Smudgie Smudgie

On-going thing:

Now everything I own is covered in graphite. Here’s a tip for anyone planning on drawing something that requires a lot of shading: start from the left side if you’re right handed. I’m pretty sure I’m going to smudge the whole face off by the time I’m done with the hair. This is in two sittings and a total of maybe 4 hours. I rarely, if ever, spend a lot of time doing a really finished drawing. I normally don’t have the patience for it, but it’s nice to know I can.

This self portait is supposed to be for a General Studio drawing class that I’m taking just for kicks. It’s mostly made up of people who don’t have much, if any, drawing experience, so the pace of the class is slower that I’d like. I’m really just using it as an excuse to make myself draw more, and to have regular access to live models.

The state of the drawing at this point makes me think that I should just shave off one eyebrow and walk around the West Village like a crazy person. It’s really not like I would stand out in the least.

Keepin’ On

A few things:

1. Excerpts of Awesomeness continue

Hooray! And, one suspects that the Dean’s Scholarship follows soon after to better soothe that sting of New School tuition. Oh the cost of low faculty/student ratio, how deep you burn.

2. Speaking of things that burn, filmmaking

I like movies. I like the people I’m working with. I like things like script writing, cinematography, and editing per se, but if I don’t get a weekend off from this never ending project, I’m going to have a mental collapse and become a fashion design major.

That being said, our film project is ridiculously nonsensical and silly, and I love it a little.

3. Life’s hard when you have a hand up your ass

Once upon a time, Parsons hired a guy with a background in animation, producing, and stop-motion to teach an animation class. He thought he’d get to do stop-motion with the kiddies. I thought he would get to do stop-motion with us kiddies. Turns out Parsons doesn’t want him to do stop-motion with the kiddies for this particular class. So here we are, learning theory, watching funny clips of Sesame Street and other muppets, and designing characters, but not being able to execute any of it. Alas.

4. Story of my life

5. In conclusion

19 units? I scoff at 19 units! I will take your 19 units and-ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Baby’s On Fire

This semester is a turning out to be a a Jekyll/Hyde monstrosity of technology-heavy film-based work warring with traditional technical sessions of drawing and painting. I’m just happy that there’s barely any typography. It’s too early to really say much about the individual classes.  I am, however, steeped in nostalgia this week because of all the talk about narrative, film, and Citizen Kane. I  love Citizen Kane, not because of Citizen Kane, but because of Velvet Goldmine.

Velvet Goldmine, if you’ve never seen it or heard of it, is a glorious fanfiction fantasy from director Todd Haynes, who in short had the chutzpah to make a movie about David Bowie having a sexual affair with Iggy Pop set to the plot of Citizen Kane, drizzled thickly with Oscar Wilde references and topped with huge dollops of man candy in eyeliner and tight pants.

Looking back, it’s difficult to downplay the affect this movie had on me. I can’t count the number of books I’ve read, albums I’ve listened to, and movies I’ve seen that all somehow connect back to that initial mind-opening creative burst.  It drove me to discover entire planes of reality I didn’t know existed. There was something about its fantasy world where Victorian witticisms slipped as easily from everyone’s lips as their pants did down to their ankles that seized me. It was glamorous and raw all at once — inspirational, aspirational, and somehow comforting.

As a bored teenagers in the conservative suburbs, suffice to say my mind was blown. Kids these days have Lady Gaga. I had Velvet Goldmine. It’s recently been released on Blu-Ray, if you’re interested. Also, fair warning, you’re gonna see a few tits and dicks, so don’t say I never did anything for ya.

I would be the coolest kid in art school

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EVERLASTING GLORY

1 Down, 7 to Go

There are a million ways to go about my summary reflection of my first semester at Parsons. First, I’m going with the second installment of Excerpts of Awesomeness:

booyah

protips

What I’ve learned this semester about surviving design school:

 

 

Your first try is not your last try.

Drawing sucks? Do it again. Project going in the wrong direction? Recalculate. You are not a failure for making mistakes, but you are for not learning from them.

Other people may not know better, but they still know.

Taking suggestions, critique, and criticism is part of the game.  Just because you love a piece doesn’t mean it’s perfect. The opinions of your peers will also be the opinions of your clients. Learn to work with them.

Grow a thick skin and a level head.

Artists are nuts. College kids are nuts. People are nuts. Keep calm and carry on.

You’re in design school, not art school.

You’re here because you want a job, right? Well then your teachers are your clients and it’s your job to make them happy.

There is no academic credit for bitchassness.

You don’t get anything out of whining, making excuses, or blaming the world for your problems. Suck it up, man up, and show up.

Count your blessings. 

This is an amazing opportunity. Seize it.

Finals 2011

 

True dat, animation project, true dat.

Story of my life

This is the Story of Your Red Right Ankle

(Or, in which Sharon uses art school as an excuse to make fanart.)

One of my final projects is to make a book, or rather, the contents of a book. I’ve decided to go with the lyrics of “Red Right Ankle” by The Decemberists which is a lovely song that that Collin Meloy allegedly wrote about his then-girlfriend/now-wife/artist/illustrator/hand-draw-type-person Carson Ellis. It has some great imagery, and Collin & Co. always put music and lyrics together in a way that I like. In fact, I went through several of their songs before deciding on this one, because most of them have interesting, dense narratives that would make great books, but I certainly don’t have the time to make a book that would do the likes of “The Mariner’s Revenge Song” any justice.

Anyhoo, I’m reading some metaphysical and imagist poetry to get in the mood, and doing some mental sketching (which for me is almost always more exciting than actual sketching). I’m also dusting off an old, aimless ink+watercolor illustration I did circa summer 2009, which is not great by any measure, but I like the way the hair turned out.

 

So it’s going to be a series of exaggerated, Romantic, Art Nouveau-type painted illustrations of a woman with tons of awesome hair and her lover. Because I have time for this. And because sleep is for pussies.

Lapses

I’m developing a bad habit of making silly photoshops. Sure, they’re for class, but art school’s supposed to be serious bizness.

 

Class registration! I got all the classes I wanted, minus art history, but a bunch of the art history classes listed aren’t even available to sign up for so I’ll fiddle with my schedule a bit when the semester starts. Oh New School, you cock tease, you.

Four more weeks in this semester! Holy crap I have so much to do. It feels like even when I’m doing exactly what I know I should be doing, that I’m still behind. BAH HUMBUG.

I even had a momentary mental collapse when I thought it would be a good idea to sign up for a class offered through the fashion design department. It seemed briefly perfect and perfectly hilarious to taking a freaking knitting class at my fancy schmancy design school and come out the other end with a snooty, pretentious view of knitting. Good thing the class’s time and location made signing up for it nigh-impossible, otherwise I might have started down the path to the dark side.

One of these days, I’m going to write extensively about my  love/hate-mostly-hate relationship with the fashion industry, but seeing as how I’ve blocked off an avenue of inspiration for the time being, that will just have to wait for some dim and distant day when I’ve had enough sleep. And cake. Please send cake.