exhausted

gradshow

the gradshow is over, it was fun

installation week

sounds more glamourous than it is, am basically hanging around this place waiting and waiting and wwwaaaaiiiting some more

waking up in the middle of the night

somehow she cannot sleep- it is smack deep in the middle of the night, 2:35, she thinks about her piece that will be in the gradshow- a substandard piece somewhere on the 4th floor of the art school, one of 300, not one of the better ones though, 3-4 books on a chair, nothing moviong, no sound, just an inanimate object, it is not what she usually does, she always shows animations, so, basically makes a show, totally performance art, here, though she will put something there and leave, it will just stand there in the studiospace and start a life of its own without her mediating it or gaging the viewers' response- oh well, that is how it is

paintingstudio

so she is sitting in the painting studio, while this siren is deafening her, wait, it stopped, it is ten oh nine in the morning, monday, april fourish, all her lockerstuff is lying behind her on the black and white checkered sofa, her lock is in her purse, she can put her stuff in her car, that's it for her in this art school, @ least for this semester, she dropped her classes, no homework is due, which kind of pisses her off, no final essays, no final presentations, no exams, it is utterly weird and surreal, she could put her stuff in the grad show or she can do it next year, she only needs one more course to graduate, somehow she does not really understand the rules and regulations of this place and the funny thing is that no one seems to understand them, every time she asks she gets totally conflicting info, basically 180 degrees apart, which kind of lets her to the conclusion that she should just do her own thing, her work resides in cyberspace anyways, somewhere in the clouds, how so very artistic, i am too dumb to produce something tangible, but, hey. it resides in outer space, in my mind- maybe that can pass for being creative, if nothing else works- and @ this time nothing else seems to work- she watches the crowd walking by outside of the painting studio and tries to wrap this up-should look @ the show in the brow

hmm

so, i have neglected this blog 4 the whole month, kind of having probs with student services, who are so very happy with their ability 2 create as much red tape in as many ways they can possibly come up with- yeah- why be helpful, when we can be the epitome of bureaucratic ( insert any number of explicits here)- anyhoo, smushing my way ever so slowly towards graduation and it will be only the textcomponent, not the animationcomponent, which means only one half of the exibit will go on stage, i should call it "half the gradproject", anyhow, i am hungry now, lunchtime

posting

have neglected this blog 4 some time, just checkin' in

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animator living in the painting place

yep, that is what i am, animator in paintingstudio, funni jux t a po sition

some pretty gloomy day

some pretty gloomy day in the art school, it is 9:53 in the morning, sitting here on the 4th. floor near a portrait exhibition in the brow, am typing away, well, @ least i wrote 2 pages already 4 the senior studio class, gives me the impression that i achieved something, anything, but then again there is so much more i should be doing, films are waiting to be made, i have 2 listen to a lecture, i have to be @ the VAG @ one, aaaaarrrrrgggghhhh. whoever said, art is fun, it is just one constant tour de force, i am getting an ulcer here

blogging in five places @ once

so it is becoming kind of difficult 2 jump from blog 2 blog, but am doing it anyways

ideas 4 graduation READ

so the pic of mat kanum is tentaavely called "moi'. it could be in the art auction and submitted 2 the grad calendar, i have it as jpg on my emailaccount under "mat kanum"- ANOTHER thing: thinking of this place as one big studio which kind of makes producing work tuf after graduation, should expand that thought as using the whole city as studio, thus incoprporating mobility and flux, just automatically.

displayform

this is how all these images can be displayed, either freestanding, assembled on the wall like a "dressing" or suspended in mid air, the images can be bound in conventional book form or blown up to postersize, wallsize, they can be reversed (negative, positive) they can be enhanced by color and finally they can be used as frames in a film, thus put into sequential mode.

images, images

musings on blogging

at the beginning of the sentence, the first word is not, NOT automatically capitalized. a blog has the last page @ the top, so very different from a book. all this is slowly creeping into her conscience, there is a paper in there somewhere. Coherence, coherence, paintsplashed people walk by. she feels like crying the more the painters are laughing. if nothing else works, shoot 4 melodrama, goes with the weather.

wednesday

it is wednesday, 12:50 PM, sometime late january, somewhere on granville island. the somewhere is actually the painting studio on the fourth floor of the south building. there is noise, there is sound, there is boredom, nothing worth to describe. on my right, on my left there is an exhibition, but i prefer to look @ the keyboard, which is ever so slightly filthy, with sprinkles of paint, there is the potential of a great text, a great stab @ painting, there is the wish, the want, the yearning 4 great art. everywhere here. She is more interested in the aesthetic value of this keyboard, of the coke bottle near the monitor, the city of glass poster outside of the glass door (glass/glass-how so very funny). the person walking by, the click-clack of the overhead, the voice of a saw screeching, someone walking. It is slightly silent, slightly loud, something clicks, some more sawing. maybe in the wood workshop, those canvas thingies are assembled. They have a name but who really cares. she is hogging this computer while looking @ the security phone. No one complains, though, the screech of the saw makes her nervous, screeches up and screeches down. She writes shitty poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

the blog away from the art school

am trying 2 post something, anything, slightly on the artrelated side, am sitting here in ubc waiting 2 attend a lecture, did not like the morris and belkin exhibition, should have been more dramatic, was a tad 2 conventional, actually a lot 2 conventional

sitting in the library

sitting here in the library trying 2 come up with A CONCEPT 4 THE PROPOSAL 4 SENIOR STUDIO- DUE FRIDAY @ 12:30. hmm, what will i do, what will ido?

the blog in the art school, huh?

sitting here in the brow typing away, some time in winter of 2009, skeddadeling ever so slowly towards graduation. THIs is what we do, insignificant stuff demarking our INSIGNIFICANT moments on this planet. well, that is one way to put it. people talk, somewhere behind me, someone laughs. there is nothing to laugh in the life of a painter. then again. i am no painter. am just living here in the painting studio. with the furniture, the checkered couch. the paintings of the mechanical abstraction. oh yeah/ my writing suks 2day, who knows why. can happen to the best.

am filling up the blog with useless shit

ditto- using profanity instead of insights- seems to be more conducive to coherence. this is how we roll.

debating

beginning of a schoolyear, am debating which classes to take, which classes to drop, adding, dropping, maybe apply 2 gradschool. that kind of thing.

writing

so it is 8:56 in the morning on january 5th.,2009. sitting on the fourth floor, in the painting studio. on granville island, somewhere in vancouver. am typing away. it is toasty in here, quiet, slightly desolate. outside it is so very snowy. but in here is the palpatable expectation for great ideas that will transcend art and science, that will bring us world peace. that kind of thing. potential that stalls, that waits. thoughts that glimpse around. there are voices in the back, the sound of a classroom, classrooms. writing seems an obsolete artform in an artschool, where visuals rule, should rule. where thoughts are so very benign. where blogs are created. she puts together sentences that seem to go nowhere, pushes words into the confines of syntaxes. outside she can see a splattered-on canvas, a paint-washed board. a paintsplashed table. the paintingstudio, the painting studio. where she uses the mac computer extensively. it is the only one in the whole school that has sound. where one can listen to all the sounds that one puts on animations, the ultimate sound studio up here in the painting place. where behind her people splash paint on canvas, smush pigments into coarse fabric. this is where words form. inevitably. unescapably. where literature is born. and great literature that is. on a blog. on this particular blog. words catapulting through cyberspace. up until may, smushing themselves towards graduation. the blog will be her grad piece. where words are so very profound. so very much.