A Walk With Me

This is the second time I've hung out with a co-worker outside of the work environment, and the first time I've gone hiking in a long time. We talked, we opened up, we shared skeletons we each had in our closets.

But one thing kept coming up over the course of the conversation: changing the aura one emits so that it is received better by another.

Any sociologist can tell you that there are some racial stereotypes in the world that are true. Asians must have rice with their meals, Europeans can hold their liquor very well, Africans are hung like horses. Being Asian, the concept of auras affecting others is already inherently hard wired into my genetic code. It's easier for me to understand than it is for me to articulate in comparison to someone who doesn't know anything about that kind of Eastern philosophy or world view.

Now, this is nothing new. I've been told this in one fashion or another. However, there is something about hiking in the woods in winter with someone you like and respect that makes words like these stick better. He even acknowledged that it isn't an easy or instant process, but once that change happens, you'll know it. Something nobody told me. Everyone that told me that assumed it was like a light switch. He was the first person to tell me otherwise.

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of New Year's Resolution. I believe that if you resolve to change something about yourself, you shouldn't wait for the new year to roll around to do it. You should just do it. It only feels like some kind of divine design that I had this conversation several days before the new year does roll around.

Box Office Planning Part Duex

A slow first hour gave way to two things: A chaotic five hours after that and the ability to at least tackle presentation issues with my thesis project. Admittedly, I haven't had the energy to spend on the project, as I am so exhausted from work, all I want to do is sleep. My next two days off are tomorrow and Saturday, but who knows what random events those will bring.

So, as you can see, I took another synopsis sheet home with me because it had notes involving how to display my work. As usual, if you cannot see what is in the image--and I know you can't--click on it to bring up a larger image. At this moment, I thought I would just upload the image and explain why I'm uploading it, but I have no intention to explain my chicken scratches. Those who have been keeping up with my blog and this project should be able to make sense of the madness. If they cannot, I'm confident that they are smart enough to figure it out on their own.

Morning Thoughts

My next day off is Christmas Day, which marks the half-way point of the four week break between semesters.

While I have a plan of attack for the new semester, I haven't done anything for it. What little time I have before work I spend checking mail and message boards, if not blogging while I'm eating breakfast. After work, I'm so exhausted by the never-ending stream of shoppers from the mall that I go straight to bed after taking Skippy out for his evening walk.

The only day I see in the future to work on any of my projects, personal or for the new semester, is Christmas Day. It's as good a time as any to start, but trying to get a whole stack of paper finished? I will have to channel the legendary animator Ub Iwerks if I want to get that many drawings done in a day. Without distraction if I can help it.

I don't know what the deal is, but these last few days have been a little off kilter.

Blech...

All day today I've been depressed, uncooperative, surly, and just down right mean to nearly everyone. My motivation took a dive, as I can't even look at either of my current projects without wanting to do something else. The indecisiveness of my nature reached the point of annoyance, and what little pride I had left was spent when I realized I was one of those late Christmas shoppers who opted to buy a gift card because there was nothing else I could buy for the person.

And this is the only outlet I have for said frustration. Sad how I can't channel it into something more productive.

Time

Yesterday, I was introduced to a customer of my dad's that, by all accounts, is a fan of my college. Didn't find out if she was a former student or something, but she obviously enjoys talking about art on a level the average business worker doesn't have knowledge of.

The usual questions were exchanged like what is my major and my area of concentration at this point and how soon I'll be expecting to graduate. There were even some challenging questions like what kind of concept am I going for and where does it fit in the contemporary art scene, to which I answered to the best of my social ability.

The most interesting question? She wanted to know if my views on contemporary art and who I believe is the average person going to the gallery will hinder any kind of progress in my work after I graduate. I thought about it for a moment.

When a few seconds cleared, I went with my first answer.

The contemporary views of art will always change. Their view and my idea of who is actually going to these galleries and looking at these works will not stop me from creating anything I want.

What will stop me is time. Time, in a social nature, is something that one either has too much of when there is nothing to do or too little of when there is too much to do. Finding time or making time to get projects done has always been a problem for me, more so than presentation and craft. That's the one thing that will stop me from doing work more than anything.

Case and point? Last night I was only able to get three drawings done for my box. I didn't do any last week because I was so exhausted running back and forth between work and domestic responsibilities (READS: taking care of Skippy) that finding even five minutes to draw is impossible. I'm typing this blog while I'm slopping down Ramen to sooth a sore throat I caught from my dad. That's how little time I have.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like XXX-Mas

My day, technically, hasn't even started yet, and already I've been bombarded by the media's old-but-proven-to-work tactic of selling sex via a product that probably won't get you laid no matter how nice it is.

Now, personally, I have nothing against that kind of advertisement on a whole. If that is what it takes to get you to buy BOD Man Body Spray or even a shirt from A&F, then I see it as fair play when you have other companies out there advertising discounts that don't exist.

What has me bothered right now is the fact these ads are boring on softcore porn for me, what with my sexual frustration and all. It can best be described with the phrase "arrested experience in flirtation resulting in unwarranted trauma." In other words, I only have myself to blame for that.

And the stupid thing about that? I know why they are using that tactic to advertise. It is to get our attention. As a media influenced culture that is very sexually repressed to the point where talking about what you do in bed is considered inappropriate in public, it takes shirtless athletes ripped like Adonis and rail-thin beauties sitting in a very suggestive position to get our attention for a product that we otherwise don't care about. Unless you are in your so-called prime and want to get laid, because that's all that the demographic those ads are aimed for think about when they are frustrated over real life.

That said, let me close this entry with some perspective: I can't remember the last time I got laid let alone what it felt like.

Stuck Between a Box and a Digital Place

Today is the first of four days in a row I have off from work. I figure use it wisely and produce something now that I have a plan and a goal. But I kept hitting these weird blocks that would distract my efforts in one sense or another.

When I was working on my drawings, I found myself losing interest very fast and wanting to continue with my fireworks show. When I was on the computer, I found myself bored with the digital world I immerse myself in and feeling the need to actually sit down and complete that box of drawings.

The cycle would just keep repeating to the point where I had to just get up and go to sleep to see if I couldn't reset this.

I couldn't.

So here I am, blogging again because I don't know what to do with these feelings. And a new one is creeping up as the day is drawing to its close: the feeling that I just wasted another day without getting much of anything done.

Box Office Planning

If you can't see the image below clearly (and I know you can't), simply click on it to see a larger view. It should be of great interest to you. Why? It's the results of being in an environment completely unrelated to my studies and the resulting clarity of thought.


Now that, assuming you looked at the image, you're probably wondering how to make heads or tails out of my chicken scratching. Well, let's start at the beginning.

I knew I was suppose to come into work for my first day back, but I didn't know what position I was to be in. I had a sneaking feeling I was going to be in Box Office. Either way, I would more than likely be behind a counter of some kind since two out of three of the jobs there require it. That's the service industry for you, I guess. My assumptions where proven true when I walked in and saw I was to be in Box Office because the normal weekday guy had the day off. And I was looking forward to asking him on his opinion on some of the movies we are playing, too. Particularly the movie about Reverend Billy and his Church of Stop Shopping titled What Would Jesus Buy? since I just learned about him in Public Art class.

Because it was Monday and high school exam week, nothing much happened until after 15:00. And I mean NOTHING. By the time I went on my break, we only had 150 people come through the doors over the span of four hours. That's not really a lot of traffic in theatre terms. Although we did make up most of the money we could have lost selling gift cards. I mean, hell, one lady came in and bought $900 worth of them. But for the most part, I did a lot of sitting around and thinking.

After Jason accepted my dare to deconstruct Pong (which I was very impressed with, but that's easy with me), I, being one of respect when it comes to a bet or a dare which acts like a verbal--or in this case, written--contract, revisited my big box-o-drawin's to restratigize my plan of attack.

Things started slow. Very slow. I listed the things that were expected that I failed to execute in one manner or another. Things like how I need to complete at least one stack of printer paper by the new year, figuring out an installation lay out, finding five established artists to cite as examples over the course of art history to provide a foundation for my work, and most importantly what my conceptual thesis is.

When I listed "cultural obsession," my brain remembered the term Jack used to describe me during a critique. He called me a "media junkie." I wrote that down in the margin and didn't revisit it until after a wave of lunch-time movie guests. When I did, another word popped into my head. Otaku. That's when things started to click into place. I was making a piece talking about my personal obsession with cartoons and comics. Not necessarily anime and manga, which is what the otaku culture is centralized about, but the whole gambit!

I went into a flurry of idea jotting having finally made sense of the confusion. Takashi Murakami was the first artist I listed because of his Little Boy exhibition he curated for NYC some time back, which I have the hardcover book linked here still shrink wrapped since I read most of it in one sitting while in the library for Contemporary Art History. Great book, too, if you can find it. Chinatsu Ban followed him pretty quick, as her Hello Kitty elephants deal with her obsession of maternal insecurities. South Korean artist Hyungkoo Lee followed her, not because of his animatus series (though that is what drew me to him), but because of his objectuals that were design to express his insecurity of being... well, short and small featured compared to the Westerners he's been exposed to who are all tall with big eyes and big hands. And obsession that brought him to contruct a suit that he walks around in so he has bigger eyes, bigger lips, and a slightly taller stance from what I was able to see in his video he had at the Biennale. Reverend Billy made the list of artists who deal with obsessive culture when I found out about his movie. Why? His intent is not only anti-consumerism but it is focused more tightly on obsessive consumerism. In other words, shopping because you want to shop because you feel the nead to shop.

From there, I began trying to come up with referances I could look up as foundation for contemporary obsession. The first one that came to my mind were the Gamer Widow Group, a support group for mostly women who have lost their husband or boyfriend to online games like EverQuest and World of Warcraft. I found out there are a few widowers in the group as well, victems of girlfriends who would rather play Guild Wars over going on a date or having dinner at a fancy resturant. From there, that lead me to the convention scene. Star Trek, Star Wars, Comic Con, and the like. The obsessive fanboys that dress up in costumes of high craft and detail as well as the nerds that have booth space just to show off their collection reminded me of another aspect of obsessive culture I knew about but never researched: the collection stores in Japan. These are stores that can go up to four floors of nothing but glass cases of figurines and collectibles, all of which rented out by collectors or sellers. They function more like galleries for the obsessed than they do store fronts.

The sociologist in me that was clawing his way out made me write down some topics of interest for my own trivial pursuits. Some of the things I plan on looking out for or at least trying to figure out on my own are the comparisons between the obsessive fan bases of anime and western media. I think they act the same way, just with a different media. I would also keep tabs on the difference between "East Otakus" and "West Otakus," the later being rather a new thing in the US since the anime boom. Which means it will be harder to look into, since Murakami said that East Otakus are easier to profile than terrorists post 9-11. He even classifies himself as a otaku in the book, complete with showing a photograph of his appartment. (If you've ever been in an international store and noticed that big wall of VHS tapes, that's what his appartment looks like.)

It seems only ironic in retrospect that I was obsessed about making this plan as flawless as I could, to link my project back into a bigger culuture of media obsession even if it is through one genre of entertainment. At least at the moment. I have a lot of electronic obsessions, and ideally, I would like my show to exhibit a good chunk of my said obsessions. How to go about that is another matter.

Even though I have a plan, I still have a big problem. Historically, research on a topic takes me just as long and just as much energy as producing a large artwork, which is essentially what I'm doing. The plan was originally a To-Do list, with the first priority to complete the damn stack of paper before 2008. The research was to happen after that, with the visual work production finished and all. But if you look at that scan, the research takes up 98% of the notes with only two lines talking about the piece's production itself.

So what do I do now? Go with the plan as originally concieved or figure out how to do both at once?

Art or Entertainment: I've Been Here Before

I don't remember ever being this angry for this long. I've held grudges in the past, sure, but they were all superficial and mean nothing. What little grudges there were, that is. But I don't ever think I was ever this angry about something for this long to the point where I start exhibiting some tell-tale signs of depression, namely having trouble getting up in the morning and a sharp loss in interests.

For the last three days, I've been tooling around with my fireworks show. As of right now, I'm already down with about half of the show. My mind is dreading the most complicated part to come once I get past a certain act.

When I take my breaks, I find myself not wanting to even look at the box of drawings I have started. To do so sends me reeling in feelings that range between utter worthlessness to that usual lack of confidence despite knowing better. I've stop reading the book that links animation to the major art movements after learning about Toon Town being the realization of Marx's utopian idea in an illustrated forum. And in their place, all I do is sleep and think about the fireworks show I'm making in the video game engine I'm exploiting.

This leads me to something Jack said in our meeting several days ago. He said that his hope is that when I leave college as an artist, that's all I do. I think about art projects while I have breakfast, while I'm work, while I'm taking my dog out for a walk, every possible moment.

Lately, I haven't been thinking about art so much as I've been thinking about entertainment. I've made the argument that you can make art entertaining. I've also made the argument that you can't make entertainment art. Hypocritical, I know. These past few days, I'm pretty sure there is a line that has been drawn. Yet you have games like Okami that bring art into entertainment and vise versa. You have Matthew Barney who treats his art films like any Hollywood studio would. Cartoons are referencing religious and cultural iconography in nearly everything they do, including their depictions of a generic Heaven and Hell. Do I even have to mention Mel Chin and his Melrose's Place project? And yet, I still feel like a line has been drawn separating the two.

Most recently, Jason's "Consider your audience ; it's okay to limit who the piece is for" has been ringing in the back of my head whenever I'm working on the fireworks show. Who am I making this for? Well, this project is definitely not for me. If anything, it's for people who can appreciate the time I put into it. So, in other words, the YouTube crowd, of which Jason is a member of on occasion. Is what I'm making art or entertainment? Definitely entertainment, but I see no reason why it can't be art. (Actually, I can, but I'm biting my tongue on that one since I've been in that position once already.) This means that if I display this in a gallery setting, nobody that is a part of that gallery audience will get it. If anything, they'll deconstruct it in an attempt to understand why it is even in a gallery setting. But when you deconstruct entertainment that has no meaning behind it, you end up taking something that is suppose to be mindless entertainment and perverting it into something more than what it is suppose to be. And I mean that in a bad way for most forms of entertainment that end up being deconstructed (video games, movies that have no moral lesson from the get-go, TV shows, popular music).

On the first day of Public Art Class, we had to explain why we took the course. Most of us frankly admitted that we had to in order to fill up a studio requirement to get our degree. I said something different. I knew then that my art didn't feel appropriate for the gallery setting and took the class to find other avenues. I never really got exposed to anything manageable until my bumper sticker project and the zine assignment, both of which I did surprisingly very well on.

Maybe my audience can't be reached in the gallery. Maybe because they don't go to the gallery. So does that mean that I'm producing entertainment instead of art? And if I am, why did it take me this long to realize this when I've been in the position before and was told to get out while I could because the program wouldn't benefit me? A fool's answer to foolish questions: I don't know.

Well, back to making stuff blow up in the digital world where they can't hurt anyone and I don't need an explosives licence.

A Direction or An Assignment?

Yesterday was the last day of classes for this semester. I start back at the theatre Monday morning. Nothing interesting happened in the grand scheme of things, except for Jack pulling me to the side on my way to class and asking about my self-evaluation for Seminar. Remember, I said that I would fail myself given what he said about how he grades the class.

In so many words and talking in so many circles, I pretty much told him the class didn't help me as much as I was told it would. I even told him about the outside help I got in preparing for the final panel, relaying questions that were answered here on my blog but never once came up in the panel. I had all the ammo ready; I was confident in myself, my piece, and the conceptual backing. Now? I'm not too sure anymore.

Jack tried to re-inflate my ego by saying that I'm smart enough to figure out a better way of execution. I told him that my intelligence isn't the issue. I know I'm smart, too smart for my own good sometimes. What I'm having doubts about now is my level of craft. I mean, the idea may be great in my head and may hit all the points I want, but apparently I'm the only one that sees it that way even when I put my audience into consideration.

I even told him about what I experienced at the Frist when they had the Masterworks show in town. About how a man approached me and asked what the big deal was and about how he didn't see why the paintings were so important. I didn't want that from my work, and since then I've produced everything with a duel intent. At the very base, I want Joe Blow to walk away liking something on an aesthetic level. I want him to leave saying "I liked how cute that character looked" or "that was very entertaining to watch." The second intent is the conceptual artistic intent. The thing I apparently suck at communicating on a visual level.

I told Jack about where I felt I fit into the whole communications bracket using two other students as my points of extreme. I told him that I felt I didn't fit into the spectrum at all. Apparently, I'm an anomaly.

I don't know where to go anymore. I've lost my sense of direction simply because of the reaction of the panel. I lost my confidence in my craft because of the realization that what confidence I had in my skills are vastly compromised by my own intelligence. Whatever idea I have will fail on the visual level.

I left Jack's office saying he would like to see 400 drawings, 100 each week, after break. Same style, same idea as what I presented for my final. We can then figure out my Senior show then, or so is his hope. I'm sitting here wondering what's the point? I'm just going to get the same reaction from the student body as I did from the panel.

Failed

Last night was Seminar's last night, and a new process of the class is to self-evaluate ourselves. The more we talked about the class orally, the angrier I got. When the sheets finally were handed out, I was one of the first to finish. I can only wonder what Jack thought of my comments, all of which were written like an angry child in big and violent marks.

It didn't help that he told us how he grades and that he is expecting to give out a set number of A's and a set number of C's. In his defence, he's the teacher. He has the right to fail people.

I failed myself in the self-evaluation. I left Seminar 2 feeling like I didn't gain anything and insulted that my interests were not being considered as my process evolved. It was all about product.

Before the class, I talked to another teacher who I've had before and was teaching another department's seminar class. I was blunt with her. The final panel ripped me a new one, and I didn't feel like I was pointed in a direction so much as I was being told what I was doing was wrong. I even told her that I did take into consideration everything the panel said: how they didn't know how to approach my work and how they felt that I wouldn't take their input. I didn't mention how I feel like they are pushing me in the direction of silk-screening a sentence on the wall. She expressed her disappointment in the lack of encouraging things I received and left me with a tag line I wish the public school system would realize. "Making art is hard."

And you want to know the stupidest thing that's come out of this experience? I'm actually considering doing that silk-screening a sentence on the wall of the gallery as my senior show, even though I know exactly how it will be received both by the art community and by the people that don't know jack about art.

End of the Semester Critique

For Everyone and No One
It's Unintentional but Intentional
It's Private but Public

These are the catch phrases that apparently I used last night that undermined and confused my final panel.

In short, the panel didn't know what to say, if they were adding anything to the pot, how to approach my piece, and, most important of all, if I was even listening to them.

Most of the questions asked to me during the process of my box of drawings didn't come up at all. A few did like the big sheet of paper idea. In my defence, I answered with a similar answer to what I wrote when they were asked before. I thought I had a solid case. Didn't turn out that way. In retrospect, it was probably my condescending tone of voice.

I spent the rest of the night observing with both bitter jealousy and a depressed frustration as the critiques of others were going so well, with new responses to the world and even laughs being shared. The entire night, I kept thinking "what did I do wrong with my drawings? With my project? What didn't I do that everyone else did so damn well?"

Apparently, I was wearing my heart on my sleeve that night, as I was pulled aside by a concerned classmate who tried his damnest to make me feel better. In so many words, he pretty much said the exact same thing as the panel did. I need to open up more and stop being a closed door.

A question came up that never really came up before despite what one of my teachers said about it always coming up: Am I doing this as a hobby or as a career move?

If I'm doing this as a hobby, then I should just quit. I'm wasting both time and money. Let me rephrase that, I've wasted both time and money if this is nothing but a hobby for me. If I'm serious about wanting to make art for a living, then at this point, I'm no better at it than when I was starting out at Watkins. One panelist said that she didn't even see my drawing as executing the fundamentals of a Drawing 1 class.

No question about what artist I've been looking at, even though I was ready with those answer. No question about if I've been reading any theory. No real questions at all other than the implied--or perhaps underscored--question of "What are you trying to do?"

With the piece shown for the first time to a group of people who have no idea as to the process and the logical thinking behind it... minus one person, you would think I would have had the ideal situation to see if my piece could stand up to the regular gallery trollers who go into every gallery in the city looking for something new and engaging. In some respects, I did. The response was less than ideal, which was expected. What I didn't expect was how harsh it actually was for me.

I had a lot of knee-jerk reactions to what was going on in my head, creating pieces most of which involved a ceremonial and artistic version of sepuku. I was even wondering how a gallery full of people would react to witnessing the act of suicide under the guise of a performance. That's right, I was seriously thinking about taking a shot gun to my head in a gallery of people looking at me similar to the monk to set himself on fire in front of his brothers and the entire village below their temple. Thankfully, I threw that idea out after realizing how stupid it would be to kill myself and call it art.

From there, my mind landed on this thought. The positive support I got from this idea was all online. It was all text based. Nobody saw the pieces until last night. Nobody that was keeping tabs on the project, that is. And yet, people were excited by it. It makes me wonder what was the actual piece: the drawings or the words describing the drawings?

From there, I began to wonder how both I and others would react to a gallery space where all you had to go on was a single line of text printed on a wall or on a pedestal saying something like "imagine this wall covered with cartoon drawings that make no sense and are in no way connected to each other" or "imagine a statue of a man being assaulted by bullets that are shaped to read as the word WORD." My immediate reaction to this is what in art history would I be using as a launching point and who in contemporary art history is doing something similar today? The only ones I'm familiar with using text in their work is Jenny Holzer, and the only thing I can come up with that I've been exposed to as far as a launching point are those pieces of a chair next to a photograph of a chair next to the printed definition of a chair. And that's not including the This is Not A Pipe painting.

When I run the question that Jason and others have asked about this project, I don't know how I feel about it. On one hand, I'm forcing the viewer to be the artist. Something very conceptual, but at the same time insulting to anyone who doesn't have formal art education in the same sense that they know more than just Picasso from a face-value point of view. The piece would read as snarky too, mostly towards the art community itself. Because I'm forcing the viewer to be the artist and imagine a wall of drawings or a statue on an empty pedestal, I don't have to actually physically produce anything other than the text. And even the, producing a line of text isn't that hard. How many lines have I produced just now in this entry alone? I mean, hell, I technically made two pieces with this concept already. But I'd still be insulting someone, be it my viewer or the art community, by putting just those line of text on a wall and calling it art.

It only feels ironic to me that I don't even know what to produce when I have an idea for an actual visual product in the fine art sense. It's almost as if I'm giving into the notion of "If you think you can do it better, then do it for me."

Did I mention that the show's post card would be constructed in a similar fashion with the words "imagine an example of a graduating art college student's work on this post card?" That makes three pieces.