I created my first commissioned artwork tonight. Granted, it was a drawing on a onesie and I was paid with a Sam Adams, but still. Holla.
It feels good.
2.24.2011
2.04.2011
Product Idea
They should make alarm clocks that look like cake. Or brownies, cookies, piles of gummy bears, ice cream sundaes, whatever. Assuming no one likes having to wake up to an alarm, people will start associating their favorite treat with the unpleasant noise and experience of waking up and hitting snooze or disabling the alarm.
I think this could catch on with dieters, whether or not it actually works.
Bring on the money for me! In the unlikely event this idea gets marketed, I hereby claim all rights and proprietorshipity to this idea. Verily and forsooth.
2.02.2011
time travelling wedding crasher orgies
Yesterday, my grood friend sent me this link. We both enjoy the comics of Toothpaste for Dinner, and this one was pertinent since I have always had bizarrely intricate dreams that I sometimes enjoy sharing with friends. She did say that she doesn't necessarily agree with the comic in regards to me, but it was topical for us nonetheless.
Apparently my subconscious was feeling defiant after reading that TFD comic yesterday and tried to one-up itself.
I dreamed that I was a sixteen year-old Latina who was wedding crashing in order to find my time machine somewhere in the giant cathedral. I carried two bouquets of white roses, ostensibly to blend in, but they were some kind of magical power source for the time machine. You know how Latino weddings are -- anyone in a dress and carrying flowers blends in. I explored the upper stories of the building, finding bed-and-breakfast-style bedrooms and sitting areas, and then decided to have an orgy with four old men. Yeah. Gross. It was even gross in the dream. I started with one and then told him to send two in the next time. Of course, the second two weren't old anymore and were now semi-attractive, but still creepy that they were willing to do this. I didn't even get to try though, because my dream-mother and aunt came in, but they were only in their early 20s, since the time machine worked for them and I technically hadn't been born yet. My mother concluded that it was rape and sent my aunt, who was some kind of social worker or social justice advocate, away to get the papers to press charges. I was too ashamed (and bewildered) by my willingness to participate in the elderly orgy to admit the truth, and I knew I was going to ruin the lives of these men. I felt horribly confused and guilty, then woke up.
Of course, the fourth man that wasn't even naked in the room at the time was the one who looked like Ted Danson, who I would have most enjoyed orgying with.
Apparently my subconscious was feeling defiant after reading that TFD comic yesterday and tried to one-up itself.
I dreamed that I was a sixteen year-old Latina who was wedding crashing in order to find my time machine somewhere in the giant cathedral. I carried two bouquets of white roses, ostensibly to blend in, but they were some kind of magical power source for the time machine. You know how Latino weddings are -- anyone in a dress and carrying flowers blends in. I explored the upper stories of the building, finding bed-and-breakfast-style bedrooms and sitting areas, and then decided to have an orgy with four old men. Yeah. Gross. It was even gross in the dream. I started with one and then told him to send two in the next time. Of course, the second two weren't old anymore and were now semi-attractive, but still creepy that they were willing to do this. I didn't even get to try though, because my dream-mother and aunt came in, but they were only in their early 20s, since the time machine worked for them and I technically hadn't been born yet. My mother concluded that it was rape and sent my aunt, who was some kind of social worker or social justice advocate, away to get the papers to press charges. I was too ashamed (and bewildered) by my willingness to participate in the elderly orgy to admit the truth, and I knew I was going to ruin the lives of these men. I felt horribly confused and guilty, then woke up.
Of course, the fourth man that wasn't even naked in the room at the time was the one who looked like Ted Danson, who I would have most enjoyed orgying with.
1.24.2011
There is something peacefully satisfying about looking words up in a real print-and-paper dictionary. Hardcover is even better. A part of me always feels slightly vindicated when finding a specific word within what is, essentially, one huge list of words. Even when I don't find the word I want, I find joy in the distractions along the way. Discovering which words the publisher has decided to illustrate has also never ceased to intrigue me.
I have a dictionary at work that I found in a pile of used supplies. For a short time it was kept in one of the overhead cabinets in my cubicle, but I've learned to simply never put it away.
1.21.2011
judged at the museum
Yesterday, a friend and I went to a local art museum for their Thursday night event. It was opening night for a photography exhibit, local quartet Jelloslave was lending their funky, jazzy music to the air, and the museum offered prize drawings, a cash bar, and other free activities. Not to mention the fabulous people-watching.
Running with the photography theme, one activity was creating cyanotypes. These involve laying two- or three-dimensional objects on treated paper and exposing the paper to light. The finished product is a blue and white image.
I'm usually excited for free activities, and my friend and I set to arranging objects on transparencies before heading into the darkroom. However, when we got to the doorway of the adjoining room and saw the line of people waiting to process their creations, I lost interest pretty quickly. We hovered in the doorway while I weighed a take-home-art experience against the wait in line in order to create said art. While I debated, two men approached and asked if we were the end of the line, to which my friend replied, "No, she's deciding whether she wants to wait in line." One man looked at me and said, "Really?" He sounded surprised or taken-aback. I felt judged by his reaction. Making eye contact, I responded, "Yes. I just don't know if it's worth it." Then I stepped aside to lay my collection of items on the nearest table and said, "I don't care enough, to be honest."
He did not seem to know what to say or how to react. Fine. Good.
As my friend and I walked around a gallery later, I remarked that I wondered if the man thought I was not appreciative of art, or not open to new experiences, or just impatient. We agreed it would have been interesting to see his reaction had we told him that my bachelor's degree is in Studio Art. While I don't like being labeled or judged any more than most people, I do like being honest and speaking my mind, which is what I did. The finished prints that I had seen were fuzzy-edged, the objects were picked-over so I did not feel very attached to what I had arranged, and standing for five to fifteen minutes in a crowded, too-warm room did not appeal to me.
I felt more creatively stimulated exploring the photography exhibit, which we hadn't even made it to yet. Facing The Lens: Portraits of Photographers proved to be an immensely better use of my time at the museum and with a dear friend.
Running with the photography theme, one activity was creating cyanotypes. These involve laying two- or three-dimensional objects on treated paper and exposing the paper to light. The finished product is a blue and white image.
I'm usually excited for free activities, and my friend and I set to arranging objects on transparencies before heading into the darkroom. However, when we got to the doorway of the adjoining room and saw the line of people waiting to process their creations, I lost interest pretty quickly. We hovered in the doorway while I weighed a take-home-art experience against the wait in line in order to create said art. While I debated, two men approached and asked if we were the end of the line, to which my friend replied, "No, she's deciding whether she wants to wait in line." One man looked at me and said, "Really?" He sounded surprised or taken-aback. I felt judged by his reaction. Making eye contact, I responded, "Yes. I just don't know if it's worth it." Then I stepped aside to lay my collection of items on the nearest table and said, "I don't care enough, to be honest."
He did not seem to know what to say or how to react. Fine. Good.
As my friend and I walked around a gallery later, I remarked that I wondered if the man thought I was not appreciative of art, or not open to new experiences, or just impatient. We agreed it would have been interesting to see his reaction had we told him that my bachelor's degree is in Studio Art. While I don't like being labeled or judged any more than most people, I do like being honest and speaking my mind, which is what I did. The finished prints that I had seen were fuzzy-edged, the objects were picked-over so I did not feel very attached to what I had arranged, and standing for five to fifteen minutes in a crowded, too-warm room did not appeal to me.
I felt more creatively stimulated exploring the photography exhibit, which we hadn't even made it to yet. Facing The Lens: Portraits of Photographers proved to be an immensely better use of my time at the museum and with a dear friend.
12.22.2010
jumbly thought webs
Know what's unpredictable and awesome? Those moments right before drifting off to sleep where my brain is still somewhat lucid but is starting to lose contact with reality.
The other night, my eyelids were closing as I began to drift away from my crossword puzzle into dreamland. Suddenly one thought stood out from the jumbly web of randomness my subconscious was busy creating:
"What if I am one day the sole hope for the continuation of the human race and its procreation?"
Insert a microsecond of internal anxiety.
Next thought: "The Duggars exist, so that will never happen."
Insert relaxation and sleep.
7.24.2010
highlights
- Making an art museum security guard laugh
- Being complimented on my toenail polish
- Spending Edward Hopper's and my birthday with his most famous and most parodied work, Nighthawks
- Seeing A Sunday on La Grande Jatte
- Being moved to tears in multiple museums by beauty and wonder
- Amazing Fajitas Combinadas con Res y Pollo at Nuevo Léon
- New original art for my walls, made by up-and-comers
- Sharing laughs with strangers
- Free sweet soul music in a park
- Running through a summer rainstorm in a sundress
- Smiles from strangers
- Reconnections with old friends
- Long walks in new places
- New perspectives
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