Monday, May 26, 2008

Day 3 & 4



All the sketches are actually from today, I was bad and went to see the Cuba exhibit at the Musee des Beaux Arts yesterday instead of drawing. I found an Ideology Detector, though (*snicker*)

People smelled really wonderful there, like bubblegum and sunscreen. I almost didn't mind how ridiculously overcrowded it was. ALMOST didn't mind, I admit I skimmed over some stuff due to claustrophobia, but that's what a free day at a museum will get you, I guess. It was a good day to be outside and wandering in breezy downtown sun, at any rate.

["Ideology Detector" Lázaro Saavedra, 1989]

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Day 2

This has nothing to do with anything, but I ADORE Jeffrey Lewis, is all. I'm listening him sing through the History of Punk on the Lower East Side right now, and he even threw the Silver Apples in there, and it's comprehensive and fun and full of his scratchy boyish monotone. Wee!

I had a day full of disappointments but none of them were that disappointing -- gross energy bar, gross diet blackcurrant soda, gross um... seitan dinner. Okay, it was all food disappointments. And I did find this awesome bracelet for a dollar.

My life IS the embodiment of excitation.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Day 1

All right. I cook too much and I don't draw enough... and it's time to switch the balance. For some reason I'm even getting sick of imagining kumquat cupcakes and goji toast all the time... so I'm hereby promising myself and the world one (1, uno, une, a) drawing per day. At the very least. I just need to get back into the habit of using my pencils as therapy, release, entertainment, and stress-free noodling. Like a kid in a sandbox.

Anyway, she's called leafbutt candlehead ---

Expect more tomorrow!

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

gah, no ideas, I cut and paste instead...

"the fruit is health and life"

"...one in a million"

Okay, I'm a lazy dreamer and completely without focus right now. Other people have no idea what they're doing, right? Should I run away to Malaysia? Send away for an apron and my choice of acceptable addictions? Continue on living... slightly mechanically? DROWN IN DIET CRANBERRY SODA??? This is only because I don't have an idea for my summer drawing project yet... I'm so predictable. *eyeroll*

And indulgent. :D

Thursday, April 3, 2008

a spoonful of sugar...

We had to make trinkets for our last day of drawing class - a "useless accessory" to trade, while we drank from jugs of wine and basically reveled in the least drawing-y assignment ever assigned. I got my days mixed up and only just finished mine this afternoon, but they will get handed out later, during one-on-one evaluations. Aaaaanyway.... they're spoons. Printed with sobering thoughts, dipped in candy apple sugar coating and only slightly burnt. Medicine for the soul! Chicken soup need not apply. Did you know that plastic melts like a mofo if you're not careful about dipping it into boiling pots of sugar?

Sweeeeet.

Friday, March 28, 2008

angelus... or like, maybe doctors.

Just a quick piccy for now... the last few weeks of school are involving a lot of studio time and stress and not so much in the way of carefree blogging. Plus I'm feeling nicer these days and not so willfully ambiguous, so I'll even tell you straight up that these are angels. Sort of. Anyway, I'll post my final painting series later, not that anyone reads this page (schroedinger's ending statement or just horribly ironic???? true logicians are laughing at me). Ta!

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

lesgo to the belgo

when I talk to you, I absorb your manner into me

and I hear snippets of conversational echoes from the kids across the city

you say it's probability

and it might be science

and it might just be that we're not so different

/hit the floor,wham,thankyoudrunknow/// :)

Sunday, February 24, 2008

he wrote poems to people on the bus and managed to make those suck, too

"...we danced with the tin in some exhibition rooms and were strangely unimpeded by every security guard in the place. Except when liz touched some hollow truck, I think it was james angus's hollow truck. I don't like his work all that much."

*** EDIT: it wasn't James Angus's truck, it was Geoffrey Farmer's. I saw more of his annoying art at the Musee d'art Contemporain today, and it was bloody interestingly boringly annoying, which is just the reaction I'm sure he'd be pleased to know got elicited. Why does he refuse to say anything but still use everything to say it? Why do I hate his work so much when he's basically succeeding at the lame-ass intention I had for my art when I was a pink-cheeked yea-babe of the studio? A reasonably aware person says "duh. that's how it works, hating things much like yourself and yet more annoying than yourself." Maybe I just suck at liking stupid art. Gah.

I was pleasantly enchanted by Yannick Pouliot's furniture, however, and I stared at Riopelle's the Landing for as long as a pretense of sanity would allow. That painting is a speechless expanse of awesome and I lurrrrrbe it like kitties (gimme any Riopelle, yes!).

Thursday, February 7, 2008

ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow my head no seriously fucking ow

Mineral spirits cause debilitating headaches. Who knew? I don't feel like I'd be spastic to wear my shiny new ventilation masks either - I saw a veritable surgeon in painting room B-whatever slapping paint around like a mad beekeeping science man.

Anyway, new stuff. the contrast in the photo is shit, but squint for appropriate effect.


WEAR YOUR MASK, FOOOOLISH CHILD!








TSK.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

laughing at the 'wall of fire' in person

The one and only time I tried spam it pretty much blew my world apart. This was pre-vegan, still being an idiot days, hanging out in downtown Ottawa and being a general bad influence on sane people. The other liz and I bought some spam at Giant Tiger and cut a hole in the bottom of the tin with a knife, so I could make a lamp out of it later, and we sat there at the top floor of the rideau mall eating spam and mussels and playing go fish with spiderman cards. And scowling at children.

Then we went to the national art gallery, still eating the spam (did I mention yet that it tastes really good, like buttery salty ham? I think it has potato flake in it. anway.). It was kind of an honoured guest, we danced with the tin in some exhibition rooms and were strangely unimpeded by every security guard in the place. Except when liz touched some hollow truck, I think it was james angus's hollow truck. I don't like his work all that much. But yeah, spam.

There was a microphone set up, I think it was around Valentine's and you could walk up to a platform lit all nicely with golden blue lights and profess your love for whatever you wanted, and they must have been recording it for something later I think. I went up and I tried to express my love for the salty meat, but I got too emotional and started to cry. Liz grabbed me off of there, looking kinda scared, but the moment wasn't ruined or anything, and we watched some more art-house movies like this cool one about wonderwoman spinning and exploding and being generally deconstructed to a nice disco beat, and then we went home to drink.

Monday, January 28, 2008

double vision, paralysis. no naked dreams, though.

"the boat? it's not a boat, it's the room. it's not a fish open your eyes but what's outside? it's water and it's black and there's a reflection rippling in the boat that's actually your bedroom. wake up. film over eyes, fishies biting rocket launcher is only a lamp. wake up. I can't I'm stuck the music is drowning me"

I've been finding lately a fun game in trying to adequately rope together (in words) the strangeness of a lingering dream, right after waking up. It's really does feel like I'm in some sort of poet's rodeo (not that I'm a poet, maybe I'm the clown?). This isn't the most nightmary of the nightmares, or the best-written thing ever, but it's the one you get to see, k?

Note the BMO (I believe) making a happily congruent appearance, happy considering I grabbed the nearest pen and paper I had around and it, uh... worked.

many hands, more white paint (maybe bird shit?)

Throwaway sketch, notions of erasure... the german professor seems to understand.