Art in Academia

I know I've made this complaint before, but I can't find it on my blog. Then again, this entire journal is riddled with reoccurring themes, complaints, issues, and dirty laundry that refuses to stay clean.

I'm at the point in my art where I should be thinking critically about what I'm producing. I should be looking up things and forming a paper that will defend my creations as art more so than a mere hobby with good skills. It's a nice opportunity for me to "nerd out" and put all that useless trivia that has been piling up to good use.

But I have too many other things that need to get done at the same time. And I'm too tired to think properly.

Right now should also be my Fall Break, which amounts to only one day by my schedule. The way the break is set up is that it starts on Thursday and goes through the weekend. Because I have no classes on Friday, this ultimately means I only have one day off. And even then, I technically don't have a break.

It seems ironic if not bitter sweet that I'm typing this while on a break from working in wax a piece that will be casted in bronze. As exciting as that is, the entire assignment to me now lost its luster. (No pun intended, for those of you that caught that.) Bouncing ideas off people, the teacher, and thinking over the design of the objects has turned the piece into something I feel no emotional connection with. Why? It's all for the sake of academics.

Call me ignorant, but art in the world of academia seems like it should be kept strictly to movements, understanding theories, notable artists, and the like. When actually producing it, academia should be an observer and nothing more. Then, when the piece is completed or even when it reaches a point where all it needs is some TLC and polish, academia can come in and say "Okay, this is what the piece is about and here is what it is referencing." That's how I'm going about with the class I mentioned at the beginning of this entry.

Instead, I'm in a very strange place where left is down and up is out and inside is the fourth dimension times the quantity of the astronomical unit between here and the Horse Head Nebula. Combine this with the continuing exhaustion, unrealistic deadlines that have to be met or face failure, and an ever growing need to just strangle the world for disagreeing with me, one has to wonder why I haven't killed myself yet.

If I'm allowed to inflate my own ego, the only noble part of this whole mess is the fact that my mind is willing to go on despite the body clearly indicating that I need to relax, cut down on the caffeine, and catch up on my sleep. Maybe over Christmas... in between my shifts at the theatre, that is.