I’ve become slightly enamoured with goats. They are pretty great. This one is the fainting goat: A goat with a genetic disorder which causes it to fall over when startled. They happen to be rather small and uh, pet-sized, which sounds pretty rad and handy to me. “Why goats?” you ask Drawing class. It will involve machine embroidery. I hope it works.
Speaking of hoping things work, I must away to my Intaglio class where I will try and catch up and learn aquatint, as I was sneezing my brains out last Tuesday. Having so many classes is lame for the single fact that I never have any ideas soon enough, so I end up doing projects on random pictures I’ve found on the internet, or projects of Nelson. Talk about looking obsessive.
Riddle me this, printer: Why is it that I need a cyan cartridge to print black text?
Trying to fool it into thinking I’d put a new one in was futile. It narrowly escaped the fate of my last one: It wouldn’t work and then I broke something inside it because I was steaming mad. When my dad was visiting I asked him to look at it and he ended up pulling out another chunk of internal printer organ, maybe the office world’s equivalent to a spleenectomy or something. Damn.
I wish I hadn’t acted like I was shopping when I was doing my course selection, but nothing can be done about that now, I guess. Next semester I will definitely be dropping one or two classes, so that sanity can resume, if I was ever a supporter of sanity. I hate feeling guilty every time I do something that isn’t homework.
This weekend I went to Red Deer for Kylie’s birthday. I was the only one who came, which is pretty silly. People are so unreliable these days. I probably encountered irreversible hearing damage at the one club we went to. We could hear the music from two blocks away. I can picture the DJ saying, “Wow, this music really sucks! I bet it will be better if I turn the volume to an ear-splitting level.”
I am kind of brain-dead right now. I was just working on an exhibition review for my applied writing class, trying to compare two seemingly unrelated artists. I really do like some of the one photographer(George Webber)’s work, though. It is immediately obvious that he is from rural Alberta.
I made amazing cupcakes yesterday, half of which went to the birthday girl. The rest had disappeared by supper time. It was too bad, because I really wanted one. They had crushed Oreo cookies in the batter and the icing. Oh well.
Time for sleepy time.
This is going to take some getting used to. I have had the same livejournal since I was 14… 2002. Huh.
What I would really like for this site/blog is to have a place to store my updated C.V. (Hopefully I’ll have some actual content to put there, eventually – it’s frusterating to be told that none of my work experience counts because it isn’t art-related.) and portfolio. The hardest thing has been trying to find a way to make an online portfolio. It seems easy enough, doesn’t it? Apparently, though, the web knowledge I learned 10 years ago doesn’t count anymore. Most of the tags I know are completely obsolete, and what is this CSS thing, anyway? I feel like some grumpy old woman who let technology pass her by. Geez, I’m only 21. Thankfully, I have taken some decent pictures of my work in the photo documentation suite at ACAD, and they (almost) even look professional. It would probably help if the work had been better in the first place, but what are you going to do? Maybe having professionalism will help anyway, because a lot of artists who are “good” at what they do, are still inept with that aspect of their lives and work.
I should probably go read my English textbook now. It’s called Beyond Wilderness, it’s about how The Group of Seven used these ideals of an imaginary Canadian landscape, and how that really isn’t what Canada is about. There is one painting in the book of a forest with clouds above it – apparently the clouds were painted from the roof of a bank in downtown Toronto. Ah, contradictions. I’m becoming a lot more interested in this issue of Canadian identity. The first things that come to mind are so trivial: Bunny hugs, buttertart squares, toques, toboggans. It’s funny that most of those are winter objects. It’s silly that even Canadians become caught in the stereotypes and perpetuate them.