Diligent Monks

Yup, I got to see this beauty in real life. It makes me feel excellent and I can't help remembering seeing this in my Art History text during High School. It feels a bit like a mile stone that says "Yes, I am doing my best to pursue that dream." Or something like that. I'm having trouble describing how it felt to be so close to the surface, to see the raised ink. I could almost feel it under my finger tips. I felt my heart rate pick up as I truly realized how detailed it was. I'd been told the detail and time invested was great, but it is impossible to realize how much painstaking, back breaking, life sucking work it took. It is an effort of a life time. Oh, you admirable monk, in your little brown habit thing and ink stained fingers. Work that quill and lapis lazuli. I'm feeling particularly inspired by seeing the manuscript and am planning planny plans for this summer's work.

Mr. A + Book of Kells... should be juicy.

I am also very excited to realize (rather late, since its been out for a bit) that there is a movie!! The Secret of Kells.




It's made by The Cartoon Saloon. Here: www.cartoonsaloon.ie

Here is a short film they've made, From Darkness:



It's a good short, perfect in the length that it is.

TIWTA List

BEHOLD. I was pondering this upcoming summer and came up with a TIWTA (Things I Want To Accomplish) list.

Here it goes.

1) Get a tattoo.

- I've been waffling on this decision for the past two years. I know that I want my first tattoo to be small, a "tester" tattoo if you will. If that one goes well and I'm still happy with it a year or so later, I'll take steps towards getting a bigger one. I've decided the tattoo will be of my Monkey Muse, no bigger than three inches in diameter, and will be located somewhere on my upper back or foot.

(Randomly on a side note: I'm writing this blog post in the common room of Barnacles, Dublin. Currently there are a lot of college age students in here, chatting it up, laughing, etc... except for the random lady crouched like Gollum next to my chair, sipping a can of Budweiser, and twirling her hair as she silently observes the room. She is disquieting.)


2) Get an acoustic guitar.

- I have been trying my hand at the banjo. I'm not to terrible at a few songs and am feeling pretty confident. I'd like to try the guitar. If Mo and I go half and half on the price this endeavor might be plausible.


3) Set up a work out routine.

- I want to get a regular workout routine set up... and drag Mo along with me. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.


4) Find $$$ for Grad school.

- The big Choice is coming. Do I want to stay on another two years and get my Masters at the Corcoran. At the moment I certainly want to. Therefore I need to start looking at financial options. This makes a nervous bubble swell up in my tummy so I don't like dwelling on it too much. There is still some time before I really need to get down to business.


5) Find a internship/ better job for this upcoming year.

- Barnes & Noble is not where I'm planning on being employed beyond this summer. What I really want is to find at least a volunteer position in an after school, inner city Arts program. I've yet to discover if such a program exists in D.C., however I'd be very surprised if there wasn't something. I need to sit down and actually do some serious searching. Google is a powerful tool (I may start referring to it as the Oracle, as my father does).


6) Be a kick ass Teacher/ Teacher's Assistant

- I'm gearing up for another summer at Camp Creativity. Last summer I was a TA and had a complete blast. It was so much fun and I was very sad to see it end. This year I will also be teaching a session in August. BookMaster. Book making for the kiddies. I plan on putting a lot of effort into this summer :)



So that's it at the moment. I imagine I'll more than likely be adding more as the summer wears on.

On a finishing note, apparently the Irish are fond of recreating medieval environments with creepy mannequins in poorly lit basements. I was scanning the tourist information/pamphlets and the Dublin Heritage Centre has DUBLINA! Experience Viking & Medieval Dublin! The picture shows mannequins in a dark medieval room.

No thank you. I'll pass.

I think I'll put my efforts into convincing Mom that we need to go to the Kilmainham Jail. That sort of creepy suits my tastes better. I think I have leverage to get her to go, seeing that she has denied me the too expensive Haunted Bus Tour of Dublin.

Medieval Horrors

My mom and I are traveling around Ireland before we fly home to Virginia. We spent some time in Galway, took a bus tour up into Connemara. I've been up to Connemara twice before but enjoyed visiting it again. Yesterday we navigated the bus system down to Tralee. We checked into our fancy room at the Grand Hotel, ate a scrumptious dinner, and slept.

The next morning we wandered about The Green, a beautiful park that was home to some lovely rose bushes and a couple of really old and really large trees. We decided to step into the museum next door. For 5 euro we walked through the history exhibit that covered Ireland from the Mesolithic period up to the 1916 Rising. It was a lot of reading, hard to follow at times, but over all a perfectly satisfactory exhibit. Afterwards came something that was advertised as the "Medieval Experience". Sounded interesting enough.

However, I really should have sensed the horrors of what was to come. I really dislike wax museums and any other exhibit that has too many dressed up mannequins. This semi-fear developed from a visit to Harper's Ferry , West Virginia, when I was younger. We learned about the infamous John Brown raid during the Civil War at the town wax museum. I was disturbed and found myself having a hard time eating my pizza afterwards. The cheese on the pizza reminded me of the wax figures. The history exhibit had a few dressed up in furs and wielding stone axes. A few. It wasn't too bad so I ignored the frayed, messy wigs on their heads and the poorly painted faces. The pamphlet made the "experience" seem like an interesting enough sight to see. We made our way down the stairs to the basement all the while reading the following information:

"Tralee in 1450 is recreated in the Medieval Experience. Here you can stroll through the streets, experiencing the sights, sounds and smells of a bustling medieval community. You can find out what people wore, what they ate and where they lived, and why the Fitzgeralds, the Earls of Desmond, who founded the town, also destroyed it"

By the way, they were dead serious when they mention "smells". I don't know what they used, but the exhibit had the foul, funky stench of cow dung and a neglected porta-potty.




I don't know why they have the family in that fancy, riding cart thing. You have to walk through it, around the mannequins and stuffed animals. I would never want to walk through this at night.



Imagine my surprise to look up and see this lovely dame, manic expression on her plastic face, chucking fake "waste" (I think it was sheet plastic or something) down on my head.




Yum, fake meat.




It was creepy. And dark. The poor lighting added to a sense of claustrophobia as I made my way around the mannequins, sensing that one might move at any given moment. I think the fact that we were alone in the exhibit made it worse. They had motion activated sound rigged up so we were accompanied by the wailing of the doomed baby cow at the "butchers", people screaming at each other in Gaelic, and the overly enthusiastic female voice narrating us through our journey. It was like a bad dream. I'm certain this will haunt my slumbers for days to come.

I can still smell it.

History of a Cigarette

I was reading the blog Journey Around My Skull and this little bit on smoking caught my attention. It's curious.

History of a Cigarette
by Felisberto Hernández
Translated by Gilbert Alter-Gilbert

1

Late one recent evening I pulled a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I did this almost without wanting to. I never gave much thought to how many cigarettes I had on hand, or to when I was going to smoke them. It was a long time before I began to think about the spirit of such interactions: of the spirit of man in relation to his fellows; of the spirit of man in relation to things; and certainly I never thought about the spirit of things in relation to men. But without wanting to, I was staring fixedly at a thing: the pack of cigarettes. And now as I analyze it, I recall it vividly. I remember that I had fully intended to pull out one of the cigarettes, but only barely touched it with my finger. Then I began to pull out another, but couldn't get hold of it firmly, so I pulled out a third. I was distracted all the while—somehow they were able to dominate me a little—yes, it was plainly evident that, along with their scanty material substance, operated a corresponding spirit. And this infinitesimal, discretionary spirit enabled them to orchestrate the escape of some, while I reached for others, instead.

2

The other night I was walking with a friend. Then I became distracted, began to sense something odd, and started thinking about cigarettes. I had the urge to smoke and when I reached for one of them, suddenly I changed my mind and reached for one of the others. Without meaning to, I crimped the tip of the first one I touched, and it seemed as if it had caused me to do this so as to avoid being taken. If given a choice, my tendency has always been, as is only normal, to prefer my cigarettes unbent. Consequently, I pushed the broken cigarette to one side, away from the rest. I offered them to my friend. He reflexively chose the one snuggling in the corner by itself, because it was easiest to reach but, when he saw that it was crooked, he immediately reached for another. I was preoccupied by this series of events for quite awhile but, as we resumed our conversation, I gradually forgot about it. A few hours later, I again felt the craving for a smoke; I pulled out the pack of cigarettes and then it struck me. With much surprise I saw that the twisted cigarette wasn't there, and I thought I must have smoked it without noticing, and my obsession vanished in a puff.

3

Still later the same night, when I picked up the pack once again, I was confronted by the following: the broken cigarette hadn't been smoked after all; it had fallen sideways and was lying horizontally at the bottom of the pack. Certain now that it had deliberately eluded me several times, my obsession returned with redoubled tenacity. I was seized by an overwhelming curiosity to see what would happen if I smoked it. I stepped out to the patio, removed all the cigarettes from the pack except the wrinkled one, re-entered the living room, and offered it to my friend; since it was the only one left in the pack, he would have no choice but to take ‘it'. He started to take it, but then refrained. He regarded me with a smile. I asked him, "Is something wrong?" He answered, "Yes, but I'm not going to tell you what…" This really frosted me, but then he added, "There's only one left and I'm not going to be the one to smoke it." Then he pulled out his own cigarettes, and we smoked two of them in silence.

4

The following morning I remembered that, before going to bed, I had put the broken cigarette in the drawer of my nightstand. The nightstand bears a special distinction: it has a strange alliance and affiliation with cigarettes. But I was determined not to let this get the better of me. I approached the nightstand, intending to take out a cigarette and smoke it. I opened the drawer. I took out a cigarette as always, with complete naturalness and aplomb but, as I did so, I knocked over a glass of water, and it fell, along with the cigarette, onto the floor. My obsession flared. I quickly contained myself. But when I reached down to pick it up again, I saw that the cigarette had fallen onto a section of the floor which now was sopping wet. This time my obsession was beyond control; it steadily intensified as I observed what was taking place on the floor: the cigarette was blackening along its entire length as the tobacco absorbed the water…



Oh, you elusive cigarette. I feel like a need to reread this bit again and again and see something deeper each time I revisit it.

The Arrogance & The Monkey

M&M Came to Visit.

My Marra came to Ireland. She and my cousin Maggie are the first family I've seen in almost 4 months. It was good to see them. We went on an adventure! Maggie bravely took the wheel while I squinted at maps and pointed to road signs. We did well... only got beeped at once. I now know how to navigate my way to Galway's city center and then to all the other main routes that head out north. I'm feeling a tiny tickle of pride because, yes, I finally figured out the bus system, purchased my first ticket, and made my way back to Ballyvaughan all on my own. Dance!


Marra & Poppy treated us to a night in Ballynahinch Castle. It was so fancy I felt like a grubby grub as soon as I walked in through the front door. It was amazing. We took a stroll through the gardens, along the riverside, and watched as large fish jumped and the sun set. I could imagine myself slowly working my way along the river back, clad in a turtle neck sweater, book in hand, and pondering life and all of its diverse issues. After admiring the Conamara sunset, we felt the familiar tug of hunger pulling at our tummies and decided to head into the castle for dinner.

The room was gorgeous with windows opening up to a ground floor view of green lawns and the river flowing by. I promptly took the fancy soaps from the bathroom. They are now on my sink. Delightful, perfumed little devils.

We prepared ourselves for dinner. While I slipped into my nice shirt, we realized that we were far too casual for the dinning room. I looked down at my jeans (which haven't been washed in a while... a long while). We shrugged it off. We were paying customers and despite our dress, we would be getting our full course dinner. Despite a few looks from the predominately french waiting staff. French waiters, in Ireland... go figure. I immediately used the wrong utensils. I have never been to a meal that had three different forks and knives. But we figured it all out in the end. Another first, I also had veal. I know that as I took the first bite an angel lost it's wings or a kitten died somewhere, but it was damned tasty. Sorry, baby cow. Oh! Another first as well! I tried oysters as my starter. Not really my thing, far too watery and the saltiness of it about knocked me off of my seat. The salad I had afterwards was pretty good. Fresh greens and candied walnuts. For desert I had creme brulee and finished off the amazing meal with a cognac. When we got back to the bedroom I showered and then fell asleep, much to the amusement of Marra. She was convinced that the cognac was what knocked me out. Maybe, but I was also sick with a head cold and had been busy finishing up school before she arrived. It was nice to get a good nights sleep in a soft bed with fancy sheets. They took pictures of me while I slept. Hrmph.

Anyways, now I'm preparing for the last bit of school, the UnderGrad show and Mom's arrival. Lots of cleaning and packing to do.

THE MONKEY LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!

After hours of toiling away with my needle, thread, and yarn... BEHOLD the fruits of my labor! Tomorrow we film! I'm so Excited! This mask is the most wonderful, awkward thing I've ever made.

Have I had too much coffee tonight? Yes. Yes I have.

The video is going to be my own version of the famous Graveyard Duel from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

Oh, Edward.

Before I start let me lay down some important points:

Yes, I have read Twilight.

Yes, I have seen both movies.

Yes, Edward is sexy when he broods and Jacob is hunky, I will not attempt to deny the silent squeal of delight I felt jump up in my chest as he ran about with no shirt and those tight... tight... *ahem* jean shorts.

Yes, there is appeal in the idea that your beauty can tame a painfully handsome and dangerous man. It will be a wonderful, romantically dramatic affair that ultimately ends in passionate, mind blowing hankypanky and a happily ever after. That sounds like the daydream of many women, myself included. (Hey now, don't judge me.)


BUT


No, I do not think Twilight has any standing in respectable Vampire Literature.

No, no, no, no, no Vampires do NOT shine and glisten in the sunlight.

They charr up and burn. That's just how it is. A gruesome death fitting for someone/something that gets to live forever otherwise.



Here is a list I got from Wired.com. It's a bit heavy handed, but it does have some good points:

1) If a boy is aloof, stand-offish, ignores you or is just plain rude, it is because he is secretly in love with you — and you are the point of his existence.

2) Secrets are good — especially life-threatening ones.

3) It’s OK for a potential romantic interest to be dimwitted, violent and vengeful — as long as he has great abs.

4) If a boy tells you to stay away from him because he is dangerous and may even kill you, he must be the love of your life. You should stay with him since he will keep you safe forever.

5) If a boy leaves you, especially suddenly (while telling you he will never see you again), it is because he loves you so much he will suffer just to keep you safe.

6) When a boy leaves you, going into shock, losing all your friends and enduring night terrors are completely acceptable occurrences — as long as you keep your grades up.

7) It is extremely romantic to put yourself in dangerous situations in order to see your ex-boyfriend again. It’s even more romantic to remember the sound of his voice when he yelled at you.

8) Boys who leave you always come back.

9) Because they come back, you should hold out, waiting for them for months, even when completely acceptable and less-abusive alternative males present themselves.

10) Even though you have no intention of dating an alternative male who expresses interest in you, it is fine to string the young man along for months. Also, you should use him to fix things for you. Maybe he’ll even buy you something.

11) You should use said male to fix things because girls are incapable of anything mechanical or technical.

12) Lying to your parents is fine. Lying to your parents while you run away to save your suicidal boyfriend is an extremely good idea that shows your strength and maturity. Also, it is what you must do.

13) Car theft in the service of love is acceptable.

14) If the boy you are in love with causes you (even indirectly) to be so badly beaten you end up in the hospital, you should tell the doctors and your family that you “fell down the steps” because you are such a silly, clumsy girl. That false explanation always works well for abused women.

15) Men can be changed for the better if you sacrifice everything you are and devote yourself to their need for change.

16) Young women should make no effort to improve their social skills or emotional state. Instead, they should seek out potential mates that share their morose deficiencies and emotional illnesses.

17) Girls shouldn’t always read a book series just because everyone else has.

18) When writing a book series, it’s acceptable to lift seminal source material and bastardize it with tired, overwrought teenage angst.

19) When making or watching a major feature film, you should gleefully embrace the 20 minutes of plot it provides in between extended segments of vacant-eyed silence and self-indulgent, moaning banter.

20) Vampires — once among the great villains of literature and motion pictures — are no longer scary. In fact, they’re every bit as whiny, self-absorbed and impotent as any human being.


Just food for thought I suppose.

http://www.wired.com/underwire/2009/11/twilight-lessons-girls-learn/

Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog

Transgression

Today's class ended with some heavy questions. We filed out of the lecture hall in a sombre silence, pondering the dark topics we had been discussing for the past two hours. When it comes to Art, where do you draw the line? Which boundaries do you choose to leave intact? Once you have chosen, you have to question, why leave those in the realm of taboo while attempting to tackle others? Today we discussed transgression. Particularly, we focused on the concept of transgression in Art. The presentation went from something as tame as (according to today's standards) Manet's 'Olympia' to the extreme end of the spectrum resulting in bludgeoning a kitten to death with a hammer and then proceeding to masturbate over its corpse. Needless to say, we left pondering the darker side of human nature.

It can be argued that all great Art is transgressive. Perhaps. I'm sure the works and artists remembered today were transgressive, to an extent. I always attempt to regard history with caution. Art History is very subjective. I was recently reading a essay on the idea of Art History as a global phenomena. James Elkins very candidly points out that Art Historians are not immune from patriotism when it comes to compiling their books and records. I haven't gotten very far into the book, but it has become quite clear that Art History is being approached as a Western model by most people looking into the subject. Are all the "greats" immortalized in our history books transgressive? Probably. Were they the first ones or the best in their respective categories? Probably not. I often reflect about those who were forgotten because they didn't have the correct contacts to enter those fated social circles.

Transgressive Art plays an incredibly vital role in the way culture evolves. I suppose transgressive thought is a better way to put it. I have a hard time separating Thought from Art. They have an interdependent relationship and that suits me just fine. Do I think all Art needs to be transgressive? No. I would define Art as the universal urge to create. It compels us when we are content and it compels us when we are in dire circumstances. It is a way to digest life. In that sense, I feel that Art and Art Therapy are two names for the same thing. Art is a reflection of the people who give it time to grow. You need to see both the conventional and the controversial in a culture to tackle and achieve a chunk of that ever so elusive Understanding. That being said, I cannot downplay the importance transgression plays. Where would we get in life without a little bit of rule breaking? How can we ever hope to understand the classic questions of humanity if we don't ponder over why we ponder in the first place.

Unfortunately, when you decide to sit down and give it serious thought, you have to acknowledge all of it. Even the dark, sour things that threaten to break your heart. I'm not proposing that I have any answers. I'm fumbling for understanding and there are moments when I refuse to think about it at all. I want to ignore it because it makes me feel helpless. It's like my body is dust, and there's nothing I could ever accomplish because the slightest woosh of uncertainty would obliterate me as if I never existed. That feeling scares the shit out of me, but I know that I'll never get anywhere if I hide. It leaves you with such a gnawing dissatisfaction. The last piece we looked at before ending for the day was Marina Abramovic's performance Rhythm 0. She stood passively in a space for six hours, inviting strangers to do as they wished.

"There are 72 objects on the table that one can use on me as desired." (Among these: a rose, a feather, etc. to a knife, and a loaded gun)

Why? Perhaps to prove that people can really, truly suck, despite the country. There is the illusion that the terrible aspects of humanity rear their heads exclusively in the Third World. Abramovic showed that humanity carries a darker side, no matter the country. The performance started off tame, the audience have her hold pictures, a rose, tickling her with the feather. Then the aggressive acts of a few emboldened others.

“The experience I learned was that…if you leave decision to the public, you can be killed.” ... “I felt really violated: they cut my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere. After exactly 6 hours, as planned, I stood up and started walking toward the public. Everyone ran away, escaping an actual confrontation.”


Just because there is the invitation, is that justification for hurting someone? Or killing them?

That Infectious Mr. A

So. I woke up this morning to pounding rain and howling wind. I decided to stay home. Today I have to work on my newest video piece and to do another Mr. A face drawing. Above are the fruits of my labor so far. The picture of me smiling stupidly is after I managed to scrub all that crap off. Of the face work I've done so far, this one was the MOST PAINFUL to wash off. The water wouldn't warm up (thankfully that wasn't the case when I went to shower) and so I attempted to scrub it all over with soap and icy death water. I ended up getting soap in my eyes repeatedly. If anyone was downstairs they probably heard massive thuds (me thrashing about the bathroom in agony) and muffled screams. But it came off, thus the exhausted and slightly insane smile on my face. Oh, Mr. A, what I go through for you.

I'm really sinking my teeth into this idea that Mr. A becomes a transformation. He is my Alter Ego and we battle for dominance in the space that is my body. It would be interesting to explore Mr. A in the form of stigmata, or my own version of stigmata.

Oh I Couldn't Help Myself!

No words can describe the hilarity:

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Difficulty

I'm feeling quite frustrated at the moment. I was doing the usual skype date with Mo when he told me some news. Bless that big, hairy man of mine, I love him to death. However, one source of... eh, I guess I would word it as 'tension', is our backgrounds. Mo grew up in Sudan. His father is Sudanese and a practicing muslim, his mother is filipino and converted to join his father. Both my parents come from the Protestant American middle class, our great grandparents having made the journey over from Europe way back when. Mo and I are both non-religious. We don't feel it is necessary to define ourselves and how we act by a religion. I'd much rather figure out how to be a decent human being through just that, being human. It's said that "With God, anything is possible." I think the correct way of wording that is "With People, anything is possible."

To get back on track, I was reminded of the difficulties that come from having relatives of a conservative nature. Mo's parents are coming over from Sudan for his graduation in May. It is exciting. After two years I finally get to meet the folks. Since Mo is graduating, other members are coming over a.k.a. his aunts. Here comes the point of complication, I live with Mo and his brother. More accurately, I rent out an apartment with Mo and his brother. My name is on the lease. I work hard to cover my share of the rent. So this isn't to be confused with me mooching or having "moved-in". It's great, we live well together. I mean sometimes I want to destroy his brother, but on the whole it is a peaceful living environment.

So let's sum up what we have so far, shall we?

Conservative relatives coming to visit.

Their son/nephew lives with a girl out of wedlock.

Difficulties ensue. His parents gave the okay for this living arrangement, as did my parents. It was financially the best choice because the apartment is cheap. Hurray wonderful, great.... hmmm... not so great when they ask me to hide my things and pretend I don't live in my own home when the aunties come over. It is the "my own home" thing that bothers me the most. I love my parents, and I love where I grew up. However, that apartment has become my home. For clarification, I NO LONGER LIVE WITH MY PARENTS. I can't just skip over there for the day... it would take a while to skip there. I wouldn't recommend it seeing that they live three hours away (by car, incase you were wondering). So, what am I to do when I'm expected to not "actually" live where I live? There is no where else in the District of Columbia for me to go. They wont be staying with us but they will be over here for a while. What happens when they decide to randomly come calling one day. Am I supposed to hide all my stuff with a snap of a finger and dive out the window ( I live on the 6th floor)? I can't help but be reminded of that scene from Matilda when they have to hide all the happy things in the classroom behind flaps and doors before that wretched principle comes stomping in.

Is my defensiveness a bit too strong? Perhaps. It just rubs me the wrong way. When you get down to it, being told that you have to pretend your situation is different from what it actually is, in this sense, hits on the idea that what you are doing is fundamentally wrong. His parents say okay, you can live together because of the circumstances (but its wrong). Therefore it must be hidden instead of standing up to the overbearing, conservative opinions of others. Mo stood up for me. He got into a row with his mom over it. At the same time, I don't want relations between him and his mother to be rocky because of me. I made it clear that if it comes to hiding that I live there, fine. Hide my shit... or try to at least. My stuff is everywhere, after all, it is my home. But don't expect me to be there, "just visiting" when they call. I refuse to sit on my own couch, smile, and say "Oh yes, I'm still living in a dorm." No thanks, I'll be out reading a book in the park or drinking coffee. Maybe even both.

Nurture Shock

Recently I've reading NurtureShock, which is a blog and recently published book by Po Bronson (Yes, I would like to have Po for a name as well. You would think that would have to be short for something) and Ashley Merryman. They also have a regular column in Newsweek. Their main beef is the belief that today's agreed upon methods for raising our kiddies are wrong, wrong to the extent that they are "backfiring". Goodie, sounds exciting and you can be rest assured, I dug my teeth into this idea like a ravenous beast. Munch, munch. Despite my humor, yes, they do make a lot of sense. I like the way they think.

I recently read a number of articles they posted on the idea of predicting our children's future academic success. Private schools will go to preschools and scope out the children, picking those who show the most obedience. Apparently they are under the belief that an obedient 4 year old tike will grow into an obedient, successful student. Lets ignore the fact the child is still growing, as NurtureShock was quick to point out. The factors change with age. Being social and amiable is important when you are four, however, studies showed that these kids didn't actually end up being the academic stars of the class. In fact, the introverted teen was often the brain. I can't help but be reminded of awkwardly reading my book in the lunchroom while the popular boys from the wrestling team threw food and crude jokes back and forth. I graduated second in my class, those guys... not so much. I was also a roaring terror as a young child. Mom's theme song for me used to be "She drives me crazy! ooo! ooo!"

I guess what really bothers me about all that is this obsession with being elite. "My child is gifted! GIFTED!" It seems pretty absurd to me. When I have a child I'm going to focus on making him/her a decent human-being with respect for humanity instead of getting into the best prep school.

My Friend is a Hippy Star Wars Fanatic

OOoooooooooooh Man...

Today has been a busy day. I did laundry, made some beef stew, cleaned the house.... painted Mr. A on my face. Yeah, it was a good day.

Mark Newport

Mark Newport is a huge inspiration for the work I do now. Check out his website! Here is a picture of a piece I have showing right now in the Corcoran Ceramic Annual:

You can't see the details very clearly but this is Mr. A in one of his earlier forms. It's a bit like a Mr. A cult making pots :D

But back to Mark Newport. This is the link to his website:

www.marknewportartist.com

& Here be taste of his awesomeness:

Sheep

I am home alone this weekend. Unlike the Berlin trip, where I was excited to have the house to myself (because I wasn't all that interested in going to Berlin) this time I am very disgruntled. I am disgruntled because everyone in my house (except for me) are going to spend the night in Ireland's MOST haunted castle. The everyone in the photo class and people fortunate enough to have had their names drawn in the lottery (obviously I was not blessed with such fortune) are on their way right now. Actually they probably are already there, exploring the haunted towers and dungeon.

I am a wrinkled prune of jealousy.

So I decided to channel my bitter bitterness into something positive. I cleaned. Look how clean the kitchen is!

As I was mopping the floor I looked up to suddenly encounter at least ten sheep staring through the window at me. Ireland is a strange place. This picture should give you a good idea of what it was like:

I then watched as the my landlord chased them all off. Which then made me think of this:

Bloody weather.

Crisis On Infinite Earths!!

Today I started off as a sloth. My body melted to fit the shape of the couch as the lights shut off behind my eyes. I was switching between an Australian soap opera and a hurling match on the television. Little did I know that the course of my day would be altered dramatically with the arrival of the next tv program!! A cooking show. Now not only was I a sloth, but a hungry one. My grumbling gut energized my bones and I peeled myself off the couch. If I was going to get a bite to eat, I should take a walk while I was at it. Why not bring my sketchbook too. I walked along the coast road and ended up at Monks. There I had a delightful lunch of seafood chowder (It was advertised as award winning. After having devoured it completely, I couldn't help but agree with them), brown bread, salad, and a steaming cup of irish coffee. It was everything I had hoped it would be and more.

I was sketching and feeling inspired after walking further along the coast. Suddenly I realized that I really felt like practicing the banjo. So I scampered home. The following video shows the fruits of my labor. These are the two songs I've managed to learn by heart. I still can't play them as smoothly as I'd like and they are very simple, but I am happy with them. Please don't laugh :/ Now I am relaxing and reading Crisis On Infinite Earths! I'm not a huge DC or Marvel fan, but it looked interesting and so far it most certainly is proving to be.

Pictures from walk climb/ new work

Hot Iron

The Burren causes me to reflect on a camp, Brethren Woods, that I worked at two summers ago. I was the Craft Lady/Counselor. Being the Craft Lady was good fun, but being a counselor brought in the most rewards. When I say rewards I mean emotional growth, because some of those kids would chew you up and spit you out. It was all worth it. Being a child's guide through a week long adventure in the outdoors, camping out under the stars and cooking over an open fire (and actually being able to start the fire), it really struck something within me. Thus I decided to climb the mountain behind school today. The weather was perfect and the opportunity was calling. I made it up about halfway before coming face to face with the wild goat herds that inhabit the higher reaches of the Burren. We regarded each other silently before moving on. I will admit that images of being skewered and then head-butted down the mountain side to meet my wild-goat-induced-death did flash across my mind. Aside from the labor of climbing uphill, the goat encounter was the only thing to really get my heart pumping.

I realized that it is a damned good thing that Ireland has no poisonous snakes (or much of a snake population at all really). If there were snakes, the rocks of the Burren would hold a treachery that extends beyond the possibility of falling and breaking a bone. All this snake thinking brings me right back to Brethren Woods. The Shenandoah Valley is home to the timber rattlesnake. Go hiking in the woods and you have a very good chance of running into one. I have had this pleasure a couple of times. I have also come across black bears, which is admittedly more frightening than a rattlesnake. Thankfully, though, the first time it was just a cub (mother absent) who quickly ran away when he saw us. The second was a full grown bear but he was further down from the road and just kept on his way, we wisely didn't do anything to draw its attention. When I think about it there was a third time as well. I was driving along and by chance I looked out into one of the fields by the road. There was this lone tiny cub working his way across the field. The sight made me feel very sad, but I am digressing.

At camp there were plenty of rattlers. If we were to see one, we had to very calmly pick up our radio and say "There is a 'hot iron' at Maple Ridge/Cedar Cove/etc." We could never actually say snake because the radios are loud and the children would hear. Panic would quickly ensue. If it was a non-poisonous snake you would call it a 'cold iron'. However, the fact that no one has been bitten in the 52 year history of that camp, despite all of the rattlers you come across truly baffles me. I am amazed. I almost stepped on one when I was a camper there. Its long body stretched over the entire width of the trail. I know I was not the only camper turned employee to come across one. No one has ever been bitten. Excuse me while my brain boggles.

BTW: Rattlesnake when cooked properly is very tasty. We cooked one up when I was working there. A tad rubbery, though.

Pictures: One of the older groups I counseled, My co-worker eating food, Me eating food.

The Consequences of Sound

Zonks

As far as places go, I have found that Ireland is very easy to adjust to. I wake up in this house, I walk along the Burren Way, I go to a school that has it's own castle, and I get to spend all day seeing where my creativity will go. Despite the uniqueness of the situation I am experiencing, there are moments where the question really hits me. Why am I here? Why am I sitting in an Irish living room, watching a movie about a precocious 10 year old boy trapped in a Japanese POW camp? At the moment he's dancing atop a derelict building as Allied forces bomb the bejeezus out of the nearby Japanese bunkers. His friend just died :(

Commercial break, the credit-crunch-brand-piggy bank is distributing lower prices on his magic flying Euro. I particularly like the No Nonsense Car Insurance commercial that involves zombie coverage. If I owned a car I would want zombie coverage. Dear God I hope I'd never actually need it, but it would be nice to have.

I've enjoyed the commercials in Ireland so far, but back to the question at hand. I didn't come here for the commercials. I knew that coming here would mean leaving the people I'm comfortable with. They are people I've known for years and with whom I have overcome that awkward dance of being an acquaintance. I think that is the biggest challenge I'm facing here. When I spent two weeks in Japan, it was the over all culture shock that really got me down. I detest nori, the humidity came from the depths of hell itself, but at least having the language barrier allowed us to embrace being awkward and we were able to bumble about happily. When I'm faced with peers who speak the same language, that come from the same country, the pressure is on. I tend to over think things to the extent that something zonks behind my eyeballs and an acrid smoke puffs out of my ears. This dreadful over thinking causes my words to get trapped somewhere between my brain and vocal cords. My solution to this is to remain quiet. I stay quiet and I go off and do my own thing, but this leaves too many things unsaid and too many chances untouched.

(I'm watching a cop drama now. This detective has a weird lip/tongue twitch that he does occasionally. That, sir, is very distracting.)

I'm trying to approach this introverted habit in my art work. If I crack it open and dissect it, perhaps I can break myself of it. This reminds me of a performance piece I put together last semester. I wrote down everything I wished I could have said onto strips of paper. I then sat with a male friend, side by side. I faced the audience while he had his back turned. I then proceeded to put all the strips into my mouth and held them there. One by one I pulled the strips out and handed them to my friend for him to read aloud. My face, my words, but his voice. Despite physically extracting the words from my body, I was still unable to utter them myself and this reinforced the idea that I found such behavior to be a personal taboo.

Hmmmm. A movie called Taboo just came on... I'm beginning to worry that it's a horror movie :(

Black Coffee/ Home Alone/ The Package

This tune has been dancing in my head all day:

I think that worked. Maybe it did. Either way this little song kept me smiling as I worked today. If it didn't work, here is the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8EB-hUUzsE

I love Cowboy Bebop. In particular I love Ed. Adorable. If you don't know Cowboy Bebop (look it up!), Ed is the girl in the song that keeps refusing to have some coffee.

On to the next order of business! I am home alone. I wasn't really looking forward to it. I didn't like the idea of being in this house all alone. However, when I woke up all alone this morning, I realized that having the place to myself is rather liberating. For example, right now I am blasting music, airing a nice bottle of red wine, preparing to cook some lamb with potatoes & asparagus before settling into a night of Monty Python wonderfulness. Lovely.

I received a package today! The package contained all of my Monty Python movies, more snack food/food related items than I could have possible expected in my wildest dreams, and a pair of frog slippers. The frog slippers went on my feet as soon as I got through the door. My thirst for random and plushy footwear cannot be quenched.

Mr. A

Above is some of the work I've made so far this semester. I'll let it be known now that I am no photographer. Please forgive any blurriness or over all poor picture quality that may occur.

As you can probably see, my Nacho Libre-esque character appears regularly in my work. Sometimes he has a mustache, other times he is clean shaven (although you could never really tell with his face all hidden behind that mask and such) but he is always fat, hairy, and humorous. I've taken to calling him Mr. Arrogance. You can call him Mr. A for short. I do.

My professor was really pushing me to figure out what he was. When I first got here all I knew was that I was obsessed with drawing him. As in I couldn't stop. Every time I picked up a pen/pencil, he is what emerged. I have a sketchbook full of him back home. He first appeared when I was pissed off during a class critique. It had been a very dull day and my professor at the time was obnoxious. As more overly aggressive opinions spewed forth from her thin, chapped lips, Mr. A wrestled himself onto the page of my sketchbook. Armed with fiery wings and a halo, he threw his arms up to the sky and screamed "Fools! All of you!" Thus his name. He is my arrogance. He is my alter-ego. A little nugget of a voice in the back of my head wonders if it is healthy to use him as a mask, but I'm ignoring it. As of right now, my fat hairy mask is keeping me inspired.

Am I just too damn lazy?

How do I start this?

I would blame my Mom. Yes. It is her fault, her fault entirely that now whenever I go to my trusty little MacBook I start looking at blogs. It began when she started blogging about Three Angel Missions Haiti, and through that I started reading others. It was then that the egg was planted. It sprouted and grew into a nagging thought that would follow me throughout the day.

"Hey, maybe I should give this blog crap a try."

So now I have. Feels pretty good so far, so I'm retracting my "blog crap" statement. Actually while I'm backtracking, I take back what I said about my trusty macbook... she failed me terribly. She crashed the night before I left to go study abroad in Ireland. Thank goodness Galway has a place that services macs.

That reminds me. I'm in Ireland. Have been for about two months and will remain here until April. I have quested out into the countryside to study Art at the Burren College of Art. I have found that cows, rain, wooly sweaters, Guinness, mossy rocks, abandoned houses, crusty old Irish men, crinkly soft old Irish women, swans, farm dogs, stone walls, Robert, Bulmers Hard Apple Cider, church bells, scandalous priests, banjos, pubs, and a tasty tasty bowl of traditional lamb Irish stew all serve as great fodder for the creative juices. I will post up some of the my work and discuss the Mr. A phenomenon in a separate entry. Otherwise I'll just keep rambling.