There were some nights last year when I was living with Kaylee that felt like we were stuck in a box holding mirrors up to each other. We would sit across the room and throw each other's seriousness and intensity back and forth and paint and sculpt and make up our theories until our minds and fingers were twisted into pretzels. Then we would make a snack. Then we would get right back into it, reflecting each other's energy until one of us broke and fell asleep. Before the homework started weighing too much both semesters we worked on two paintings together. The pictures of them aren't the best, but here they are.
This one from first semester was painted with acrylics on this flower-painted wood panel we found in the trash. Since Kaylee and I look so much alike, we were curious as to what would happen if we painted each other into one face. Kaylee painted me on the left and I painted her on the right.
We were also curious about how self-projection would affect the portrait.
In the end I think it became pretty obvious that we had painted something of our own features into each other's face, and for that reason the sides mesh together well enough to believably be two sides of the same face.
This one from the second semester had no real concept. We just messed with color a bit. We used watercolor pastels and charcoal, and we painted both ourselves and each other. And Kaylee ended up drawing me as a bird, which served as inspiration for a later ceramics project that I will show you soon.
Within the first five minutes of meeting Bridget, my first college roommate, she showed me a doll that was kept on the window sill for the rest of the year and explained that it was a voodoo doll but that it was for good and not evil. I think the combination of horror and amusement I felt at that moment sums up the mood of freshman year. That and these lines I read from a short story of which the name escapes me by Jean Thompson,
"He knew how easy it was to let your discipline go slack. You had to drive yourself continually, not just to get the work done but to keep the faith. Faith that what you were doing was worth the hideous effort you put into it."
It is cold and the studios are closed so I haven't left the dorm much since I've been back in Brooklyn, but I did paint my fingernails rainbow colors. Ta da!
Anyway, here are some of my first serious attempts at art from high school. Hopefully you will glance at these and see how much I've improved.
Also, I am about to go search for doilies to coat in slip and fire. Wish me luck.
My first published piece ever. Look for it in the Fall 2008 Ubiquitous, Pratt's creative journal published twice a year and soon to be co-edited by two lovely ladies, Chanice Greenberg and Jenny Stohlman.
Christmas
Santa does not drive a sleigh across state lines. He rides in a blue Winnebago.
Betty and Prometheus sit in the back.
They play license plate games and count railroad cars.
When they fall asleep, Santa turns on the radio to hear someone else's voice.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Oceans."
"Correction, Prometheus! Rain is more forgiving."
Betty agreed.
And the three kept rolling.
Santa does not care for road trips. He rides in a blue Winnebago.
Betty and Prometheus whisper in the back.
They play license plate games and count gas stations.
When they draw a line down the middle, Santa turns on the radio to avoid their voices.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Sand."
"Correction, Prometheus! Earth and sunlight and nothing more."
Betty put on her sunglasses.
Santa parkes the blue Winnebago.
Betty and Prometheus crawl through the woods.
They run their palms over the bark and each other's knees.
Before they race back, Santa falls asleep to the static of dead air.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Living."
"Correction, Prometheus! We wash through this life like the unconscious."
Betty woke up.
Santa snores.
Betty and Prometheus fuck in the back of the blue Winnebago.
They try to muffle the thuds of their fumbling feet against the door.
Santa turns on the radio to stifle the noise.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Love."
"Correction, Prometheus! You are only a child."
Betty covered her mouth.
Santa wants in the backseat. He hadn't asked to drive.
Betty and Prometheus lock the door.
They play license plate bingo and ask for Dairy Queen.
When they fall asleep, Santa brushes his fingers over the tips of Betty's eyelashes.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Now."
"Correction, Prometheus. I only know the past."
Betty looked for change.
Santa asks Prometheus to drive the blue Winnebago.
Betty laughs and Prometheus pulls the curtains closed.
They want Santa to hear.
When they fall asleep, Santa crushes pills into their Blizzards.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Fire."
"You son of a bitch. You deserve to have your liver eaten a thousand times."
Betty broke the window.
Santa cuts the brakes in the blue Winnebago.
Betty and Prometheus pour champagne in the backseat.
They toast to a painless ending.
When Santa let go of the wheel, the radio crooned about a girl and a blue bayou.
Earlier in the day, Prometheus had said, "Time."
"You know, Prometheus, I'm beginning to think you're right."
Hello everyone and welcome to my blog where you will soon be able to find my art and my ramblings.
Last semester was tough and I felt like I was going to die a few times, but 2008 is in the past and has left us with abundant evidence of its existence. The next posts will consist of that evidence in the form of paintings and a poem. I love criticism, so please don't be shy about commenting if you feel moved to.
I want to retire to a lighthouse on the west coast and open a bakery called "the lighthouse bakery." Before that I want to finish school, move around a bit, make my art, adopt some animals, write a novel, have a show in the MoMA, and see the world.
We were also curious about how self-projection would affect the portrait.
