Cement

The new project in our sculpture class is cement. Cement anything. Big, small, indoor, outdoor, whatever. I'm at a complete loss. I have a zillion idea for it, but none that sizzle.

Passion

Passionflower, passionfriut, Passionfish. (Everyone should eat at Passionfish before they die. It's a restaurant in Pacific Grove in California)

I've been thinking a lot about passion lately. Its the thing I want to be the defining element in my life. Without it I feel dead. Life means passion, passion means life. When I was thinking about color earlier, I realized that for me color is a way to an expression of passion. Color and painting is this for me in a way that sculpture is not. Sculpure is tactile and sensual, but color is sheer passion. Pure celebration. Using color the way I do when painting connects me to a very specific part of myself. It's a part of me that I sometimes have difficulty connecting with.

Before my amaryllis painting was stolen out of the art building, one of my classmates had asked to buy it. I was going to sell it to him, but it got me thinking. It really didn't feel very good to think about selling my painting. It was like selling a part of myself and it felt so mercenary, and yucky. The thing is, I feel like part of my soul goes into my painting. But to be an artist, unless you want to be the exclusive collector of your own work (which is crazy), you have to be able to sell it. I was talking to my husband about this, and he asked me if it would feel better to sell my paintings for a huge amount of money. (He's all about money :-) I think it would feel better, like that part of me is being validated, and going somewhere it would be valued. Other then selling my silly student work for mass amounts of money though, I think I've got two options: get used to it, or stop putting my soul into my work.

I want to keep the soul.

So I'm sure I'll get over feeling like a dirty mercenary. I feel that without the soul going into it, there's no point. Without the soul, it's just a pretty picture, and there's already too much of that. Then my art teacher today, during our show-and-tell session, said that we have to separate ourselves from our work. Otherwise we're living in our own world. I don't remember the exact context, and I'm not sure exactly how she meant it, but since I've been thinking about it, it got me thinking about it more. So now I'm just confused. (Aren't we all pretty much living in our own worlds anyway?)

Back to passion though; Brandon might take me to Passionfish during spring break! (8 hour drive to get there, that's how good this place is) Monterey's probably beautiful right now, I'd love to see it.

Painting

In my painting class there's some odd tension. I was talking to a girl I'm befriending in hall outside of the class and the teacher came over to us and asked how we thought the class was going. Which is kind of a loaded question. A lot of the students are very frustrated with the class, and it seems as though the teacher is getting a bit frustrated too. I think she drives a lot of the students nuts. I love her personally, she's exactly the type of free, real person that I love to learn from. Other people see it differently though. She drives some people completely batty. So we told her our varying views on the class, mostly positive with complaining about the physical space thrown in. The painting studio is pretty bad, really cluttered, too many easels and little rolling cabinets, too many people. And the air is hard to breath, lots of fumes. We told the teacher that a lot of the students in this class just don't seem to like each other, which is no one's fault, but can really affect things. Then the teacher left and my friend and I proceeded to get really catty about 2 student we happen to share... distaste for. It was great. Sometimes a girl needs to stop being nice for a while.

I find it interesting to see the attitudes that people come into this class with. There are the people who have painted before, who act like they're "real artists," above everyone else, even though their paintings look like like preschoolers did them. Then there's the fellow who has obviously painted a lot before, who really is an artist, but is taking the class to get what he can from it. He's completely humble, there's no ego involved, nothing to prove, he's just there to paint because he loves it. There are the people who act like the world owes them something, and sulk when they don't like the setup they're supposed to be painting. There are the people who come in like they know everything. And there are those who just have fun with it.

We did little pseudo-critiques in class today. Everyone put up their first three paintings and there was a little commentary time. I was amazed at the number of people who said things like, "I don't like black and white," or, "I don't like red," or yellow is an ugly color," "I hate pink," and on and on. People and the little walls they put up, their little boxes, are really interesting. I discovered magenta a few weeks ago. For the past few years I thought it was an ugly color. Then one night I was painting at home and I tried it, and was perfect and vibrant and alive and deep and completely amazing. I don't understand why anyone would want to limit themselves with something like color. Why hate a color? What could be more beautiful than color? Or more benign? Although it really isn't benign at all. It's rife with all sorts of symbolism and erotisism and subliminal, instinctual triggers. Life and color are intimately connected. So actually I guess it makes sense to hate colors, or be afraid of them, or have whatever type of relationship with them. But if you have the choice of hating life or loving it, playing with it or being afraid of it, why not have fun?

The Hammers Are Done

The hammer project is finished. Here is a picture of the previously unexposed exposed titty hammer. There are more pictures of her and her fellow hammers available for viewing over at the "Photos of My Art" link on the side of this page.

People in class liked my girl :-)