Fix You

So, much has happened over the last week.

Saturday night, I went dancing with some buddies at a place called Ground Zero.  Beautiful little night club, all goth and vamp.  You see some of the most wonderful people at these things, and some of them know how to dance, which is nice because I don't like being the only one out there (though I'm told cut a rug well enough to make the others seem like amateurs).  Good times were had.

I also got to meet a guy named Tim, a drummer with an excellent setup in his basement for playing music.  More on this guy later.

Sunday, I got a lot of work done; finished up my scythe for 3D, got started on my Illustration project, and was basically preparing for an all-nighter when Travis calls up and says he's stuck outside right next to MCAD with no buses running soon.  It's a good thing he called me, 'cause I love adventure, and getting this guy home is a task worth doing.  Mission accomplished, I finished my homework at about 7.00AM, and was awake enough to survive my class at 1.00PM.

After class, I spend the night making sure everything is perfect for my 3D project, then head down to hang with the Group at Mickey Dee's.  Stay there up to 10.30PM, then we drive out to IHOP for some waffles and french toast.  We get to Cub, and I drive in circles around the parking lot while listening to Daft Punk; the cops are almost called, but the manager says he knows Travis and therefore lets us off easy (which moved me to tears; some people are just really kind).  We head to Lindsey's so she can nab Eurotrip from her room, then we're off to Jordan's place to watch the movie until the wee hours of the morning.  6.00AM comes, I drop off Lindsey at her house, then head home and get two hours of sleep before waking up at 9.00AM for class.

The 3D class rather loved my piece.  It's a scythe with the head of key (complete with knotches) and a rose on the opposite end.  The scythe's design was inspired by a dream I had a while back, making it a weapon of the mind, and therefore had no need for sharpening.  I got my roommate to pose with it so I could document the piece.  It's kinda about the transition between life and death: roses are symbols of mortality, keys are reminiscent of doors, and scythes are weapons of the Grim Reaper.  I was rather happy with it.

After class, I head home and sleep until 2.00AM, catching up on the rest I'd been missing for two days.  I jump into my drawing homework, which involved a planar analysis of my feet, finish that in record time with a nice outcome, then study for a test I had in the coming morning.  Feeling satisfied, I sleep for another four hours and wake up at 9.15AM, rested and ready to rock.

Test goes down smooth, drawing class passes by quickly, and I spend Wednesday night getting a little more work done.  Thursday morning involves Media 2, and I present my little photo booklet to a small group to be critiqued; they love it, as the idea to use obvious line in the photography to transition between the individual pages both fits the concept of the book and is aesthetically pleasing.  I then begin the next project of incorporating the photos from the book into a web page format, getting the message across in a different medium.  My ideas are already beginning to bear fruit.

Friday, I switch out the title to my car, get new license plates, and am delighted to hear that my text messaging is now free because my brother bought a blackberry with benefits for the entire family.  Happiness assured, I call up Tim to see if he wants to jam in his basement.  Several hours later, I arrive to find him and our friend Ashley hangin' out.  The jam session starts, and we get some nice riffs and beats going.  This is my first time playing with a drummer, so being able to go somewhere with it is very inspiring.  I seem to be learning something new about the instrument every time I pick it up.  Gotta love that bass.

The rest of the night is spent looking up songs, vids, and other bollsheet on youtube, hangin' around, having a pillow fight, a quick run for food, and me finally saying my goodbyes.  It's been a wonderful week, and tomorrow I get to hang with the Group at Mickey Dee's again; seems someone set up a formal dinner event, and getting McDonalds food in a tux just sounds hilarious to me.  I will sleep amused tonight.

Whole Lotta Love

Damn, I've been busy lately.

Last Saturday, the Group got together and played a wicked game of Super Carcazonne that lasted about eight hours.  For those who don't know, Carcazonne is a game played by placing tiles on the ground or table.  Each tile has a different stuff on it; sometimes a castle wall is connected on two sides, othertimes a road, sometimes it's just blank with a church or cult or dragon on it.  Either way, the point of the game is to have the most property at the end.  You do this by completing castles, sending dragons to burn down the other players' hopes and dreams, and basically make everyone else miserable while you expand your ever-increasing wealth.

Games like this allow me to utilize what I call the "dirty" method of having fun.  This method is simple.  Think of all the fun that can be had in a game between multiple people as being a pile of dirt.  Normally all of the players will take an equal amount of dirt so that everyone will be kept satisfied and the game is enjoyable by all, but every now and then someone will come along and take that entire pile of dirt for themselves, having a metric shit-ton of fun and watching the others cry themselves into sleep under the oppressive glow of your entertainment.  It's a good way to make sure that you won't be bored, but it also creates intense rivalries and bitterness unless you're in a setting where that's all well and good, aka the Group.  Needless to say, Carcazonne was a load of fun, and the pile of dirt transitioned enough times to make everyone happy.

My 3D project involves making a scythe out of wood, which has sustained my interest long enough that I feel that I'm really able to put a good effort into it.  That's not something I can say all the time; motivation waxes and wanes depending on how bored I get with something.  I kinda wish I was a little more OCD so I could feel mentally obligated to finish something to the best of my ability, but instead it seems my current state of mind, sleepiness and whether or not I have a nice shirt on will decide how much work I put into anything anymore.  But that's fine, it means I can be more judicial with what I do, concentrating my efforts on projects I think will benefit me the most in the long run, and leaving the others on the side like an unwashed whore after Mardi Gras.

I still have to paint that scythe ivory white, and possibly add some gold trim.  The color scheme comes from a dream I had a while back, involving a demon and someone slicing him in half on top of an endless sea obscured by mist and fog.  The design is something akin to mixing a key and a rose, which is just perfect for this kind of assignment.  The fact that it's based off a dream means that the sharpness of the blade is irrelevant in the end; it's a weapon of the mind, which is deadly in its own right.  I look forward to seeing how the class takes it, but I don't expect a warm welcome on Tuesday.  It's just the way of things.

I feel as though my social life is interfering with my art.  It could be just a side effect of the fact that I'm spreading myself pretty thin over the different kinds of work I'm doing, and so I don't see the amount of work I'm putting out in the normal places like devArt and Photobucket, but it's still annoying to remember that I'm down in Bloomington for just about ever Group-related event they have.  The problem is, I know that cutting that back will cause me just as much harm as good, with the benefit being that I'll increase artistic output, and the problem being my increased melancholy and loneliness.  Still, artists are meant to suffer for their art.  I've had it pretty good up to this point, so maybe it's time to bring on the torment.

That's not going to stop me from going to Anime Club this Thursday, nor dancing on Saturday.  Tsubasa's playing, and I wanna keep in shape.  Fun fun.

I'm very happy for one of my friends.  She got the courage to leave her boyfriend, who was dragging her down.  She would have done this earlier if not for the fact that she pitied him and his current state of mind, but pity does not a relationship make, so it' s better for both of them in the long run.  Now she's with another guy who she had been falling for, so I think she's gonna be just fine.

Judging from the occurrences at MCAD over the past month, I've come to the decision that art school is not the place to look for a love interest.  Every person here is already in love, and it is that passion that drove them to congregate at this estate of higher learning in the first place.  Trying to add another romance to the artistic pursuit is hard enough, but managing both between two artists can lead to tragedy, broken hearts, and worst of all: faulty work.  I've come to believe myself that, no matter how much of a great lover I can be to someone, the pursuit of literature, music, and imagery will have to take precedence over any torrid tryst or passionate affair I come to have.  Whether this colors the relationship like a successful seventh chord or taints the melody with an off-key interval, the truth of the matter will show in the poetry I make, the songs I write, and the pictures I draw.  If I like it, I'll stick with it.  If I don't, it's over.

I spent a bit of time taping some of my favorite works from last and this semester up on my walls and ceilings.  It looks pretty cool, and I enjoy being able to take a trip back in time by gazing up every once in a while.  I put some of the best sketches next to my bed, where I gaze longingly at what is, what could have been, and therefore what will be.  It's exciting, to say the least.  Also, it's fun to watch the characters of my animation project dance around right above my head before I enter dreamland every night.

Well, due to the fact that I just took a 4-hour nap right before bedtime, and I haven't gotten proper nutrition today, I'm going to go ahead and fix some food and tea for myself and contemplate the coming work I need to do.  Heck, maybe I'll get started on those illustration projects.  That'd be a nice way to end the night.

We'll see.

Bassin' out.

Despite the dreary weather and the murder of crows outside my window, today was pretty damn fun. I forget sometimes how much I like to tune out people when they drone on the monotone. It provides great doodling noise.

Speaking of, I've been filling my sketchbook with sketches. I really need to get scanning them, as they're just sitting in there waiting to be made into something fun. Heck, I could practice coloring them, too...

Oh fack, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything since Crispy Rice (the off-brand Rice Krispies you can buy at Cub Foods and is infinitely better) for two days. Oh, and Earl Grey Tea. Mmmm...tea...

That's it! By tonight, I'm going to have stuff scanned so I can post it on this bloody blog. Not like it's been anything radical, but I do enjoy my little sketches.

Pretty sure two of my classmates were laughing at me earlier today. Really makes me want to put my size 9 1/2's up there collective rear ends. Pisses me off.

I really like finding places in the city where no one's visibly around, and then singing my head off. I practice my high voice when other's aren't around. It's fun, therapeutic, and maybe someday someone will overhear and congratulate me on it.

I'm still trying to find my singing voice. There's all these methods and tactics and exercises that help you find it, and I know many by heart, but I have a problem with mimicing the vocalist of whatever song I'm singing, and therefore straining my voice out to hell. Ah well, practice practice practice.

I feel like I'm making leaps and bounds with my bass guitar, though. I really need to start composing arrangements for the lyrics and melodies I keep writing.

Ooh, Travis and the others are up to something! I'm coming, party leader!

What Is and What Should Never Be

I've been having some issues lately with things like art, it's meaning to me, and just who the hell I am anyway.

It's come to my attention that I am very hung-up on definitions, genres, and titles for things.  My friends and colleagues are trying to instill in me the idea that my reliance on such things is harming me more than hurting me.

Allow me to give an example.  A while back, I found the "Club Foot" video by Kasabian, and fell in love with the "style" and motifs of the video.  The graffiti, the illegal radio, the Eastern European setting, all done in grainy black-and-white.  It reminded me of Half Life 2, where there seemed to be a sort of "revolutionary" theme in the level design and art style.  I couldn't help but wonder if these ideas, these common motifs and stylistic choices, had a particular name, like how Romanticism and Impressionism are labels for certain decisions made by an artist when creating work.

However, when I tried to bring this up with a good friend of mine, they told me that my hunt for a definition, a genre or style of art, was only hindering me.  They reminded me that if I stayed stuck to styles and genres, I would never break free of them, never find my own paths and make my own decisions in art.  I wouldn't create anything original, and it would only be a hindrance to me.

I suppose I understood, but at the same time this meant that I could not find more works like Half Life 2 or the Club Foot video unless by chance, because I don't know what I'm looking for.  "Graffiti" doesn't quite say it, "Eastern European Art" isn't right, and the term "revolutionary" is far too broad.

However, this brought up an even greater problem.  I have been a fan of definitions since I was very young; I suppose this stems somewhat from a prodigal childhood in the mathematical realm.  The scientific ideas that things could be defined, and therefore made tangible and real, have stuck with me long after I have decided to venture down the path of art.  I suppose sometimes the reason why I chose to become an artist was because everything else bored me to death, and this is more of a challenge.  Now I am faced with one of the many trials I knew I'd face, and it is a harder hurtle than I expected.

I would very much like to break free of my "definitive" mindset.  I feel like there is some impassable wall between me and a vast realm of thought, and I continue to pound against it unknowing of the tools that could easily bring it down.

These ideas of definitions have even invaded everyday life for me.  When I think of a "great artist" I think of someone who has become successful in their field, sometimes long after death, and who's works inspired others around the world.  When I think of a "young artist", I think of how they probably look, what they listen to, what they wear.  All these things I can picture in my head, and that's a problem; I'm stereotyping.  I can't stand stereotypes, and here I am falling prey to them.  What am I to do?

I have noticed that many of my more skilled colleagues, people who go to MCAD right now, have common traits.  Some of them don't much of a life outside of their art.  Many of them are troubled, with dark pasts and/or emotional or mental issues.  A lot of them have fought tooth and nail from a very young age to reach their current position.  And all the while, I stare at them in awe and admiration; the things they do, the way they speak, the clothes they wear, how they act, and I want to emulate them.  Yet this, it seems, is the wrong thing to do, because to emulate them is to move farther from who I really am - but who am I?  I've been emulating my idols from such a young age that I don't know what my actual persona is.  I am a walking contradiction, trying to be unique for the wrong reasons, trying to look like somebody else.

This wasn't a problem before my senior year of high school.  I had enough confidence in myself back then not to care what people thought of me or how I dressed or how I acted.  It was only after the fairytale of a romance that I had been nursing in my mind went sour on me that I began to dress differently and act like a desirable person.  Yet another romance has gone sour on me since, and I once again find myself attempting to play a role I'm not comfortable with in the hopes of being noticed.

Ah, there it is: being noticed.  I have very little shame; I'm shy around certain people I admire now, but I didn't used to be because I didn't care if people hated me.  All my life, I have loved to be the center of attention, the lead role in any given situation.  I love acknowledgement and compliments, and have only recently been able to handle criticisms, and still get peeved when my friends make fun of me.  This is probably due to a spoiled childhood, where I very often got what I wanted; sometimes by hard work, most of the time by finding easy ways out.  Impatience, arrogance, and general assholery are trademarks of my personality, and I rather despise these character traits.  "Love thy enemy, for they will show you your weaknesses."  Very true words.

I wonder sometimes if someone who is so used to instant-gratification, who hates to spend more than a few minutes in one place at any given time, always on the move and wanting change, could be very good at a profession that required long hours of hard work and toil, usually while sitting in the same position for long periods of time.  I wonder if a person who is generally happy with his life, who has things pretty well off with no major troubles in his past, brooding dark secrets, or horrible mental or emotional weaknesses besides loneliness could be a good artist.  Of 'course, "good" is a relative term, but there's nothing worse than a piece of work that is reaching but isn't quite getting there, and I believe that is what just about all my art up to this point has been - whether due to lack of technical skill or creative thought is up to the masses.

I only know two solid things about myself: that I am a selfish and childish being who loves the limelight, and that the only God-given talent I have is the ability to learn things very quickly if I put my mind to them.  

And behold, I am once again defining and labeling things.

Bloody hell.