Chloe (of the fields)

I decided to create a little world in a cigar box. You see, I have a thing about cigar boxes- I like them. I like the smell, the shape, and the idea that they are discarded shells of something valued. Like a crab- the shell of a nice Cuban (or non) crab.

Okay so aside from my love of cigar boxes, I wanted to attempt to merge my creativity towards a more three-dimension direction. I am taking a sculpture class next year and am nervous and excited because I will be hopping straight out of my comfort zone- which shall be freeing in a way. But being the person that I am, am testing the waters. First with this endeavor, and second with my clay narwhal what I made last night. I also have a thing for narwhals.

This box is a nice compromise between dimensions, as I got to watercolor on my beautiful Arches block of deliciousness, and cut it out, then enter the other realm. I think it worked out pretty well. Well, once Mr. Elmer and I worked out our differences, which I did rather patiently I think, it worked out.

My mom saw me assembling it all and smiled, whimsically stating in a pseudo-british accent something about Chloe of the fields. I can see how the antlers would inspire whimsy- and it made me smile. I am my mother's daughter- and gladly so.

I have seen a recent trend of horns in different works that I have encountered, and while not intentionally, directly that is, emulating them, it is a fantastical bandwagon I am happy to take a short ride on through the cabbage patch.

The woods are a tribute to Michigan. I was born and raised, and while I have essentially separated myself from the place, moving to New York for school and otherwise, I found myself missing one thing (besides the people- one thing about Michigan the place)-- I missed the woods. They are beautiful and rugged. I love the way the sunlight filters through the trees and the crackling of twigs as a deer approaches, so innocent like the girl I drew, but with knowing eyes. They are magnificent creatures- the trees are magnificent, and the smell of the leaves and flowers and fresh lakes make me realize that this place is not only not bad- it is an aesthetic wonderland-- a nice place to return to from time to time.

So at the beginning of the summer, fresh from my first year at college and missing my roommates dearly, I concocted an idea, a plan you might say, to paint a chair for each of us. Including me, there are five young lasses total.

Originally, each was going to have their own chair, modeled after their favorite artist, but upon further thought, I began to fear a lack of cohesiveness. Secondly, I concluded that it would be silly for us to each have a one crazy chair upon moving out that would not go along at all with our respective dining room sets (because I doubt we will live together forever. In all likelihood- we will marry off, move away to grad school or jobs, or decide to become cat ladies and dog ladies and will be forced to part ways in our maid-hood). So you see, I decided to pick artists that would be fun to emulate, and went from there.

My dear friend, Salvation Army, provided the chairs ($24 total for all five!). I began in early June on Keith, and today, in mid-August, I finally completed Georgia.

Paul Klee

Georgia O'Keefe

Vincent Van Gogh

(A painting of a chair on a chair... get it? I thought it would be ironic.)

Keith Haring

*Being the intelligent person that I'm certain you are, you may have done the math and said to yourself, there are four chairs pictured here. Where is the fifth? My mom graciously painted a beautiful chair modeled after Klimt's swirly tree. As it is not my artwork and this blog is my artwork, I decided to leave it out. Sorry Gustav! Also, I want at least one chair to be a surprise to my roomies!

Tree of Life and Trunk of Light

This piece was inspired (though it doesn't resemble at all) Unica Zurn. My drawing professor named her cat Unica, which I found to be a rather fascinating name, so I looked up her artwork. It is a beautiful surreal conglomeration of line-drawings and doodle-style chimera, figures, and swirls, with the occasional eye hidden Waldo-style. Her pieces are beautiful as well as a functional window into her mind (which she seemingly lost at one point). To me, these pieces seem like the Bell Jar of art. Well- if not the Bell Jar, then at least one of them.

I began with the tree of life, winding, intertwining like the lives of the living. From there, I thought that it would be nice to have it composed of human limbs as, well, tree limbs, so the leaves are actually hands, the trunk has the occasional elbow, and resting upon God's head are, appropriately, feet. From there my choices become more random. More than drawing with an aim, I drew for pleasure. It felt like stream-of-consciousness drawing, soothing to not censor myself or judge, just draw. I was going to have the telephone poles (I currently have a fascination with telephone poles) coming out of floating Boulders (Magritte style) but when I drew the boulders, they looked like strawberries, so I made them strawberries and called it a day.

This next piece is another that evolved organically as I worked on it, though unlike the previous piece, I did not go into it with the intention of free-draw. I knew I wanted an elephant the didn't look entirely realistic (I am also going through a bit of an elephant phase) and clouds. I have a developing things of happy things like flowers and butterflies coming out of unexpected places like blowholes of whales and trunks of elephants. 
In this case, the flowers act as the sun, the elephant as a light fixture in the sky, and the clouds as the reluctant anchor. This is a new style for me. I'm not sure if it fits, but I am trying it on for size, and quite enjoying the process!

This is a hankie that I embroidered about (if one can really embroider about something) my Professor Robert Hullot Kentor. He is a fascinating specimen of a man, and he inspires me, so I thought a hankie homage was due, for what better way so say "I care" than embroider? That's what I always say. 

The quotes around his head are things that he has said. He is riding a tortoise because he once used riding a tortoise to illustrate a point in class, explaining the objective of our final essay in that we are all riding our respective tortoises and the essay was him asking us to turn around and pause and acknowledge what we have learned throughout the year, and then continue on our way. 

The man in the heart is Kentor's beloved Adorno, author of Minima Moralia and other such philosophical writings concerning largely music and art. 

These watercolor paintings are re-illustrations of sorts for the wonderful book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. It was rather enjoyable to assert my own approach to a book that means a lot to me intrinsically, as I read it as a child and loved it, and now respect it even more as an adult. The original illustrations are beautiful and do not need re-working. This endeavor was an assignment- a rather enjoyable one at that.

Once there was a giving tree who loved a little boy.

And every day the boy would come to play

Swinging from the branches, sleeping in the shade

Laughing all the summer's hours away

And so they love.

Oh, the tree was happy.

Oh, the tree was glad.

But soon the boy grew older and one day he came and said,

"Can you give me some money, tree, to buy something I've found?"

"I have no money," said the tree, "Just apples, twigs and leaves.

But you can take my apples, boy, and sell them in the town."

And so he did.

Oh, the tree was happy, oh the tree was glad.

But soon again the boy came back and said to the tree

"I am now a man and I must have a house that is all my own."

"I can't give you a house," he said. "The forest is my house.

But you can cut my branches off and build yourself a home."

And so he did.

Oh, the tree was happy.

Oh, the tree was glad.

And time went by and the boy came back with sadness in his eyes.

"My life has turned so cold," he said. "I need sunny days."

"I have nothing but a trunk, but you can cut it down and build a boat and said away."

And so he did.

Oh, the tree was happy.

Oh, the tree was glad.

After years the boy came back, and both of them were old. 

"I really can not help you if you ask for another gift. 

I am nothing but an old stump now. I have nothing more to give."

"I do not need much now. Just a quiet place to rest."

"Well," said the tree, "an old stump is still good for that.

Come boy," he said, "sit down and rest for a while."

And so he did.

Oh, the tree was happy.

Oh, the tree was glad.

This is a story box. In it, I made 10 drawings (some of which I left out for the privacy of the subject) about the life of my dear friend. Each drawing lies on a deeper tier of the box and one must dig deeper to learn more about her. It is also true of her nature, and I wanted this to reflect not only getting to know a bit of her life story, but the process of actually getting to know her. 

"Society is a sea"

Society is a sea. It is a large mass of small parts, suspended collectively under one title; the sea, humanity. With each age, each era, each epoch, there are certain influences that, like the moon with the tide, pull society in one direction and then the other. People are confronted with an influx of propaganda, of powerful media influence, and the watered-down influence of their peers. It nudges the mass in one direction, and in the direction it must flow, whether all constituents flow willingly or not. Some go against the grain and form whirlpools, dragging others down with them. Some rise up in a wave, rise above the situation, above influence, above their peers and the mindlessness of floating on one’s back, letting the flow of the sea, of the world, carry them where it may. Of those who muster up the courage, the tenacity, to attempt to rise, many fail, a blip in time and space. Some make waves of decent size and power, impacting largely at first, with subsequent ripples decreasing in size as time passes and distance grows. The greatest magnitude of all is the tidal wave, the tsunami, which rises ferociously from the depths of the sea, cast into existence by shift in the earth’s crust, the depths of humanity. The faults slip and heave a monster from the depths, surfacing in a indomitable wall of change, of influence, of control. Such waves change not only their immediate surroundings with ripples that may be remembered like the tune of a chime or a sentence well-phrased; such waves change the world. There are people whose words, whose charisma and influence are spurned from the depths of society, the underbelly of the world, and rise up to change the world without acquiescence or apprehension, they march with a wall of followers. Few can lead and the majority follows, flowing with the masses. In war there are political leaders at the cusp of the wave, generals and admirals, soldiers and mere citizens below- all affected, but the difference lies in the height, for some make decisions, and some live as a result of the decisions of others. The leaders, the risers, can be seen in the form of authors, of go-getters, of politicians and teachers, of bosses and lawyers, managers and generals, and artists to name a few. Those who decide rather than being decided for, those who live actively rather than passively, those who think and act rather than wait and wonder-- those are the riders, the peaks of the waves, whose white frothy crowns are visible amidst a sea of blue and green.

Trenchcoat Man

As I believe I mentioned in a previous post, and will undoubtedly mention again (as it seems to be a newly recurring theme in my work), I love the idea of unexpected happy things come out of strange and somewhat dubious places. 

This is the first Stop-Motion Animation that I have created, and it is a tad rough, but I worked quite hard on it and am pleased with the result. I would certainly like to do more.

I received inspiration for this whilst listening to music, contemplating a myriad of banal ideas of things to animate. "Surely anything well-drawn or at least interestingly-rendered could make a nice stop-motion..." I mused... and then a song came on that changed it all. This idea was extracted from a portion of it, and I like the subtle reference, though for anyone who knows me and knows the artist will get it. I shall stop evading the subject and just spill it: It's a Regina Spektor Song, "Aching to Pupate"and here, ladies and gents, are some of the lyrics:

I should peddle butterflies 

There's a shortage in the city 
I'll stand on a street corner 
All mysterious and giddy 
When the passers-by pass by 
I will open up my trenchcoat 
They will see the butterflies

I would also like to give credit to the incredible composer of the music that so enhances my drawings in this short film; her name is Stephanie Chisholm. 

Arts

I decided to upload some images of some of my artwork from the last semester and a bit of what I've done this summer--mostly from last semester. I have been in an unfortunately flighty artistic mood and have few completed projects to show thus far.

This piece is my first piece of embroidery, completed in drawing class (yes- drawing class) last semester. It was one of the most enjoyable classes. We all sat in the middle of the room, some on the floor, some on chairs, essentially sewing together. Our professor sent us out to get some supplies, and we returned with bags of buttons (which I am currently using to decorate a shelf) and handkerchiefs. 

I very much enjoy the idea of happy things coming out of strange or rather unexpected places.  

A few times, I have travelled to a spectacularly beautiful place called Essipit, a Native-Canadian populated area on the St. Lawrence Seaway, just where it is beginning to widen quite significantly. We rented a condo on the rocks and each day we would spend hours walking out along the relatively treacherous cliffs to reach our special spot. It was entirely worth the journey, though admittedly the journey was half the joy of it.

We would sit near the edge of this rather large cliff that looked like a giant, jagged step to the deep water of the seaway. There, whales would surface frequently, heaving breaths that could be heard for great distances, blowing water out of their spouts and fluking their tales. 

At night, from the back porch of our condo, we could look out onto the water and in the beam of moonlight stretched out over the water, a dark mound would rise gracefully out of the water and spray water with a loud aquatic sigh, the droplets sparkling and subsequently disappearing into the night.

I hold that memory quite dear, and smile at the thought of one of those whales surfacing, heaving one of those massive breaths, and sprouting flowers from its blowhole-- a girl can dream. In fact, dreaming is the best part. I can live in reality and love the beauty of what is actually, literally, before my eyes, and then I can allow my mind to develop its own little world, in which I can also take delight.

Introduction-uction-uction

So here we go- or rather so here I go. I decided to begin blogging grâce à my dear friend (as well as room mate and partner in crime) Bekka. My last Blogging experience was when I was about thirteen, and the whole Idea was reminiscent of my AIM-ing days of young adolescence, changing my screen name with my frequent change in mood and pleading silently for attention- to no avail, for characteristic of the age, all of my peers were doing the same. None of us had time to pay attention to the other because we were so involved in our own lives that life tangled itself into a web of young-teen hormones and angst. Oh good times. 

Hopefully needless to say, I came to the conclusion that I was a tad off-base in my perception of the blogging world (blogosphere? bluniverse? blorld?) for I have found that it does, in fact, have the potential to be quite interesting. I have been silently observing a few various blogs and am utterly inspired by what people have done with them. I can only hope that my personality finds its way through the template and typed verbiage, and that it may become another forum of expression.