the pictures of flesh. This is an interesting way to showcase something as intricate and fascinating as skin in a unique way. I, personally, often lay in bed after I wake and exam how the light is cast on my hand to both get a better understanding of its design for my own artistic purposes and also marvel at its properties to shift and change, so I’ve already got an invested interest in this production.
Justin Breen needs to calm down. His sterile and uniformed art takes it form in text that he has placed in various locations around our building and even into the city of New Brunswick. These words are stuck to elevators, desks, walls, public benches, and aim to call people out on their daily task of noncommunication. “Reserved for Looking Away” in our elevator is a way of communicating a universal understanding that no one wants to talk in a confined space that moves vertically around our building and a way to break it. But, come on Justin, enough. His “reserved for seven up” stickers on the desks in our critique rooms were cute before we all had to actually PLAY seven up so we could all be participants in his art. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person in that room that had better things to do two weeks before our show opened than play a fucking elementary school game. Perhaps I’m just bitter. Perhaps it affected me so much because it was Megan Flaherty (the Grad student in charge) whose idea it was, the same person who felt my work was not worthy to be in a gallery setting with my fellow students. Perhaps I’m a little bitter because I am apparently the EVIL Justin who impedes the progress of my group and this other Justin is the GOOD Justin who should be given our undivided attention so that we may help him in exchange for our own time. Yeah, perhaps. It doesn’t change the fact that the GOOD Justin’s thesis is nothing more than a small table and two chairs, which I am sure he found somewhere in the building seeing as how they are covered in paint and I wouldn’t want any pair of my pants around them, and another one of his meaningless vinyl lettering signs on the adjacent wall. Bravo.
Michael Costa has created a game for his thesis in which you use a Wii to randomly generate flash animations that either have a good or bad connotation. An animation with a positive suggestion means you step up towards the wheel that is attached to the wall, and a negative suggestion of course means take a step back. When you finally get to the big, colorful wheel you spin it to see which type of CANCER you are diagnosed with and what your odds of survival are. Mike, I love ya buddy, but Jesus Christ it’s depressing. I don’t blame him for making cancer the main subject matter of pretty much everything he’s done seeing as how, you know, he had cancer. And to be honest there is a nuance to using a game system to power these images of brightly colored cartoon characters getting MRIs and losing their hair, all on your way to the big wheel of fate. What he is doing is showing that it can happen to anyone but it doesn’t have to be a death sentence, and on the wheel itself are facts about types of cancer, who is likely to develop it, and survival rates. It’s a brilliant display of originality and cleverness on the subject of something so dark and unpleasant.
Matt Battaglia made a comic book.
Kristen Kipilla is concentrating on the economy of line, but it is too much to ask that she calls it that. She says something about celebrating the overlooked aspect of blahblahblah, provoke a question of blahblahblah, breaking down systems OK ENOUGH. She made lines. Her work is lines. Orange lines, from what I can see. Contour lines of some mystery objects we can’t make out. Why do we, as artists, feel the need to pad the explanations of our boring work with contrived justifications? Speaking of which, let’s talk about Jamian.
Now Jamian, no matter how good she looks in tights, is someone I can’t force myself to like for a very simple reason. First, let’s take a look at some of the opening sentences that are found in this booklet:
Conor Mack – “My series Absence/Presence is the aftermath of a death in the family.”
Chris Rypkema – “I am making work about people’s personal stories.”
Hannah O’Brian – “I paint using acrylics, creating vibrant, nonrepresentational paintings.”
Simple, to the point, no need for unnecessary language enhancers that make you sound like a tool. Now, here is Jamian’s opening sentence:
Jamian Juliano-Villani – “Simultaneously rejecting and embracing the historicity surrounding painting, my work marries confusion, humor, pretense and democratic viewing.”
Jamian, stop it. What? What are you talking about? What does that MEAN? I don’t really know what Jamian is installing, but the last time I saw it (which was the night before the show opened so I’m guessing it hasn’t changed much) it appeared to be something akin to a homemade dog agility course with giant lights and tubes big enough for an adjunct to get through. So, you know, I’m not saying she is a hipster who thinks the more expressive her dialogue is the less we will be able to see that it is complete bullshit, but her glasses are way too big for her face.
I’ll leave on a good note and talk about Jennifer Manning’s paintings. Jennifer has a very detailed, photorealistic style that creates spaces deep enough to fall into. It takes a special painter to make me appreciate photorealism seeing as how my stance has usually been that if you are going to paint a photo then just take a photo; I usually don’t see any creativity in a simply photorealistic style, but Jennifer is so Goddamn talented that I want to reach out and grab the objects in her paintings. I mean, she goes on about sacred images and stuff, but really I don’t care. The girl can paint.
So there you have it, “First World Problems.” Lord knows if I was anyone else I’d have a field day tearing apart my video. I’d probably say something like, “The plot shifts from one shaky concept to the next with little to no transition,” or, “The midi track is distracting, the dialogue is hard to hear, and the presentation is sloppy and without merit.” Wow, what a dick.
First, let’s discuss the name. “First World Problems” was not arrived at democratically but rather by Jamian Juliano-Villani who stepped up to lead when all others were too timid to raise their hands. As part of the publication staff it was our job to come up with a name that we, all 6 of us who met alone, could agree on and as soon as possible. We kicked around a few until Jamian suggested the name we have now and no one seemed to mind it terribly so it stuck. To be honest, I think it is fitting. Even before we knew what kind of work our peers were doing we just knew that there would be a bottomless well of self pity and entitlement hanging up on the walls of the gallery and what better way to call attention to it than belittle the people involved. We are first world people, we have no right to complain, but being a part of the art world it seems that is 50% of what we can possibly do. That doesn’t necessarily give our warped perception of challenge any vindication; I overheard a fellow thesis student who disliked the name we came up with and said she felt it was patronizing. What she didn’t realize was that by doing this she was proving the name more fitting than we could ever imagine.
I have in my hand a copy of the First World Problems exhibition booklet that gives a description of each of our work in the artists own words. If one of these booklets happens to find its way into your hands you may notice that I am not in it. I missed the class when people discussed sending all vital information to one student who would print it out into these booklets, but no effort on any one else’s part was put in to see if maybe any student was missing from the list either when it was first retrieved or before the booklets became printed. So, alas, there are now few records of my participation in this show but it is not all my fault; my stage, which you saw, was apparently seen as an “eyesore” by the higher ups and voted out of the gallery unless I could replace it with something more fitting with the room that I had no say in getting dumped in. I do not, however, have any delusions that this stage was a great work of art that is simply being misunderstood. I realize that the stage was shotty looking and unpolished but if they had the patience to see it through until my performance on reception night then they would understand that it was absolutely the point for it to be as disheveled as it was. I am also being charged with the use of gaffer tape to give it some semblance of being held together, as they suggested, but apparently the tape was for everyone else to use – not me. That’s not even the point; the point is that since when is crappy art not allowed in the gallery? In ANY gallery? What if this stage was my version of an Undergrad Junk Pile? It may not be a good thing to some but I have every justification to leave it in the gallery. As it turns out I don’t, so I lugged the thing into the dumpsters, never to be seen again. Some might say “easy come, easy go,” but even moving that thing required a time investment.
Back to the booklets, I’m looking at a copy and will go through most of the students whose work I remember. First is Jamie An-Wong and “The Good Earth.” Taking a look at humanities impact on the Earth, Jamie recognizes that we are now creating a new, human geology. She shows this by assembling samples of the Earths crust in clear plastic stands. Between the dirt and under the grass are newspapers, magazines, and other forms of human waste. I think this piece is one of the most powerful in the show and is a clear example of a well thought out conception and flawless execution. I do, however, think Amie had some help with her description because, honestly, I have never heard her say a full sentence in English, surely not with the vocabulary in her writing sample. I’m just being a jerk.
Ariana Arancibia, besides having a palindrome for a name (it’s not, don’t check), is someone that I was friendly with before thesis began last semester so I know a little bit about how she operates. She is a confident artist with a real grounding in reality, which is somewhat of a contradiction – “artist” and “reality.” Her work focuses on the aesthetics of skin by means of projecting crisp scans of wrinkled and folded skin onto cone shaped sculptures draped in fabric meant to echo but not mimic the pictures of flesh. This is an interesting way to showcase something as intricate and fascinating as skin in a unique way. I, personally, often lay in bed after I wake and exam how the light is cast on my hand to both get a better understanding of its design for my own artistic purposes and also marvel at its properties to shift and change, so I’ve already got an invested interest in this production.
Justin Breen needs to calm down. His sterile and uniformed art takes it form in text that he has placed in various locations around our building and even into the city of New Brunswick. These words are stuck to elevators, desks, walls, public benches, and aim to call people out on their daily task of noncommunication. “Reserved for Looking Away” in our elevator is a way of communicating a universal understanding that no one wants to talk in a confined space that moves vertically around our building and a way to break it. But, come on Justin, enough. His “reserved for seven up” stickers on the desks in our critique rooms were cute before we all had to actually PLAY seven up so we could all be participants in his art. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person in that room that had better things to do two weeks before our show opened than play a fucking elementary school game. Perhaps I’m just bitter. Perhaps it affected me so much because it was Megan Flaherty (the Grad student in charge) whose idea it was, the same person who felt my work was not worthy to be in a gallery setting with my fellow students. Perhaps I’m a little bitter because I am apparently the EVIL Justin who impedes the progress of my group and this other Justin is the GOOD Justin who should be given our undivided attention so that we may help him in exchange for our own time. Yeah, perhaps. It doesn’t change the fact that the GOOD Justin’s thesis is nothing more than a small table and two chairs, which I am sure he found somewhere in the building seeing as how they are covered in paint and I wouldn’t want any pair of my pants around them, and another one of his meaningless vinyl lettering signs on the adjacent wall. Bravo.
Michael Costa has created a game for his thesis in which you use a Wii to randomly generate flash animations that either have a good or bad connotation. An animation with a positive suggestion means you step up towards the wheel that is attached to the wall, and a negative suggestion of course means take a step back. When you finally get to the big, colorful wheel you spin it to see which type of CANCER you are diagnosed with and what your odds of survival are. Mike, I love ya buddy, but Jesus Christ it’s depressing. I don’t blame him for making cancer the main subject matter of pretty much everything he’s done seeing as how, you know, he had cancer. And to be honest there is a nuance to using a game system to power these images of brightly colored cartoon characters getting MRIs and losing their hair, all on your way to the big wheel of fate. What he is doing is showing that it can happen to anyone but it doesn’t have to be a death sentence, and on the wheel itself are facts about types of cancer, who is likely to develop it, and survival rates. It’s a brilliant display of originality and cleverness on the subject of something so dark and unpleasant.
Matt Battaglia made a comic book.
Kristen Kipilla is concentrating on the economy of line, but it is too much to ask that she calls it that. She says something about celebrating the overlooked aspect of blahblahblah, provoke a question of blahblahblah, breaking down systems OK ENOUGH. She made lines. Her work is lines. Orange lines, from what I can see. Contour lines of some mystery objects we can’t make out. Why do we, as artists, feel the need to pad the explanations of our boring work with contrived justifications? Speaking of which, let’s talk about Jamian.
Now Jamian, no matter how good she looks in tights, is someone I can’t force myself to like for a very simple reason. First, let’s take a look at some of the opening sentences that are found in this booklet:
Conor Mack – “My series Absence/Presence is the aftermath of a death in the family.”
Chris Rypkema – “I am making work about people’s personal stories.”
Hannah O’Brian – “I paint using acrylics, creating vibrant, nonrepresentational paintings.”
Simple, to the point, no need for unnecessary language enhancers that make you sound like a tool. Now, here is Jamian’s opening sentence:
Jamian Juliano-Villani – “Simultaneously rejecting and embracing the historicity surrounding painting, my work marries confusion, humor, pretense and democratic viewing.”
Jamian, stop it. What? What are you talking about? What does that MEAN? I don’t really know what Jamian is installing, but the last time I saw it (which was the night before the show opened so I’m guessing it hasn’t changed much) it appeared to be something akin to a homemade dog agility course with giant lights and tubes big enough for an adjunct to get through. So, you know, I’m not saying she is a hipster who thinks the more expressive her dialogue is the less we will be able to see that it is complete bullshit, but her glasses are way too big for her face.
I’ll leave on a good note and talk about Jennifer Manning’s paintings. Jennifer has a very detailed, photorealistic style that creates spaces deep enough to fall into. It takes a special painter to make me appreciate photorealism seeing as how my stance has usually been that if you are going to paint a photo then just take a photo; I usually don’t see any creativity in a simply photorealistic style, but Jennifer is so Goddamn talented that I want to reach out and grab the objects in her paintings. I mean, she goes on about sacred images and stuff, but really I don’t care. The girl can paint.
So there you have it, “First World Problems.” Lord knows if I was anyone else I’d have a field day tearing apart my video. I’d probably say something like, “The plot shifts from one shaky concept to the next with little to no transition,” or, “The midi track is distracting, the dialogue is hard to hear, and the presentation is sloppy and without merit.” Wow, what a dick.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
First World Problems
It is Sunday night, 3:50 am, I still have in front of me audio for my video that I JUST finished. The video itself is pretty much done, but I had to work on the soundtrack at home and my buggy laptop was not making that easy - speaking of not making things easy, the fucking Macs in the editing lab at Mason Gross can suck it. I've never been more frustrated with an inanimate object than going from one machine to another trying desperately to make it do the simple tasks I require it do it.
Oh I know, lets make a computer mouse with only one button! The entire shell will be one HUGE BUTTON! HEY SOMEONE GET ME A DICK TO PUT IN MY MOUTH BEFORE THIS BRAINTRUST MEETING OF APPLE EXECUTIVES ENDS!
iCock, coming soon.
I'm glad I was able to put in a short cartoon about how much I hate Macs in my video. I'm a little surprised, actually, that I was able to since a) I was using a program that is really not for animation, b) I had to hand draw the characters and the various scenes, and c) I am lazy as FUCK. When I get home its hot dog and Pokemon time. But somehow I man'd up and got some work done and THANK GOD 'cause it is coming down to the wire. I've got to take this baby to school and make a DVD, which takes forever, and let's not forget about supplying some extra time for the computer to freeze/crap out on me/straight up not want to do its goddamn job/fail to burn the DVD correctly/give me some bullshit error message. Then I'm gonna run it down to the gallery and pray that when things go wrong (and they will) that it isn't a big deal or at least not on opening night. Ugh.
Fuck, then I got to make a documentary about all this shit for Video class. I've got to get someone to interview me, I've got to interview other people ABOUT me, and go through all this bullshit all over again. FUCK and I have an essay and exams...How much is killing yourself nowadays? Nah I can't afford it.
I hate all these post graduate friends of mine that are all like "oh man I WISH I was still in school" when I complain about my workload. They act like living at their parents house and delivering pizza is what their colleges were PREPARING THEM FOR. That isn't the real world, guys. I'd rather have a 9-5 then HOMEWORK. I mean, shit, at least when you get home from your job you can forget about it and play some Pokemon. But no I get home and I'm like "ok, fuck, what do I have to do...write that shit, gotta record that shit, draw that shit..." I mean, I rarely DO IT but that's not the point. Fuck.
Oh I know, lets make a computer mouse with only one button! The entire shell will be one HUGE BUTTON! HEY SOMEONE GET ME A DICK TO PUT IN MY MOUTH BEFORE THIS BRAINTRUST MEETING OF APPLE EXECUTIVES ENDS!
iCock, coming soon.
I'm glad I was able to put in a short cartoon about how much I hate Macs in my video. I'm a little surprised, actually, that I was able to since a) I was using a program that is really not for animation, b) I had to hand draw the characters and the various scenes, and c) I am lazy as FUCK. When I get home its hot dog and Pokemon time. But somehow I man'd up and got some work done and THANK GOD 'cause it is coming down to the wire. I've got to take this baby to school and make a DVD, which takes forever, and let's not forget about supplying some extra time for the computer to freeze/crap out on me/straight up not want to do its goddamn job/fail to burn the DVD correctly/give me some bullshit error message. Then I'm gonna run it down to the gallery and pray that when things go wrong (and they will) that it isn't a big deal or at least not on opening night. Ugh.
Fuck, then I got to make a documentary about all this shit for Video class. I've got to get someone to interview me, I've got to interview other people ABOUT me, and go through all this bullshit all over again. FUCK and I have an essay and exams...How much is killing yourself nowadays? Nah I can't afford it.
I hate all these post graduate friends of mine that are all like "oh man I WISH I was still in school" when I complain about my workload. They act like living at their parents house and delivering pizza is what their colleges were PREPARING THEM FOR. That isn't the real world, guys. I'd rather have a 9-5 then HOMEWORK. I mean, shit, at least when you get home from your job you can forget about it and play some Pokemon. But no I get home and I'm like "ok, fuck, what do I have to do...write that shit, gotta record that shit, draw that shit..." I mean, I rarely DO IT but that's not the point. Fuck.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Crit #2
Well, more like crit #1 since I was actually in my correct group this week which is a first.
I felt that it went well, and I got a lot of good feedback. Sometimes working on a painting or a video for so long will make you hate it or at least start to wonder why you thought it was such a good idea in the first place but having people tell me that a certain shot in the video I showed was interesting or that some parts were well done and felt natural, it makes it worth it.
Thinking about critiques in general I'm starting to wonder what purpose they serve aside from maybe boosting your ego or giving you a new perspective. But, really, those things could be accomplished by asking a friend what they think about your work and would probably not take two hours. Yes, you're correct, this is when I start complaining, but I'm not the only one; in my five years of college level art classes I have yet to meet a single student that hasn't complained about a long, unnecessary, boring crit, and hardly anyone actually takes any of the advice they receive. The things said in my crit were appreciated but not exactly going to plot a new course for me in terms of where this thesis will lead. The bottom line is that we art students put far less thought into our work than you think and talking about it for more than a minute is really testing nothing but our ability to call upon our art history knowledge to make it seem like we are using any of the things you people teach us and also calming a sudden and direct urge to leap out of a third story window whenever someone brings up "symbolism."
Critiques in general serve a purpose but should be, in my opinion, optional. Unless we are going to drop the act and stop pretending that these things are only instated to make sure we are actually doing work and that the work we ARE doing is not total bullshit then all we accomplish is making a bunch of kids more exhausted than they already are.
But other than that I think it went okay :)
I felt that it went well, and I got a lot of good feedback. Sometimes working on a painting or a video for so long will make you hate it or at least start to wonder why you thought it was such a good idea in the first place but having people tell me that a certain shot in the video I showed was interesting or that some parts were well done and felt natural, it makes it worth it.
Thinking about critiques in general I'm starting to wonder what purpose they serve aside from maybe boosting your ego or giving you a new perspective. But, really, those things could be accomplished by asking a friend what they think about your work and would probably not take two hours. Yes, you're correct, this is when I start complaining, but I'm not the only one; in my five years of college level art classes I have yet to meet a single student that hasn't complained about a long, unnecessary, boring crit, and hardly anyone actually takes any of the advice they receive. The things said in my crit were appreciated but not exactly going to plot a new course for me in terms of where this thesis will lead. The bottom line is that we art students put far less thought into our work than you think and talking about it for more than a minute is really testing nothing but our ability to call upon our art history knowledge to make it seem like we are using any of the things you people teach us and also calming a sudden and direct urge to leap out of a third story window whenever someone brings up "symbolism."
Critiques in general serve a purpose but should be, in my opinion, optional. Unless we are going to drop the act and stop pretending that these things are only instated to make sure we are actually doing work and that the work we ARE doing is not total bullshit then all we accomplish is making a bunch of kids more exhausted than they already are.
But other than that I think it went okay :)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Damnit
There's been a change of plans. It needed to happen because all I wanted was my thesis to be a true representation of me and the way it was turning out, or rather how I needed it to turn out, was just not that. So here is my thesis: Failure.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Stage
Done with construction, but there are a few things I still want to attach like fluffy clouds and maybe lights.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Cultures I Hate
Pot Culture
- Pot should be legal. That said, everyone, please, just shut the fuck up about it. You LITTLE FUCKING CHILDREN are ooobbbsessed with pot and the "cool" factor it gives you to other immature assholes. You go online and tell people you're high like everyone is supposed to turn to the person next to them and go "wow that guy is really fucking cool, I bet he isn't a virgin at all." Yeah, yeah, you're the LIFE OF THE PARTY...online....at home....alone. You loser. "Oh hey bros whats your favorite way to toke? Mine happens to be the blahblahblah" it always turns into one giant stoner circle jerk, and I'm tired of it.
Smoke pot like an adult - get home from your job, light up a joint, and watch some cartoons. Just shut your pot stained mouth up about it. Oh and another thing, WE CAN ALL SMELL IT ON YOU.
Feminism
- I support equal rights. Feminists support the idea that women are better than men. Whether or not that is true, I DO know that feminists think that all their inequalities to men are perpetrated by some penis run government. Fight for the right to earn as much as a man. Fight for the right to serve your country. But don't tell me you are "just as strong as a man." Let's put that to the test and watch Bambie together. Hey, hey! No tissues! That's cheating. And you know that only MEN cheat.
"Gamer Gurlz"
- Shut up shut up shut up. Ok it's not fair to single you out, let me start of with this..
Gamers in General.
- Come on dudes. COME THE FUCK ON. There has GOT to be a better way to spend your time, energy, money, and VIRGINITY. Some people are socially awkward and find sanctuary in games because the entire gaming community is just as big an acne ridden nerd as they are, but it's time to grow up. I mean you will never get over your social phobia or whatever excuse you use if you are glued to CoD:Boys Pretending to be in the Army. You people go out in the dead of night to get first dibs on a piece of sidewalk that will later turn into a giant line of fan boys foaming at the mouth for THE SAME GAME OVER AND OVER AGAIN. I criticize these people not because they are fans of a certain activity, or even that they often times take it too far, but mainly because there hasn't been a good game out since Donkey Kong. All these games are the same! Or at least they all fall into a few archetypes: the FPS that has you as some faceless, jacked up killing machine mowing down nazis/monsters/children, the fantasy RPG that gives you the option to either be an elf, a dwarf, a human, or some kind of Gandolf dude and you mow down nazis/monsters/children, the puzzle game that....oh fuck it, fuck puzzle games, what are we in grade school? Everyone creames their pants when the new shooter comes out for Xbox but it's just like the ones before it, and don't mention graphics to me because A) It does not make a better game, and B) all games have gorgeous graphics nowadays (save for Nintendo) so it doesn't really matter anymore.
That brings me to...
- "Gamer Gurlz," again
This is the opposite of feminism, but still annoying. Here we have a gender that has done away with all preconceived notions of femininity and latched onto their male counterparts TO BE DIFFERENT. Any girl that says she likes gaming cause she enjoys playing video games is a LIAR. If they simply enjoyed it then they wouldn't need to buy shirts that say "Yeah, I'm a girl gamer, so what? My vagina smells and I don't shave my arm pits, what of it?," or announce their gender as soon as they enter gaming forums on the internet, or try and force the fact that they own a Playstation and are "not like other girls" into every facet of conversation. Gaming is a hobby, like any other, and although its demographic is predominantly male it does NOT make YOU, as a "gamer girl," somehow a unique snowflake that we should all stop and examine. Take a shower, put on some makeup, and stop talking to me.
Bro Dudes
- You know the type; Frat bros, dudes with sideways baseball caps and Yankees logos sewn into their $500 jeans, guys who buy Mustangs and only drive it to school, the guy doing the keg stand at the party and showing off his tan. Let me give you a brief synopsis of a bro dudes life from the very moment he is conceived: some rich asshole takes off his condom in the middle of intercourse with a girl whose dignity is deader than her last three fetuses, and a miracle happens - a bro dude is conceived. He becomes the kid in kindergarten that doesn't get along with anyone and knocks over peoples blocks when they are CLEARLY using them and in the middle of something important for fucks sake. In middle school they are the bullies that are slightly bigger than the other kids and use this to give them the shake down for milk money. In high school this graduates to full on assault and eventually being known as the kid that makes sure no one else in his class will ever have an opportunity to learn anything since he will disrupt the lesson everyday and be ejected from the room by a teacher who has yet to get tenure so is unable to berate him like he deserves. Now comes Community College, which is all they can get into, but after a year their rich asshole parents throw some money around and they wind up at RUTGERS. They use their fathers credit card to buy subwoofers for their Mustangs so everyone can wake up and appreciate their shitty taste in club music as they stroll down the street at 3 in the morning with sunglasses on. Fuck. Those. Guys.
Skaters/Xtreme sports
- If I see another homemade skating video on youtube that utilizes a fisheye lens way too much then I am going to nuke the X-Games. What is up with that lens effect? Why is that the go-to add on? Look up a skating video right now. Hell, look up skating PICTURES. They all use that lens. I don't know why but it's really aggravating. I think what makes it anger me so much is that I just hate it when cultures or cliques or groups of people are programmed to only use or be seen with certain things. It's practically a cult. A shitty cult run by 14 year old suburban punks with chain wallets for their weekly allowance that they blow on FISH EYE LENSES for the camera they are borrowing from the high schools morning announcement crew so they can film each others failed attempts at grinding the bike rack outside Burger King like the whole world is calling for a new extreme "sport" blowhard with a shag haircut and chin pubes. And the worst part is that these kids are like this 24/7. If they just wanted to tape each other doing ollies over their pets and then they went about their lives like normal people then who would I be to judge? But they DON'T. The whole culture is about the LOOK more than anything. You need your baggy jeans and your vans and your No Fear tshirts so when you hang out at the mall all the other teenagers know that you are part of the badass group. It affects me because this town I live in used to be a small, beach community with normal kids. When I was in high school there weren't a lot of white kids trying to be gangster or hipster prototypes that start smoking early so they can be seen by the older crowd and hopefully get invited to that college party by the BA undergrad in the tweed blazer that buys Natty Ice for them on weekends. But now when I have the unfortunate pleasure of driving somewhere when school gets out, all I see are little prepubescent kids who are trying so Goddamn hard to be cool they have to adopt this MTV subculture of unwarranted self importance and an affinity for Hot Topic. Stop it. Learn a real skill.
Pseudo-goth kiddies
- One common thread between all these subcultures is that they are comprised of people incapable of thinking for themselves, and pseudo-goth kiddies are no exception. These tweens and teens take the obnoxious, macabre worshiping aspects of goth culture (liking "dark" and "creepy" things, so long as they retain a cute appeal like every Tim Burton film) without going too far into self mutilation (unless wearing Hot Topic counts) and fascination with the occult. These are the girls that wear all black and try to be edgy while retaining an affinity towards cute bunnies. That brings me to something I hate with a fiery passion ... How do you appeal to a pseudo-goth kiddie that enjoys death and curse words but also fluffy animals? You introduce something like a bunny that flips the bird and says something off putting like "I enjoy murdering children, teehee." There is an entire MARKET for cute, fluffy animals that say and/or do horrible things that is consumed primarily by pseudo-goth kiddies who feel these things are relatable because they are an offensive, social outcast in a nonthreatening exterior - much like the pseudo-goth kiddies themselves. People STILL use this device in humor, as if it is new and interesting. When the horrible cave beast in Monty Python and the Holy Grail turned out to be a bunny, it was funny. When it rocketed towards a knights throat and decapitated him, it was funny. When you draw a picture of an adorable little mouse with a twinkle in its eye KILLING A FAMILY OF CATS it is OVERDONE and NOT CREATIVE.
- Pot should be legal. That said, everyone, please, just shut the fuck up about it. You LITTLE FUCKING CHILDREN are ooobbbsessed with pot and the "cool" factor it gives you to other immature assholes. You go online and tell people you're high like everyone is supposed to turn to the person next to them and go "wow that guy is really fucking cool, I bet he isn't a virgin at all." Yeah, yeah, you're the LIFE OF THE PARTY...online....at home....alone. You loser. "Oh hey bros whats your favorite way to toke? Mine happens to be the blahblahblah" it always turns into one giant stoner circle jerk, and I'm tired of it.
Smoke pot like an adult - get home from your job, light up a joint, and watch some cartoons. Just shut your pot stained mouth up about it. Oh and another thing, WE CAN ALL SMELL IT ON YOU.
Feminism
- I support equal rights. Feminists support the idea that women are better than men. Whether or not that is true, I DO know that feminists think that all their inequalities to men are perpetrated by some penis run government. Fight for the right to earn as much as a man. Fight for the right to serve your country. But don't tell me you are "just as strong as a man." Let's put that to the test and watch Bambie together. Hey, hey! No tissues! That's cheating. And you know that only MEN cheat.
"Gamer Gurlz"
- Shut up shut up shut up. Ok it's not fair to single you out, let me start of with this..
Gamers in General.
- Come on dudes. COME THE FUCK ON. There has GOT to be a better way to spend your time, energy, money, and VIRGINITY. Some people are socially awkward and find sanctuary in games because the entire gaming community is just as big an acne ridden nerd as they are, but it's time to grow up. I mean you will never get over your social phobia or whatever excuse you use if you are glued to CoD:Boys Pretending to be in the Army. You people go out in the dead of night to get first dibs on a piece of sidewalk that will later turn into a giant line of fan boys foaming at the mouth for THE SAME GAME OVER AND OVER AGAIN. I criticize these people not because they are fans of a certain activity, or even that they often times take it too far, but mainly because there hasn't been a good game out since Donkey Kong. All these games are the same! Or at least they all fall into a few archetypes: the FPS that has you as some faceless, jacked up killing machine mowing down nazis/monsters/children, the fantasy RPG that gives you the option to either be an elf, a dwarf, a human, or some kind of Gandolf dude and you mow down nazis/monsters/children, the puzzle game that....oh fuck it, fuck puzzle games, what are we in grade school? Everyone creames their pants when the new shooter comes out for Xbox but it's just like the ones before it, and don't mention graphics to me because A) It does not make a better game, and B) all games have gorgeous graphics nowadays (save for Nintendo) so it doesn't really matter anymore.
That brings me to...
- "Gamer Gurlz," again
This is the opposite of feminism, but still annoying. Here we have a gender that has done away with all preconceived notions of femininity and latched onto their male counterparts TO BE DIFFERENT. Any girl that says she likes gaming cause she enjoys playing video games is a LIAR. If they simply enjoyed it then they wouldn't need to buy shirts that say "Yeah, I'm a girl gamer, so what? My vagina smells and I don't shave my arm pits, what of it?," or announce their gender as soon as they enter gaming forums on the internet, or try and force the fact that they own a Playstation and are "not like other girls" into every facet of conversation. Gaming is a hobby, like any other, and although its demographic is predominantly male it does NOT make YOU, as a "gamer girl," somehow a unique snowflake that we should all stop and examine. Take a shower, put on some makeup, and stop talking to me.
Bro Dudes
- You know the type; Frat bros, dudes with sideways baseball caps and Yankees logos sewn into their $500 jeans, guys who buy Mustangs and only drive it to school, the guy doing the keg stand at the party and showing off his tan. Let me give you a brief synopsis of a bro dudes life from the very moment he is conceived: some rich asshole takes off his condom in the middle of intercourse with a girl whose dignity is deader than her last three fetuses, and a miracle happens - a bro dude is conceived. He becomes the kid in kindergarten that doesn't get along with anyone and knocks over peoples blocks when they are CLEARLY using them and in the middle of something important for fucks sake. In middle school they are the bullies that are slightly bigger than the other kids and use this to give them the shake down for milk money. In high school this graduates to full on assault and eventually being known as the kid that makes sure no one else in his class will ever have an opportunity to learn anything since he will disrupt the lesson everyday and be ejected from the room by a teacher who has yet to get tenure so is unable to berate him like he deserves. Now comes Community College, which is all they can get into, but after a year their rich asshole parents throw some money around and they wind up at RUTGERS. They use their fathers credit card to buy subwoofers for their Mustangs so everyone can wake up and appreciate their shitty taste in club music as they stroll down the street at 3 in the morning with sunglasses on. Fuck. Those. Guys.
Skaters/Xtreme sports
- If I see another homemade skating video on youtube that utilizes a fisheye lens way too much then I am going to nuke the X-Games. What is up with that lens effect? Why is that the go-to add on? Look up a skating video right now. Hell, look up skating PICTURES. They all use that lens. I don't know why but it's really aggravating. I think what makes it anger me so much is that I just hate it when cultures or cliques or groups of people are programmed to only use or be seen with certain things. It's practically a cult. A shitty cult run by 14 year old suburban punks with chain wallets for their weekly allowance that they blow on FISH EYE LENSES for the camera they are borrowing from the high schools morning announcement crew so they can film each others failed attempts at grinding the bike rack outside Burger King like the whole world is calling for a new extreme "sport" blowhard with a shag haircut and chin pubes. And the worst part is that these kids are like this 24/7. If they just wanted to tape each other doing ollies over their pets and then they went about their lives like normal people then who would I be to judge? But they DON'T. The whole culture is about the LOOK more than anything. You need your baggy jeans and your vans and your No Fear tshirts so when you hang out at the mall all the other teenagers know that you are part of the badass group. It affects me because this town I live in used to be a small, beach community with normal kids. When I was in high school there weren't a lot of white kids trying to be gangster or hipster prototypes that start smoking early so they can be seen by the older crowd and hopefully get invited to that college party by the BA undergrad in the tweed blazer that buys Natty Ice for them on weekends. But now when I have the unfortunate pleasure of driving somewhere when school gets out, all I see are little prepubescent kids who are trying so Goddamn hard to be cool they have to adopt this MTV subculture of unwarranted self importance and an affinity for Hot Topic. Stop it. Learn a real skill.
Pseudo-goth kiddies
- One common thread between all these subcultures is that they are comprised of people incapable of thinking for themselves, and pseudo-goth kiddies are no exception. These tweens and teens take the obnoxious, macabre worshiping aspects of goth culture (liking "dark" and "creepy" things, so long as they retain a cute appeal like every Tim Burton film) without going too far into self mutilation (unless wearing Hot Topic counts) and fascination with the occult. These are the girls that wear all black and try to be edgy while retaining an affinity towards cute bunnies. That brings me to something I hate with a fiery passion ... How do you appeal to a pseudo-goth kiddie that enjoys death and curse words but also fluffy animals? You introduce something like a bunny that flips the bird and says something off putting like "I enjoy murdering children, teehee." There is an entire MARKET for cute, fluffy animals that say and/or do horrible things that is consumed primarily by pseudo-goth kiddies who feel these things are relatable because they are an offensive, social outcast in a nonthreatening exterior - much like the pseudo-goth kiddies themselves. People STILL use this device in humor, as if it is new and interesting. When the horrible cave beast in Monty Python and the Holy Grail turned out to be a bunny, it was funny. When it rocketed towards a knights throat and decapitated him, it was funny. When you draw a picture of an adorable little mouse with a twinkle in its eye KILLING A FAMILY OF CATS it is OVERDONE and NOT CREATIVE.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
where in the world is justin sandiego
Constructing my stage...
Here are some things that have so far found their way into my Thesis video.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
My Crit.
I had something of a critique two weeks ago so I suppose I'll discuss it. I brought in a painting I just completed because that is my concentration and it was available in the building. I am not, however, doing any painting for my thesis and I made sure everyone was aware of that. The painting did serve a purpose, though, even if it was just to show that I like to utilize humor in my work which will be heavily relied on in my thesis.
My critique was short because of this, but what I got from it was...Uh I don't know. They wanted to see something I was actually going to introduce into my thesis, which is an understandable request and something I plan on honoring next time I have access to a DVD player for them. The most I got out of the critique was an overwhelming sense that I was doing way more work than a lot of other people. Not all people mind you, there are some that are going balls to the wall and I admire that. Still, I'm busting my hump while others are grabbing things out of their studios that they already had completed and acting like they can just grab some nails, hang them up, and be done with that. Fuck that.
I don't mind it though because it only fuels my heavily satirical, antisocial commentary on Mason Gross that will become my thesis. And, please, understand that I recognize a lot of people that are actually working hard and doing amazing things, but for everyone of those people there are five that just want to pile a whole bunch of shit in the middle of the gallery and grab their diploma. Fuck that.
EDIT:
I almost forgot...I was in the wrong group the whole time I was in crit. I had missed the first two classes (who, me? how unusual) so I had to go ask where I was supposed to be. I was on the list as..I don't know, we'll say group C. But after crit I noticed that the people I recognize in my group (group two) were just about to GO to THEIR crits. So I was in group 1 crit. Totally the wrong crit. I didn't know what was happening, I had missed group 2's sit down session to discuss the show, so I left. I'll never see those people in group 1 crit again, maybe forever. Who knows. Point is that it is now like week 5 and I'll be going into my actual crit group for the first time next Friday. Oh my God I'm such an asshole. This is my life.
My critique was short because of this, but what I got from it was...Uh I don't know. They wanted to see something I was actually going to introduce into my thesis, which is an understandable request and something I plan on honoring next time I have access to a DVD player for them. The most I got out of the critique was an overwhelming sense that I was doing way more work than a lot of other people. Not all people mind you, there are some that are going balls to the wall and I admire that. Still, I'm busting my hump while others are grabbing things out of their studios that they already had completed and acting like they can just grab some nails, hang them up, and be done with that. Fuck that.
I don't mind it though because it only fuels my heavily satirical, antisocial commentary on Mason Gross that will become my thesis. And, please, understand that I recognize a lot of people that are actually working hard and doing amazing things, but for everyone of those people there are five that just want to pile a whole bunch of shit in the middle of the gallery and grab their diploma. Fuck that.
EDIT:
I almost forgot...I was in the wrong group the whole time I was in crit. I had missed the first two classes (who, me? how unusual) so I had to go ask where I was supposed to be. I was on the list as..I don't know, we'll say group C. But after crit I noticed that the people I recognize in my group (group two) were just about to GO to THEIR crits. So I was in group 1 crit. Totally the wrong crit. I didn't know what was happening, I had missed group 2's sit down session to discuss the show, so I left. I'll never see those people in group 1 crit again, maybe forever. Who knows. Point is that it is now like week 5 and I'll be going into my actual crit group for the first time next Friday. Oh my God I'm such an asshole. This is my life.
Bout time
Let me just take a minute to congratulate and then immediately criticize what is happening in Thesis this semester.
I am thrilled that we finally started to act like we have a THESIS show happening in April. The last semester felt like we were all prancing around the idea with our thumbs up our asses, discussing OTHER artists works and wasting time being FORCED AT GUN POINT to go to galleries and write about them as if we had nothing of our own to do. We acted like April was a far off place, something that we didn't need to pay attention to. We talked about art critiques, and had to read and write BOOK REPORTS on a novel ABOUT CRITIQUES (more or less) as if we aren't all painfully comfortable (that doesn't make sense) with how they work first hand and have been for FOUR YEARS now assuming no one in high school gave any opinion or direction to our work.
Thats where the criticism comes in. What the fuck was with that first semester? Sure, two semesters is a long time for one class but now it feels like we are running around trying to get forty kids (ART kids, no less) to all agree on things rarely anyone has any experience in. Plus most of us have no idea what our final thesis will even end up looking like. We spent most of a class just figuring out how much space we will all be able to take up in the gallery and what to call the fucking show. Of course now I lead myself into a trap - if some people dont know NOW what they're displaying then if we were figuring this shit out last semester even MORE people would be clueless during the whole process. Well there is a solution to that: dont make the first semester feel like an art history class. We should have been doing this shit at least half way through last semester, not now when the first show is in two months. People have to figure out what they are doing and MAKE it all while dealing with creating posters and getting money for a show they only now started thinking about.
I understand going to galleries is essential to the art student; my painting teacher explains it by saying an artist never seeing shows is like a musician never listening to music or an actor never watching movies. However, we've all been DOING that every Goddamn year here. I doubt no one has ever gone to a show prior to Thesis. If they actually have not seen a show and needed Thesis to get their asses to one then fuck them, whats their problem? I guess you might tell me that it's important in the thinking process and would help those that have not ye...Shut up. If they're stuck and want inspiration then I'm sure they will go find it without it being a requirement for the whole fucking class.
Here's what Thesis class should be: preparing for our thesis show. Period. That involves writing about it, handing in rough drafts, talking about our ideas, getting the show together, yadda yadda yadda. It does NOT include watching art films for no reason or creating blogs just to seem like we are all in the 21st century. It does NOT include days and days wasted on seeing awful gallery shows in New York just to give us a frame of reference for our own show. Everyone is scrambling to make decisions and work with each other in that hour we get in class with this show looming just over the horizon. We've got to get two thousand dollars just for this crappy show. 2 thousand clams. 2 thousand bones. Half a which goes to feeding the ungrateful little shits that are going to wander around opening night pretending they aren't there just to be seen by other little shit hipsters like its a right of passage to absorb every feeble attempt at art th....I'm getting off point.
Look...Bottom line is that the whole first half of this class was a waste because it was given to us as a waste, and now we're paying for it. That sucks.
I am thrilled that we finally started to act like we have a THESIS show happening in April. The last semester felt like we were all prancing around the idea with our thumbs up our asses, discussing OTHER artists works and wasting time being FORCED AT GUN POINT to go to galleries and write about them as if we had nothing of our own to do. We acted like April was a far off place, something that we didn't need to pay attention to. We talked about art critiques, and had to read and write BOOK REPORTS on a novel ABOUT CRITIQUES (more or less) as if we aren't all painfully comfortable (that doesn't make sense) with how they work first hand and have been for FOUR YEARS now assuming no one in high school gave any opinion or direction to our work.
Thats where the criticism comes in. What the fuck was with that first semester? Sure, two semesters is a long time for one class but now it feels like we are running around trying to get forty kids (ART kids, no less) to all agree on things rarely anyone has any experience in. Plus most of us have no idea what our final thesis will even end up looking like. We spent most of a class just figuring out how much space we will all be able to take up in the gallery and what to call the fucking show. Of course now I lead myself into a trap - if some people dont know NOW what they're displaying then if we were figuring this shit out last semester even MORE people would be clueless during the whole process. Well there is a solution to that: dont make the first semester feel like an art history class. We should have been doing this shit at least half way through last semester, not now when the first show is in two months. People have to figure out what they are doing and MAKE it all while dealing with creating posters and getting money for a show they only now started thinking about.
I understand going to galleries is essential to the art student; my painting teacher explains it by saying an artist never seeing shows is like a musician never listening to music or an actor never watching movies. However, we've all been DOING that every Goddamn year here. I doubt no one has ever gone to a show prior to Thesis. If they actually have not seen a show and needed Thesis to get their asses to one then fuck them, whats their problem? I guess you might tell me that it's important in the thinking process and would help those that have not ye...Shut up. If they're stuck and want inspiration then I'm sure they will go find it without it being a requirement for the whole fucking class.
Here's what Thesis class should be: preparing for our thesis show. Period. That involves writing about it, handing in rough drafts, talking about our ideas, getting the show together, yadda yadda yadda. It does NOT include watching art films for no reason or creating blogs just to seem like we are all in the 21st century. It does NOT include days and days wasted on seeing awful gallery shows in New York just to give us a frame of reference for our own show. Everyone is scrambling to make decisions and work with each other in that hour we get in class with this show looming just over the horizon. We've got to get two thousand dollars just for this crappy show. 2 thousand clams. 2 thousand bones. Half a which goes to feeding the ungrateful little shits that are going to wander around opening night pretending they aren't there just to be seen by other little shit hipsters like its a right of passage to absorb every feeble attempt at art th....I'm getting off point.
Look...Bottom line is that the whole first half of this class was a waste because it was given to us as a waste, and now we're paying for it. That sucks.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Essay
I’m a pessimist, a “glass half empty” kind of guy. I find myself hating everything but I don’t worry about it, I am actually quite optimistic about my pessimism. I believe it serves a purpose. The human race has gotten complacent in its old age and our marvels of modern science do nothing but serve to make our lives more sedentary and open for consumption. People succumb to this rather easily seeing as how overloaded our daily lives are; we are under the impression that the world owes something to us and we should have the ability to sit on our widening asses as information penetrates our skulls. But the truth is that you have to work for it.
This is how Republicans get elected to office, the medium of film gets turned into a 2 hour daycare for our brains, and art gets lazy. I don’t believe that I am as harsh on the world as everyone else is just sheepish. When I think about Mason Gross’ visual arts program I am overcome with a sinking feeling in the core of my stomach. Was it all worth it to come here? Sometimes I feel we don’t let people grow, but rather allow them to surround themselves with copies of themselves to help dig a pit they can never get out of. That’s the heart of the problem, where is MY copy?
I deal with this issue primarily in the live section of my thesis by means of a conversation with my harsh subconscious. However, it will not become a therapy session between me and my brain for all to bare witness, but rather a loving jab at my own deficiencies to better understand what has happened to me over the last three years. My performance will be as light hearted and sarcastic as the actual conversations within my head, and this is to both show how I really am and to not hit the crowd with some heavy shit.
That’s what I think I have in common with Tony Oursler. There can be a message in humor that doesn’t need to be bogged down with drama even if you are appealing to a viewer’s emotion. However, where Tony is dealing with existentialism I am dealing with my boiling hate for most people. I rarely apologize for it, though, because I know I am not alone but rather just overwhelmingly vocal about it. Every time you see a slob at the bank and hope they don’t get ahead of you, I’m there. Every time you see someone with more piercings on their face than skin and want to shake them like a rattle to hear their jingling mistakes sound off like wind chimes, I’m there. The difference is that my bar is obnoxiously high to the point where I only occasionally find myself even remotely uninterested enough to not point out someone’s flaws to myself. When I see someone with a fitted baseball cap, I rage. When I see a white guy eating Chinese food with chopsticks, I rage. I am almost always at a point constant fist clenching, white knuckle aggravation in any setting where I have to see people’s stupid faces, and the reason behind it will be dealt with in my all-encompassing thesis project.
This is how Republicans get elected to office, the medium of film gets turned into a 2 hour daycare for our brains, and art gets lazy. I don’t believe that I am as harsh on the world as everyone else is just sheepish. When I think about Mason Gross’ visual arts program I am overcome with a sinking feeling in the core of my stomach. Was it all worth it to come here? Sometimes I feel we don’t let people grow, but rather allow them to surround themselves with copies of themselves to help dig a pit they can never get out of. That’s the heart of the problem, where is MY copy?
I deal with this issue primarily in the live section of my thesis by means of a conversation with my harsh subconscious. However, it will not become a therapy session between me and my brain for all to bare witness, but rather a loving jab at my own deficiencies to better understand what has happened to me over the last three years. My performance will be as light hearted and sarcastic as the actual conversations within my head, and this is to both show how I really am and to not hit the crowd with some heavy shit.
That’s what I think I have in common with Tony Oursler. There can be a message in humor that doesn’t need to be bogged down with drama even if you are appealing to a viewer’s emotion. However, where Tony is dealing with existentialism I am dealing with my boiling hate for most people. I rarely apologize for it, though, because I know I am not alone but rather just overwhelmingly vocal about it. Every time you see a slob at the bank and hope they don’t get ahead of you, I’m there. Every time you see someone with more piercings on their face than skin and want to shake them like a rattle to hear their jingling mistakes sound off like wind chimes, I’m there. The difference is that my bar is obnoxiously high to the point where I only occasionally find myself even remotely uninterested enough to not point out someone’s flaws to myself. When I see someone with a fitted baseball cap, I rage. When I see a white guy eating Chinese food with chopsticks, I rage. I am almost always at a point constant fist clenching, white knuckle aggravation in any setting where I have to see people’s stupid faces, and the reason behind it will be dealt with in my all-encompassing thesis project.
Divorce
I figured it out! My love/hate relationship with art. It goes deeper than just my feelings toward modern art, or video art, or my tastes....It's psychological.
I dated a girl, Colleen, for about a year. I was bored after that. I looked out the windows of our relationship like I was trapped in a snow encased cabin. I wanted to be free, to stretch my legs, forgetting how warm it was inside. So I left.
I. Came. Crawling. Back.
Then, the same feelings reemerged. Trapped, looking out, I needed another change. I was gone, again. She cut off all contact and that gave me time to forget why I left her in the first place. I built her up in my mind, erasing her faults, erasing that feeling of anxiety. I wanted her back. But it was too late.
Then I dated another girl, Sandy. Sandy was someone I had known for a long time and we ended up together the way I could tell we would. And then came the cabin fever. I was trapped again. I didn't really want this, I just liked the idea of having someone. So I called it quits rather fast, to save her from myself. But I couldn't stay back for long, and I stood outside her walls trying to claw myself back in. She opened the door reluctantly but kept guarded as I forced my way through the thresh hold. I was back in. As her guard fell I felt like I had won and there was no longer a need to stay.
It is the same way with art. I have been in a relationship with art since high school and as the years go by it just gets more serious. First it was cute; I would use art to make my friends laugh at the lunch table, I'd use it to keep myself occupied in boring classes. Then we started sleeping together. And you know how art treats that, it's like you're MARRIED after that. I was now studying art, my classes were packed with it, it was going to be my life's goal. I knew that I wasn't going to do any better so I put a ring on art's finger and ever since I've been dreading the wedding day. It's like a count down to my execution.
Well, I'm sorry art, but after May of this year I think we should have a break. Let me get my mind off of you for a second, let me forget your detriments and fantasize about you like I did when I was a kid. Give me time and pretty soon I will think of nothing but tearing off that paint splattered apron and laying you down on a bed of newsprint so I can make sweet, furious love to you.
I dated a girl, Colleen, for about a year. I was bored after that. I looked out the windows of our relationship like I was trapped in a snow encased cabin. I wanted to be free, to stretch my legs, forgetting how warm it was inside. So I left.
I. Came. Crawling. Back.
Then, the same feelings reemerged. Trapped, looking out, I needed another change. I was gone, again. She cut off all contact and that gave me time to forget why I left her in the first place. I built her up in my mind, erasing her faults, erasing that feeling of anxiety. I wanted her back. But it was too late.
Then I dated another girl, Sandy. Sandy was someone I had known for a long time and we ended up together the way I could tell we would. And then came the cabin fever. I was trapped again. I didn't really want this, I just liked the idea of having someone. So I called it quits rather fast, to save her from myself. But I couldn't stay back for long, and I stood outside her walls trying to claw myself back in. She opened the door reluctantly but kept guarded as I forced my way through the thresh hold. I was back in. As her guard fell I felt like I had won and there was no longer a need to stay.
It is the same way with art. I have been in a relationship with art since high school and as the years go by it just gets more serious. First it was cute; I would use art to make my friends laugh at the lunch table, I'd use it to keep myself occupied in boring classes. Then we started sleeping together. And you know how art treats that, it's like you're MARRIED after that. I was now studying art, my classes were packed with it, it was going to be my life's goal. I knew that I wasn't going to do any better so I put a ring on art's finger and ever since I've been dreading the wedding day. It's like a count down to my execution.
Well, I'm sorry art, but after May of this year I think we should have a break. Let me get my mind off of you for a second, let me forget your detriments and fantasize about you like I did when I was a kid. Give me time and pretty soon I will think of nothing but tearing off that paint splattered apron and laying you down on a bed of newsprint so I can make sweet, furious love to you.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Jenny MC
The visiting artist today, Jenny McCoy, shook me a little. And I do mean that in a good way. I was shaken up because I didn't take in her and her husbands work begrudgingly or end up totally despising it as I had prepared for. I have not participated in viewing too many of these talks that Mason Gross holds but the few I have seen have not exactly made me excited to be an artist - minus, of course, Damian Catera's talk. As you know, I would marry Damian were we gay and it were legal. I remember one artist, whose name escapes me, did nothing for an hour but gush about the marvels of social networking over the internet, such as Twitter and blogs. The entire class I was with left that talk wanting to change our majors. I hear that was not a great example of what the visiting artist series usually offers but I feel she represents a disturbingly large group of emerging artists that put too much value in the invisible constructs of web based communities. It's bad enough that the popularity contest in art still exists and it's a game of who you know that we must all play, but now it's been accelerated with these digital dormitories of the hot figures in art which come and go with no warning.
So, obviously, you can imagine that it was quite a relief to hear from Jenny and, eventually, her husband about their work. While the ever present question of "why?" was still in the back of my head, I found myself uncharacteristically accepting of the work that they showed. Had I been exposed to it on my own I might look at their efforts as wasted time; an idea so simple expanded for our benefit seemingly to add fake complexity, but in reality it wasn't so simple. What helped my heart grow like so many Grinches was Jenny herself, and to a lesser extend her husband. It was nice to hear from an artist that didn't seem full of herself or her work and dealt with nagging existential questions on the importance of her/their art with breezy humor.
The art itself wasn't impressive on it's own. And when I say that I only mean that in my warped sense of value that art and the materials that go into making it have. It took some nudging but I let myself get persuaded that their media work was worth it and to be honest I'm glad I did. There was a uniqueness and personality that seems lacking in so many others work that was penetrated into my brain with Jenny's help. "448 is Enough" would have been something I might have dismissed had I walked past it in a gallery, but in taking the time to explain what each component of the piece was let me pause and appreciate it. I am still confused as to the point of this exercise in cutting up an episode of Eight is Enough, and why it is worthy to be displayed as a work of art aside from the fact that its creators are artists. Something like that, today, would not take too long to organize especially if you decide to forgo the three dimensional, hands-on approach and build a virtual space for it - which, as we know, is the hot thing to do nowadays - but that just leads me to believe that it's value is directly proportional to the headache it produced putting it together and the physical space it occupies. If this is what constitutes art then trying to put together a desk from Ikea without any pieces missing is the Mona Lisa.
I have to be harsh, it is my nature, but I don't wish to be. I honestly did enjoy the work of the McCoy's and am glad that some level headed people are in the game. And God bless them for putting those odd DVD players with the tiny screens to some good use. Speaking of which, I appreciate the subtle humor of using a show like Starsky and Hutch as a component of their work. I think humor is a great thing to add to your art when done right. And what they did was not "art humor" either, which is a big distinction to make. They split up a, in all definite terms, awful show from an awful time in television history into its key components and that makes for a very visual representation of the show itself, in all its complexity and noncomplexity, and a way for the public to engage in it that isn't the way television asks - you become a conductor instead of an unquestioning consumer. And that is what art should be. Ah I don't know. It doesn't matter what I think.
So, obviously, you can imagine that it was quite a relief to hear from Jenny and, eventually, her husband about their work. While the ever present question of "why?" was still in the back of my head, I found myself uncharacteristically accepting of the work that they showed. Had I been exposed to it on my own I might look at their efforts as wasted time; an idea so simple expanded for our benefit seemingly to add fake complexity, but in reality it wasn't so simple. What helped my heart grow like so many Grinches was Jenny herself, and to a lesser extend her husband. It was nice to hear from an artist that didn't seem full of herself or her work and dealt with nagging existential questions on the importance of her/their art with breezy humor.
The art itself wasn't impressive on it's own. And when I say that I only mean that in my warped sense of value that art and the materials that go into making it have. It took some nudging but I let myself get persuaded that their media work was worth it and to be honest I'm glad I did. There was a uniqueness and personality that seems lacking in so many others work that was penetrated into my brain with Jenny's help. "448 is Enough" would have been something I might have dismissed had I walked past it in a gallery, but in taking the time to explain what each component of the piece was let me pause and appreciate it. I am still confused as to the point of this exercise in cutting up an episode of Eight is Enough, and why it is worthy to be displayed as a work of art aside from the fact that its creators are artists. Something like that, today, would not take too long to organize especially if you decide to forgo the three dimensional, hands-on approach and build a virtual space for it - which, as we know, is the hot thing to do nowadays - but that just leads me to believe that it's value is directly proportional to the headache it produced putting it together and the physical space it occupies. If this is what constitutes art then trying to put together a desk from Ikea without any pieces missing is the Mona Lisa.
I have to be harsh, it is my nature, but I don't wish to be. I honestly did enjoy the work of the McCoy's and am glad that some level headed people are in the game. And God bless them for putting those odd DVD players with the tiny screens to some good use. Speaking of which, I appreciate the subtle humor of using a show like Starsky and Hutch as a component of their work. I think humor is a great thing to add to your art when done right. And what they did was not "art humor" either, which is a big distinction to make. They split up a, in all definite terms, awful show from an awful time in television history into its key components and that makes for a very visual representation of the show itself, in all its complexity and noncomplexity, and a way for the public to engage in it that isn't the way television asks - you become a conductor instead of an unquestioning consumer. And that is what art should be. Ah I don't know. It doesn't matter what I think.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Art
Listen everyone, I was wrong. I try to define art by pushing my views on what looks good, and really that is not what it's about. Indie music is terrible but it's still MUSIC (although barely). So I'm sorry. If you guys want to make terrible, melodramatic, self serving art then that's FINE. Who am I to say it doesn't "count?" God bless.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)