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.