Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Monday, January 11, 2010

A "Polished" rant.


Hello there folks! Kicked things off with a running start today with the first critique of the shiny new semester. It was a pretty interesting one since we had a substitute who actually systematically went through everyone's pieces and picked out all the inconsistencies. And DANG there were a lot! Most were sort of practical sharp observations about the technical aspects, but the biggest issue she had with mine she had was the mixing of the "Tragedy and Poetic/romantic" elements which through me a bit of a whammy because Tragedy is made romantic all of the time, and clearly my picture is fantasy. It sounded like she wanted there to be less substance? This teacher saw two seperate stories while I saw one? Her family perished in a tornado?

The focus was meant to be on the two tornado's having their moment and the houses were supposed to be just structural, like playmobil houses. And I know theres a cow! Because its bloody funny! I don't know, when I told her that I was offended that she thought me to be making fun of the dead (after coupling her own initial indifference toward the Crash in the twin towers with my painting mind you) she said she wouldn't mind me making fun of folks dieing. DEATH IS TRAGEDY. I say Watson this logic is circular!

But I didn't really disagree with any of her points she made. People do need to be aware of how their art comes across to other people, and clearly this picture is not as clear as it should be if the above was talked about. The whole bottom part of the picture is muddy. Haha and I respect her appreciation of stylization...and looked up her art and really liked it though it wasn't what I expected at all, yet still fit her to a T. Balls Ladies and Gentlemen, this lady has balls!

Which brings me to my next point, the fact that women artists have to have bigger balls than most other men folk, or atleast feel they need to feign them when dealing with others. A friend was telling me about her storytelling teacher and that she is absolutely terrifying and is constantly going on about how hard she's had to work just because she's a lady. Maybe I'm just really thick headed or just live in a really open artistic environment but do people look at my art differently because I'm a girl? Is it really that much harder to be an artist with a vagina? Thats so wierd since art school is a pretty estrogen infested place, but how many of those women actually use their skills after, or just give up when babies arrive? Not that commercial success is artistic success, so thats a little nebulous. OH MY GOD there might be a whole secret population of matronly van goghs trolling about our population and we wouldn't even know it because they're too busy suckling their male offspring!

Cool :)


Sunday, January 3, 2010

Going down with the ship.

I like to work in twos, and show in threes.



Am in an odd mood right now, most likely because am visiting home in Washington. Have been struggling a little, no "struggling" isn't the proper world for what I'm doing. What is happening is that I am watching things and getting mighty queasy. Am sad that I no longer write interesting articles for you guys, and that the art I do show you has de-evolved into silly doodles and watercolors.

Frankly I don't even know if I am an artist anymore, lately it's as if I have nothing to say and what I do want to say is better suited for miniscule scribblings that arn't ever going to be shown to anybody. And then they might as well not even exist because thats how much of a tole they're taking on the world. Around every corner theres something to put my work to shame and the place I thought I could make for myself in the art world seems to shrink and shrink and shrink.

What role can my silly ideas and clumsy hands have in a world thats already been taken over by flashy computer graphics and billion dollar budgets? None, there is no place for Rebekka Dunlap. I'm just going to end up another interesting yet forgettable blip in the ocean of trendy faux-creative vomit.

Bekka sad. BEKKA SMASH!