Constructing my stage...
Here are some things that have so far found their way into my Thesis video.
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.
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