ugh i hope that idiocy didn't show up on anyones blog reader, shit

Strings (and things)

This is the start of something I want to work on. Its going to get bigger than this, its going to be more complicated than this, but this is the beginning of it. Part of this is about how we connect what we see everyday to our own existance. Its also a little bit about fragility (my own? nawww). Also, its about whatever it makes you think about. What does it make you think about?



I have a question for you, my readers (all five of you!): Do you ever feel that the closer you are to someone, the harder is it to talk about certain things? For example, I've never been able to talk about my art with anyone I was in a romantic relationship with. Its much, much easier for me to talk about my work to people I am not close with. My boyfriend is a really talented musician, and I think he is the same way. He'll play something for me and we'll nod and not say anything else. If I try to give an observation or compliment, it feels insubstantial. He has told me he feels the same way about my photos. He doesn't hate my work, he just isn't sure how to talk to me about it. Mostly, this is a relief. I feel don't have to explain all these tricky things to him, I can just work in peace. This doesn't just apply to my boyfriend either, I am the same with my best friend. I feel like I fumble around with explanations of things that are usually a more muddled, emotional side of me. Maybe this addresses my own desire to keep my demeanor as controlled as possible. Maybe that's why I make art in the first place; I'm incapable of articulating the more complicated aspects of myself and art is my way to let those things out. Maybe that's cheesy as hell. But, as I told Aurora (whose work is awesome, by the way) the other night, "If I was good at saying this stuff, I would be a writer instead of a photographer."

In other things, this past Saturday I went out with Adam and Aurora to a bar in Visalia to see some of Aurora's paintings and to see some bands, and I was impressed by how cool downtown Visalia is. I also felt a little cheated. How come no one had ever told me how cool it was? How come I had to move to San Jose before I could know how fun Visalia could be? Fresno, take a tip from Visalia: you don't need Sammy Hagar to be cool, you need some local, independently owned restraunts, bars, and shops that are open past 9 o'clock (I'm looking at you, downtown).

Well dang I have hell of gone off on a few things.

Ok, I'm going to try this again.

Alright, I'm going to try some more of the blogging stuff. I'm going to branch out a little bit more I think, talk about more things.

Sometimes I feel like I have really inappropriate emotional reactions to things. Strange things (images, parts of stories, news) will make be inordinately sad. For example, I was looking through the blog Sexy People and I found this picture (which has been reposted in a couple other places too):


Alright, so I am aware that the concept of that blog is funny. A lot of the other pictures on that site were making me laugh. But for some reason this picture was different. These guys (who look like brothers to me) looked so earnestly happy and proud that I because really sad thinking that someone was laughing at them. These look like nice guys and I am honest to god tearing up right now thinking about how mean it is that they are probably being made fun of without them knowing it, when all they wanted to do was to take a picture together to give to their mom or something.

Before you go off on me and tell me how sensitive and weird I am, let me point out to you that I am aware of how stupid and really strange my behavior is. I'm not going to rally against this blog, like I said, I thought all of it was funny except, for some strange reason, this picture. I am trying to understand why I behave this way seemingly out of the blue. (Don't even try to blame it on hormones either, its not the time for that)

Here's another example: In the book The Grapes of Wrath, the chapter where Steinbeck describes the two gas stations had me bawling. The yellow paint? I couldn't handle myself. Not any of the other sad parts in the book upset me nearly as much as that part. And I'm not a book-crier either, so I don't know what is going on in my head.

I guess I should study my reaction to things more. Why do I feel the way I feel? What triggers emotional response, anyway?

Edit: when I looked at the blog again, I saw a few others that made me a little sad too. But maybe I'm just in the mood now. These look like nice people. I mostly get my kicks out of laughing at jerks, not nice people. Still, this one is pretty good. And in general, Olan Mills-type portraiture cracks me up. This stuff is funny. And yet, I fear I'm turning into one of those ladies that complains about people's feelings getting hurt. Save me from that, please.

Things These Days

Lately I've been taking quite a few pictures of leaves. Basically, it is the only thing I have been shooting.

Well, I've been trying to shoot other things, but the only things that I end up liking are these leaves. I feel like this is a subject matter that could quickly turn boring to the viewer, but to me it is an endless source of fascination. When I take these up-close images it is like I'm exploring this new landscape no one has seen before. I know that's not really true, but hell, I've never seen this kind of thing before.

I always try to figure out why I'm drawn to certain things. For a while it was making images transparent (I'm still into that), and then there were all the bugs, and now these leaves. I guess it all started when I went through a time when I would photograph nothing but trees. I get suck in these modes, but I've made good work from all of them so I guess it isn't a bad thing at all.

I shouldn't have left you without a dope beat to step to

I haven't written in a while, obviously. I'd almost given up on this while blog thing, I didn't feel like I was making a very good contribution. To be honest, I was getting frustrated by art making, and scared, too. There were some things I didn't want to think about, so I just stopped thinking about art for a while, but then I just became miserable.

Sometimes I get really worried-- How will I survive doing what I do? How will having a degree in art help me out at all? Will I be able to stay happy this way?

And there are more questions: Am I good enough? How do I get people to pay attention to my work? I want to be in shows but I have no idea how to get my work there, and in this business that so centers on who you know, I know no one.

These are all things I can never really get myself to come out and say to other people. I guess it is mostly from pride, I don't want to admit to anyone that at times I am terrified that I will fail. I want to do well, and I love creating and the discovery that is within that, but lately I'm been very concerned about my potential for success.

This sounds so whiny, but I feel like everyone is doing better than me at this. What does it take? How do I do this?

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In other, non-whiny news, a customer at the camera store I work at gave me her broken camera, and it takes pictures like this:



That's because the light sensor inside the camera is broken, but I kind of like what it does. I secretly call it my magical realism camera, although it really is nothing like that. I mostly want to make Achewood references on the internet. I was thinking that a series of self-portraits might be fun with this.

Also, because the economy kind of sucks, people have been buying fewer cameras, so we end up doing things like this:



That is because we are productive, intelligent young people. The promise of tomorrow is in us! (Those are film canisters and that is Justin, btw)

Pitfire! (with lots of pictures)

So, the culminating event for my wheel-throwing class this semester was to do a huge pitfire in the middle of the Santa Cruz Mountains. For some reason I was possessed to shoot it all with my fisheye lens. The way it works is this:

1) Dig a really big hole:


2) Fill the hole with sawdust, salt, and pots:



3) Cover the pots with wood:

4) LIGHT IT ON FIRE

5) A few hours, a few beers, and several rounds of free-form scrabble later, this is what is left:(none of these are mine, sadly)

6) My pots!

(they look better in person, I swear)

I'll take some regular non-fisheye pictures of these later, these pots are really cool looking. This technique is a traditional Native American method of firing vessels, and you can't control the pattern the fire puts on the pots, which I love.

another list

spiders
fingernails (broken, ragged)
waiting
long necklaces
laughing
by your self
fridays
nighttime
friends (lack of)

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Something will come of this, I think. Eventually.