Thursday, July 30, 2009
past work
I came across this card I made for my mom. I'm always fascinated by the shit kids come up with. I think it speaks for itself.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Grown Men And Women Playing With Dolls.
I feel like the idea of virtual people has come up a lot this week. Da, Aubrie and I were talking about Madame Tussauds and the idea of Darla working as a sculptor of wax people (well, that was my assertion). Ah, the oddness of celebrity in the media age. These people in our culture who are so revered that we build wax idols of them and pay to visit, have our photo taken with, and in a strange sense, worship. I remember going to Madame Tussauds as a child and being completely enraptured by the life-like appearance of the figures. It seemed like magic that there were artisans who could create such beings.
The topic of artificial people came up again in an email from Da. She, Justin and Aubrie had been watching videos about “Real Dolls”, the incredibly realistic silicone sex dolls. The video I had seen on these dolls had centered on an interview with a Japanese man who had amassed a collection of nearly a hundred of them. When he walked into his apartment, the lights came on to illuminate the 90 plus dolls arranged on couches and chairs around the living room. The theory of uncanny valley comes to mind. The presentation was a dense array of female virtual creatures, a forest of glabrous limbs, 90 plus shocks of glossy dark hair. They were well cared for and loved. They can’t cheat on you or betray you. He said, “They belong to me one hundred percent”. His story resembles a modern retelling of Pygmalion.
The final, and for me most compelling brush I’ve had with virtual people came in the form of another online video. “Living Doll|My Fake Baby” it’s called. The video opens on the artist who creates the dolls as she carries what looks like a real baby into a supermarket. The downy hair and puckered face is reproduced so faithfully that it’s difficult to differentiate from a live baby except for its silence. The reactions of the people in the clip vary from awe and excitement, to near disgust.
I’m not sure what my strong attraction is to these unreal people. Artifice is an interesting draw. I think what initially drew me to the medium of photography was it’s ability to weave such a convincing lie. Story telling, role playing, lying to ourselves or to the world. I admit my initial reaction was to judge people in the world of real dolls, but I think we all have the same void based on fear- fear of rejection, fear of loneliness, fear of death. Fear- that has been a key word lately. Fear and finding ways of overcoming it and feeling whole. In a sense I think we are these dolls- submerged in a role. Inanimate isolated and lifeless- or at least unconnected to ‘life’ or a greater energy source in a broader sense. I think my art used to be dark for the sake of being dark. Unconscious I guess. But my increasing hope is to be able to make art consciously. I want to create a positive impact on the collective consciousness, even if it’s immeasurably small. I guess I was wondering if these virtual people are contributing in a positive way or a negative way to the collective psyche. I think the initial reaction is that it is a negative one. But what if they’re just a bridge? Can we see them as a reflection of ourselves? Can they be used consciously to heal and move beyond, or do they inhibit people from moving forward? Everything can be part of human evolution I suppose. Maybe we have to look at everything as a bridge. I don’t know. Just thinking.
Grosses bises,
La
P.S.- You can see the videos here if you want:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wU33HLj1CWU
Monday, July 27, 2009
Dear Juliet, will you marry me?
I was walking in West Philadelphia last week when I heard my name called out. I turned to find one of my most admired BFF crushes, Juliet Wayne, screwdriver-filled McDonald's mug in hand. We have been acquaintances for years and have a great appreciation for each other's artwork. Every time we cross paths, we vow to make portraits of one another. The time is now!
Anyway, we talked for a while about portraiture and how people are sometimes bothered that what is intended as a portrait of the sitter more closely resembles the artist. Bullshit, we say! Why wouldn't it look like the artist? When is art ever really about anything else? In this case, though, I am going to try to make a portrait of her, and her new M.O. - she's "just not taking it anymore." The part that seems simplest to explain is having a job in order to make money. She's so over that. Now she's trash-picking items to sell at yard sales, supplemented by tarot card readings and Otter Pop sales. My favorite part of her explaining this newfound philosophy -- "So today I felt hungry and I was thinking 'what am I going to eat?' and then I said 'no, Juliet, it's not gonna be like that anymore!'" So, so good.
I have always been envious of Juliet's work. Video, paintings, drawings, collage, puppets, storytelling... and that's not even half of it. If you're my friend on facebook, become hers - there's a bunch of photos of her art. And she has the funniest status updates ever. If you're not my friend on facebook, you should be, just so she can make you laugh. Oh, and her next project? A board game that combines Memory and fortune telling... I can't wait. I'm going to try to track her down to see if she has a website I can post a link to, but in the meantime, her's a little drawing about working at the art museum that I stole from her profile:
Anyway, we talked for a while about portraiture and how people are sometimes bothered that what is intended as a portrait of the sitter more closely resembles the artist. Bullshit, we say! Why wouldn't it look like the artist? When is art ever really about anything else? In this case, though, I am going to try to make a portrait of her, and her new M.O. - she's "just not taking it anymore." The part that seems simplest to explain is having a job in order to make money. She's so over that. Now she's trash-picking items to sell at yard sales, supplemented by tarot card readings and Otter Pop sales. My favorite part of her explaining this newfound philosophy -- "So today I felt hungry and I was thinking 'what am I going to eat?' and then I said 'no, Juliet, it's not gonna be like that anymore!'" So, so good.
I have always been envious of Juliet's work. Video, paintings, drawings, collage, puppets, storytelling... and that's not even half of it. If you're my friend on facebook, become hers - there's a bunch of photos of her art. And she has the funniest status updates ever. If you're not my friend on facebook, you should be, just so she can make you laugh. Oh, and her next project? A board game that combines Memory and fortune telling... I can't wait. I'm going to try to track her down to see if she has a website I can post a link to, but in the meantime, her's a little drawing about working at the art museum that I stole from her profile:
Real talk with Dad, Faking it, Making it, "Me" time, Suicidio, and the challenges of being a young woman.
It's crazy...
What you ask..
everything.
Somehow all these things relate.
From my ongoing photography series about my Dad.
we sit and chat here...
I had one of those talks with my father tonight, after work. We sanded and routed a dozen pieces of oak today. I wouldn't say I'm a Daddy's girl, honestly that phrase has never sit well with me, but I will say that I have always felt strangely connected to my father and his way of thinking. I'm a divorce kid. I always had this weird way of being über conscious of his emotions, and I would fixate on his every word. I still fixate on his every word. He used to joke sometimes, "I'm gonna kill myself." As a kid, for years, I never picked up on the joke part, and used to worry like mad that he's was actually going to. I told him this tonight. After a few drinks, two beers on my part, Grand Marnier on his, we had one of those convos that we've had, occasionally, before. Where he talks about his colorful past and I can't help but compare my tame existence with his wild one. After telling me of his affairs, his one million girlfriends, and apartments, his el camino, his leather pants, trips to Cafe' Elan and Bleeps, marriages, partying every night, he then reminded me of the dark parts, the somberly colored roots of his childhood. He experienced a lot of scarring from his dysfunctional upbringing, and, later, lots of stress from his relationships with women. He used to say "I'm gonna kill myself." But he never did. Now I say it sometimes, in passing, how I wanna kill myself cause this is so annoying or that is all f-ed up, blah, blah, blah. But in his quirky way over a cigarette he tells me, "hey, hang tight...you'll be aight."
Well now I'm ready to try it. The fear does hover over my head a lot though... It's good to talk to him, a survivor of sorts. Sometimes it's hard to hear the stories, sometimes it brings up my scars. Tonight, in a kind of joking manner I told him that the anxiety makes me sometimes wanna fuckin' kill myself.
He told me not to.
Darla says fake it 'til you make it. Well that's exactly what my father did at 24. And still does at 54. And I'm gonna try it now. I'll have to train that part of my head to buy into that idea, faking it until making it. What can I say? I'm thick-headed, a product of my parents. ..Maybe I just need some "me" time..
I was watching the eleven o'clock news. This lady in the suburbs killed herself and her young son at home. Her husband came home and found their bodies. Neighbors said she was sweet but off. The news report said that she was battling depression... Then, a 22 year old, riding on the el with her infant baby, was held at knife point in her seat and sexually assaulted by a man. They said that people around her didn't know it was happening because she didn't scream. He fondled her while her baby was on her lap.
I did a phone interview this week, yesterday actually, for a website. I was asked questions about my work, what inspires me, what it's about, etc., and I said something about a particular thing that's always inspired me in a way I have never said before. I told her that I am inspired by the contemplations of women and how I felt that all women share on some level a constant and, at times, common state of contemplation, dynamic, abuzz and alive. The ignition, the starting spark in the thought machine of the female mind, the seasoned thoughts, these things differ from female to female. But that linking thread is there...I watched the news tonight and something about what I had said earlier during my interview clicked with these two tales of misfortune.
My dad and I said tonight that we're going to get tattoos that read "such is life"...
buona.
xo ac
What you ask..
everything.
Somehow all these things relate.
From my ongoing photography series about my Dad.we sit and chat here...
I had one of those talks with my father tonight, after work. We sanded and routed a dozen pieces of oak today. I wouldn't say I'm a Daddy's girl, honestly that phrase has never sit well with me, but I will say that I have always felt strangely connected to my father and his way of thinking. I'm a divorce kid. I always had this weird way of being über conscious of his emotions, and I would fixate on his every word. I still fixate on his every word. He used to joke sometimes, "I'm gonna kill myself." As a kid, for years, I never picked up on the joke part, and used to worry like mad that he's was actually going to. I told him this tonight. After a few drinks, two beers on my part, Grand Marnier on his, we had one of those convos that we've had, occasionally, before. Where he talks about his colorful past and I can't help but compare my tame existence with his wild one. After telling me of his affairs, his one million girlfriends, and apartments, his el camino, his leather pants, trips to Cafe' Elan and Bleeps, marriages, partying every night, he then reminded me of the dark parts, the somberly colored roots of his childhood. He experienced a lot of scarring from his dysfunctional upbringing, and, later, lots of stress from his relationships with women. He used to say "I'm gonna kill myself." But he never did. Now I say it sometimes, in passing, how I wanna kill myself cause this is so annoying or that is all f-ed up, blah, blah, blah. But in his quirky way over a cigarette he tells me, "hey, hang tight...you'll be aight."
Well now I'm ready to try it. The fear does hover over my head a lot though... It's good to talk to him, a survivor of sorts. Sometimes it's hard to hear the stories, sometimes it brings up my scars. Tonight, in a kind of joking manner I told him that the anxiety makes me sometimes wanna fuckin' kill myself.
He told me not to.
Darla says fake it 'til you make it. Well that's exactly what my father did at 24. And still does at 54. And I'm gonna try it now. I'll have to train that part of my head to buy into that idea, faking it until making it. What can I say? I'm thick-headed, a product of my parents. ..Maybe I just need some "me" time..
I was watching the eleven o'clock news. This lady in the suburbs killed herself and her young son at home. Her husband came home and found their bodies. Neighbors said she was sweet but off. The news report said that she was battling depression... Then, a 22 year old, riding on the el with her infant baby, was held at knife point in her seat and sexually assaulted by a man. They said that people around her didn't know it was happening because she didn't scream. He fondled her while her baby was on her lap.
I did a phone interview this week, yesterday actually, for a website. I was asked questions about my work, what inspires me, what it's about, etc., and I said something about a particular thing that's always inspired me in a way I have never said before. I told her that I am inspired by the contemplations of women and how I felt that all women share on some level a constant and, at times, common state of contemplation, dynamic, abuzz and alive. The ignition, the starting spark in the thought machine of the female mind, the seasoned thoughts, these things differ from female to female. But that linking thread is there...I watched the news tonight and something about what I had said earlier during my interview clicked with these two tales of misfortune.
My dad and I said tonight that we're going to get tattoos that read "such is life"...
buona.
xo ac
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Fake it 'til you Make it
All this talk of greatness and wanderlust on here and various other things going on outside of "blogland" (I just threw up in my mouth a little from saying that word) has me thinking...I mean I'm always thinking about something but it makes me wonder why I'm thinking so much and so hard all the time...I like to think of myself as one of those people who needs to make art no matter what....that if I lived in a cave in the backwoods of nowhere that I would just keep making and making and making, even if no one ever saw the work, ever. I like to think that...but sometimes wonder if I were ever just to stop planning and just wait and see what happens next...what would happen? Would that drive be there? Would I just have to make art because something inside me would freak out if I wasn't? Or would I fall perfectly into the life of someone who goes out every night and spends their time and money on drinks in bars, fancy outfits and new electronic devices, instead of art supplies, websites and postcards...Would my house be clean and finished if I weren't an artist? Would my brain not worry as much over the insanitites that it does worry about constantly? Would I have another interest or would I just float around aimlessly? Would I care way less about social stereotypes than I do now, or more? Do people who aren't artists feel like something is missing? I can't help but feel like there would be a huge gaping hole in my life and that I would be more miserable than ever before if I didn't make art...La once called art "painful masturbation" and that seems to be a pretty great comparision...It hurts sometimes, it makes you crazy, but after all that work you feel so insanely wonderful...even if only for a moment, before you start all over again...What keeps us coming back, even though sometimes (most times) we torture ourselves during the process? Is it all for that moment of feeling really really good? Or are we just some crazy art version of masochists, where its the pain and the feeling crazy that makes us keep at it?...
I don't know...I am going to try not to think about it too much...I am just going to keep planning and doing and making and freaking out and making some more...because I don't know the answer, I don't know what would happen...no one does...and if I worry too much does then it become a self fulfilling prophecy?...see what I mean, too much thinking just adds to the freaking out...Someone that I used to work for once said to me "Fake it 'til you make it" and I've always thought that to be good advice...I think I'll just continue to prescribe to that mindset...making it up as I go, with some random planning along the way....I also think that I will start to flip off anyone that gives me the "Oh....you're having a baby, there goes your art life..." look...Sounds like a plan to me...
til next thursday...
xo D
I don't know...I am going to try not to think about it too much...I am just going to keep planning and doing and making and freaking out and making some more...because I don't know the answer, I don't know what would happen...no one does...and if I worry too much does then it become a self fulfilling prophecy?...see what I mean, too much thinking just adds to the freaking out...Someone that I used to work for once said to me "Fake it 'til you make it" and I've always thought that to be good advice...I think I'll just continue to prescribe to that mindset...making it up as I go, with some random planning along the way....I also think that I will start to flip off anyone that gives me the "Oh....you're having a baby, there goes your art life..." look...Sounds like a plan to me...
til next thursday...
xo D
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wanderlust
Flipping through some old photos of a trip to Cameroon... God, I want to go on an adventure...
La
La
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