Sketchbook 2011

I've been a bad girl.

I signed up many months ago to participate in the Sketchbook Project through Art House Co-op. I received my sketchbook, full of ideas and excitement. When I went to cement my ideas and realize my creations, I discovered something horrible. I had no art supplies.

You see, last year I attended school in Texas. I moved all my art supplies with me, and even bought some more. When the school year was over, all of my things (art supplies included) were moved to my parent's home in California. I then moved back home to Wisconsin. My belongings were to be shipped to me. They never were.

I have budgeting problems. Whenever I wanted to buy more art supplies, I didn't have money. I usually had spent my money on etsy items and other frivolous things. Self-control has never been my strong suit.

But now, it is Christmas time. And, I am in California. I will be liberating my art supplies from the confines of their moving boxes, and bringing them back to Wisconsin. New art supplies will be joining them (Thank you, Santa).

And once I return to Wisconsin, I shall create!! I am unbelievably excited. I have a few ideas for my sketchbook, and assuredly will think of more over the long flight home. But now, with new brushes, paints, and markers, as well as my wonderful pastels, conte, and charcoal, things will finally come together.

Unfortunately, my sketchbook is due by January 15! I will only have 18 days! Although most of these days are free of any previous obligations, I still worry my own whimsy will draw me away from what I'm supposed to be drawing.

My New Year's Resolution: Make Shit Happen.

Friday Afternoons of Greatness

It's been a wonderful day, which was rather unexpected. Fridays are typically my day off, when I lay around the house lazily, taking snuggle naps with my dog and watching lots of netflix. Today, however, I had several appointments and a final paper to write. Christmas shopping was also on my to-do list. It seemed as though my weekend was going to start off in a rush.

But, after obtaining some funky (part time) glasses, a successful interview, and some quick shopping, I came home for a true WI winter afternoon. I settled in to the living room with a bowl of mac and cheese, Coraline, and a nice fire. It was so lovely, I passed out on my couch. For several hours.

How I love Coraline. I haven't read the book, which is just naughty of me, I know. But it's true, as Mr Gaiman's daughter told him so aptly, "You're never too old for Coraline". It's such a wonderful story, and it makes me wish I could live in a beautiful Victorian home, evil other mothers be damned. And while I do love Coraline, of all the characters, I just love Miss Spink. I too am an outrageous, hip-blessed woman who loves dogs probably a little too much, and could use a busty friend to help me read some tea leaves. Interested? Apply via comment.

Back to the film, fire, and dog snuggles. Have a lovely weekend.

College Creative Death

I don't mean to blog DAILY, but this needed to be discussed, for my own sake, at the very least.

I'm currently watching Amanda Palmer's webcast. She is speaking at Berklee College in Boston. This is yet another time I wish my sister had chosen to attend Berklee, and my family could have afforded it. I would love to be there. I have endless questions for Ms Amanda. Perhaps she could do a college discussion tour. UW-Madison would need to be on her tour. Please and thank you.

Ms Palmer discussed her own difficulties in college. How she was not happy. How it killed her creative drive. How she was constantly at odds with her environment.

I feel like we're taught that college will be the time of your life. That high school is hell and college is your reward for having gone through it. College is your time to live before you get thrown in to some career you're destined to hate, and continue to work through simply for the money.

As a sophomore in college, I feel this isn't true. High school wasn't amazing, but how can it be with all those crappy hormones messing with your mind? But college. It's a whole new ball game. Having always been in environments where you make friends because you're with these people every day and have no other options, going to college is such a culture shock. You don't have these forced groups. You're in classes where you sit and listen, and sometimes sleep, but don't get to know those around you.

My biggest problem: I don't want to get to know those around me. As I sit in class, I listen to the small conversations around me. "I got so drunk last night, I don't think my homework is even in English". "Are you buying the beer tonight?" "I slept with that guy; big mistake!" Honestly, is that as good as it gets? I'm not attending a college for idiots (although I did last year, and the conversations were even worse there), so why are there all these people lacking substance?

You may think I'm being judgmental, and that's fine. I typically am. You may think I'm acting superior, but come on, it's hard not to. I'm 19. I don't drink. I don't party. I'm not a whore. I want friends, but I won't settle for individuals whose social lives revolve around one beverage or another. I don't need booze to be fun. I don't need sex to be happy. Where are all the people like me?

I'm not friends with many people from high school. We've all gone separate ways, and some of them have changed so much I can't even recognize them. Nor do I want to. You know who you are.

College is isolation for me. Admittedly, this could be my own fault. I live off campus, ten miles away. I'm not in the community. But again, with the people I keep meeting, why would I want to?

Most of my friends aren't in college, either by choice, or they've already passed that point in their lives. It's odd. These people seem so much smarter than those I'm surrounded by at school. How is the twenty year old at Journey's smarter than the biotech major at UW Madison?

I recently had a discussion with my father. He works at a prestigious computer company named after a type of fruit, and is revered in his field. He often interviews individuals looking to join the company. He discussed with me one individual who blew his mind. This man attended a prestigious tech college, had work experience at several wonderful companies, and was apparently able to speak several languages. According to my father, this man was one of the dumbest individuals he'd ever met, and could not understand how he even graduated.

This incident lead to the discussion of college. (It all connects!) The job market is so competitive that everyone has to go to college to have a chance. You have to get your masters. But does that mean you're smart? Do you even know what you're doing?

I think I'm off the beaten path, to a point. I'll sum it up: I feel isolated at college because I'm surrounded by idiots who have to go to school just to get some entry level job. My creative drive is drained as I have no social life to gain ideas from.

For someone like me, for someone who feels like they are an artist, college is killing me. Dramatic as it sounds, when you have your main outlet taken away, you become lost. When you are struggling in one area of your life, slowly, other areas become a struggle as well.

I'd love to hear other thoughts. Perhaps I'm mistaken. Perhaps you have the secret to life, to college life, to college artistry, and I would love to know what that secret is.

A Snag in the Fabric

Today is usually one of my free days. I only have one class, so I wake up at a reasonable hour and have the whole day to be productive. Unfortunately, that is never the reality. I think of all the wonderful things I want to do on a Tuesday (walk the dog, work on a drawing, free writing exercises, cleaning, homework), and then end up asleep somewhere. Often times my bed. With winter upon this midwestern state, movement beyond the bed becomes unpleasant due to cold.

Admittedly, I feel bad for the hound. Being a high energy German Shepherd who recently entered into a love affair with snow, being inside with a sleeping mom is never fun. He often times sleeps with me, then slowly starts to annoy me in hopes of a walk or frisbee. Don't worry, he usually wins. He's very persistent. And cute.

But my self-motivated activities are far less nagging. Finally, I did a bit of drawing. Not in my usual style either, which was surprising. This drawing inspired me to revisit my 101:1001 list. If you not possess one, you should. Mine can be found here. I am saddened at my lack of progress, especially on the easier tasks. How I have yet to buy a lottery ticket or complete a coloring book is beyond me.

My list features a lot of learning tasks, adventurous undertakings, and childish antics. Some may consider it odd to find burlesque class, kite flying, and cake decorating all on the same page, but yes, I am some mash-up of a exhibitionist, a child, and a 1950's housewife. Add old British woman, and you have the full package. How these things happen, I do not know.

Even though I have 740 days left to complete all my tasks, I still feel a race against the clock. When will I go sky diving? When will I shave my head? When will I make my own candles?! These are pressing questions of which I am sure we all ask ourselves.

I feel as though my life needs to be made in to list. My health problems have sucked the spontaneity out of my life. I no longer just sit in my basement and paint all day. I start to, but wake up on the orange shag carpeting three hours later with dried acrylic paint in my hair wondering what I was even attempting to work on. It's frustrating. Whenever there is something I would like to do, I need to add it to my daily list, lest I forget.

Who wants to live from lists? I do not want every moment of my life scheduled out to one activity or another. The fun is in the fantastical, and how can anything be fantastical when written in your day planner? "3 pm, Thursday: Make amazing mural." That does not excite me.

I find myself to be too particular. Perhaps I should be grateful that I have the time to do these things, or the will. Perhaps my wish for improvisation is more of an excuse for whimsy. And whimsy, I have more than enough of.

Hopefully, I will soon have an answer to my health problems, so that all the acrylic paint will end up on a canvas, rather than my hair.

Tick Tick Ticker

Today, I had an echocardiogram. For those of you who are unfamiliar, it is essentially an ultrasound of your heart. I do not know when I will receive the results of this test, but hopefully soon. It wasn't a fun experience though. As nice as the technician was, I could have sworn she was going to break through my rib cage and actually get straight to my heart. It was uncomfortable.

In other news, Twitter fight! I'm a very in-your-face sort of person. I will defend someone to the end if I think they are right, or if they obviously need defending. In this instance, it was the former. Amanda Palmer, the incredible musician and artist, made a comment regarding the new TV show "Bridal Plasty" in which brides-to-be compete for plastic surgery before their wedding. One of Ms Palmer's comments was to the effect of "If you're fat, hit the gym. Fucking love yourself for fucks' sake". I am not word for word on that, but likely close.

Of course, someone was offended. Likely several people were, but one person I follow on twitter made it clear just how offended she was: Ms Beth Hommel. She is a member of Ms Palmer's team of assistants. I love her art, and enjoy her witty commentary. Unfortunately, on this particular day, Ms Hommel and I were on opposing sides.

I believe that you can control your body, and appearance. I believe that if you are happy with yourself, no comment can change that. I believe that being PC is ridiculous. I believe that if you are looking for something, whether it be ammo for a fight, personal attacks, unicorns, or Jesus, you're bound to find it somewhere. I don't think any of these beliefs are particularly outlandish, but not everyone must agree. Beth Hommel did not. I suspect she did not understand me very well, as can happen when limited to 140 characters. I will do my very best to explain.

I believe that being overweight is a life style choice. As someone who has struggled with an eating disorder, my body image has not always been a positive one. But the wonderful thing about your body is that you do possess the power to control it, whether than means dying your hair, getting a tattoo, or adjusting your weight. Over the past two years, I have been experiencing health problems that have created challenges for me when it comes to weight. Although I am still at a health weight, I am no longer at my ideal weight. But I have since made the choice to change that, with exercise, an improved diet, and herbal remedies.

I know plenty of individuals who suffer from medical conditions that make gaining or losing weight difficult, but not impossible. Even with health problems, their weight can be changed. I am not saying they should change their weight, just that if they wish to, they have the ability to. And in either direction. If they did choose to change their weight, it might be more challenging, or require different methods, but could still be done.

Each person can choose the way they present themselves, and the way they live. If you choose to live in a thin body, a fat body, a body tattooed entirely blue to appear like a smurf, that is your own choice. But the point is to be happy with it.

If you are happy with yourself, then you are without doubt. You know who you are, and you are the person you want to be. No matter what comments may come your way, and how hurtful they may be, you can take solace in yourself.

I'm not one to take the easy path, especially when it comes to my appearance and how I present myself. When I was 6, I demanded to be Elvira for the halloween party at my Catholic kindergarten. When I was 8, I cut my eyebrows off because I did not like the natural arch they had. When I was 12, I dyed my hair purple. Last year, I had dreadlocks that were burgundy, purple, and hot pink. I'm not conventional. I've been the brunt of many jokes, and been bullied for much of my youth. I was happy with myself. I defended myself, and continued doing what made me happy. I learned that nothing else matters beyond that.

Not everyone is like me, and thank goodness. But I believe the same belief holds true. If you are happy, nothing else matters. Because of this belief, I think it's silly to be PC. It may be trendy, but it is not honest. That is not to say that words like "nigger" or "faggot" are acceptable terms, but rather that comments like "if you are fat, hit the gym" should not be ones which insight duels. Not every word spoken can be filled with rainbows and peace signs and butterflies, and I don't think they should be. Life is art and art is expression.

If a comment like the one Ms Palmer made offends, even though it was not directed at anyone in particular, then they are not happy. They are insecure. They are offended because they have labelled themself in a negative way, but do not wish others to label them similarly. If you feel you are "fat" and not beautiful, do what you need to so that you may become beautiful in your own eyes. Those are the eyes that matter. And once you believe you are beautiful, you won't care what others say.

I hope that I have made some semblance of sense. Even if it isn't agreeable, I hope it is at least understood.

Until another day.