At breakfast, several people approached me and wanted to talk about babies, asked me about mine. When I mentioned the name, one girl responded, "Awwwwww! Winston! That's the best name ever."
I am surprised and happy to report that I'm not actually worried about Winston. I thought I would be so distracted by the horrible fact that I left him behind. But I really feel okay about it. I know he's in the best hands, getting all the love and attention he could ever need. Of course I miss him, just as I miss everything, but not worried.
A member of faculty sat at the table and started asking me about my semester and said, "Which work is yours in the gallery?" (often a difficult question to answer. Most of the time the answer sounds something like "It's the painting near the back of the room, not the back corner but kind of kitty-corner to the brick wall and the big sculpture..." oh the one with the bright colors? "No, the one with the circles and the..." and so on.)
I answered, "Mine is the black wall."
"Ohhh, yeah!"
'Nuf said.
Today I gave my first presentation to a group of students and we all took turns sharing our projects this semester. One girl who is a painter had an interesting experience. Her paintings tend to be very realistic, and her Artist Teacher suggested that she just "let go and go crazy." To not be so realistic and just try stuff. Three months of trying to be crazy go by and finally her artist teacher said, "Yeah I guess nonrepresentational is not your cup of tea and you should just go back to the way you did before." The girl said, "I basically got to my elbow by way of my ass...and now I can rest assured that I really do have an elbow."
Finally, I shared my project with the group and one asked, in the middle of my presentation, "What are the photos of?"
I said, "It's not about what it's of, it's about the experience of looking at it."
"Yeah yeah—but what is it?"
"Nope," I said (An answer that I realize doesn't make total sense.)
"You're a feisty one, aren't you?" she replied.
"Yep."
Then I continued with my actual presentation. At the end I have photos of me working in the studio making the shots, and in many of these photos you can tell what I'm shooting. One guy in the group said "these photos are so good that they really stand just find whether or not you know what they are of. I think you shouldn't be afraid to tell people what the subjects are. In fact, you did such a nice job with them, I feel like it's value added to know what stuff you were shooting."
"I'm not afraid, I'm making a calculated decision. I don't want that to be the focus of the work—a guessing game." I see his point, but he doesn't know how I have seen the light in people's eyes, their interest and enthusiasm, evaporate in an instant once they find out "It's a mushroom." "ohhh," they say blandly, and walk away almost immediately. He also doesn't know all the conversations I had with my Artist Teacher in which she said, "For God's sake don't tell anyone what the photos are of." I am doing my utmost to prolong that sparkle for as long as possible. And I've worked my butt off to make them nebulous and abstract, I'm not going to just throw it away and tell you what it's of. And what kind of question is that? Do you look at a Jackson Pollock and have these yeah-yeah-but-what-is-it comments. I stand by my decision. The whole point is to rekindle the magic. I'm fine if someone eventually figures out what they are, in fact I'm happy about that because they might just see an apple or a strawberry in a new light from now on. But I'm not going to be the one who tells you. (You got one job) I also feel that that is the purpose of some of the more recognizable shots, so they have a point of access.
One girl struggled getting her presentation to work, was fumbling to open the right folders and such. It really wasn't a big deal. One onlooker said with a touch of sarcasm, "Are you okay?" she replied flatly, "I'm dying on the inside." They laughed, but I didn't. She had said it with quite a straight face. Sometimes the truth sounds like a joke, and the person suffering just slips under the radar once again. I just had a horrible feeling when she said it.
Next, I had my first critique with chair Dalida (She's like the Ken Alexander of this place). On my way to the gallery, I slipped on some stupid ice and went down. Landed on my cushy bottom and palm of my hand. My shoulder hurt a little afterward but I think I'm fine.
Shoulder aching, I went on to my critique. It went almost too well, if that's even possible. I was in good form today. I gave probably one of my best renditions of an explanation and it flowed perfectly. Most of all, I stopped myself at the perfect moment, giving just enough information to help people understand, but not to ramble on. My work was very well received and Dalida seemed moved by my explanation of the work. She asked me what questions I had for the group, so...in order to have any question, first I asked how people felt when they looked at the images. One person said they felt different things as they looked at different ones like one image felt creepy and another made them feel vulnerable and others in awe, etc. Dalida said it made her feel a deep sense of appreciation and transformation, and made her want to be more present and mindful about her own surroundings. I commented that I was glad she sensed "transformation" because my research project was centered around Don Quixote who, breaking free from all societal and cultural norms, transforms from an average guy to a noble knight. He also sees ordinary objects as majestic such as the barber's basin as the helmet of Mambrino. In the same way, I am allowing these ordinary objects to break free from our judgements about them, the "oh that old thing" reaction, and let them transform into their highest potential. Dalida replied seriously, "That's...beautiful." Someone else was pointing at the peas picture and was describing things she noticed, and as she talked about it she was laughing. I said, I love that you are laughing at that picture because it makes me laugh every time. One guy said, I just love the scale and the lighting and arrangement of every picture but especially this one (the pomegranate). He said, "I think it's a pomegranate, right?" I smiled and paused just long enough so that the group jumped in before I had to answer. They said, "Ohhh! That's what it is! You're right, Ben." And everyone moved in even closer to look at it. When they figured out what it was they were not done with it, they were in fact even more intrigued. Victory.
On my way to the opening, I slipped again and scraped my knee, but worse yet is that I made a hole in my favorite leggings. I attribute these falls to wearing my lighter thinner boots instead of the crazy huge ones. I didn't want to look like a full-blown eskimo at the opening. So sad. Two points goes to Winter overtaking the current leader. The opening went well and I liked a lot of work there and I even enjoyed some of the performance pieces. One of my classmates, Aaron, had this very captivating performance of "sorcery." We were all amazed at his commanding presence.
Naomi, part artist, part martial arts instructor, did a performance that seems to relate to all the crap that women go through or put up with etc.
I liked a few people's work. One was a chess board with all identical pieces. I really loved the symbolism of this—pointless separation, unwinable game, futility—Later she expressed that when she left her Christian faith, it basically destroyed her relationship with her mom. How do you play chess when all the pieces are the same shape and the same color? What kind of rules could govern such a game? Eternal standoff. She said that she really misses her mom but the only bridge she had to her is gone. So she made the board and the chess pieces out repurposed materials from her piano that she used to perform church hymns on. Really thoughtful piece.
I am surprised and happy to report that I'm not actually worried about Winston. I thought I would be so distracted by the horrible fact that I left him behind. But I really feel okay about it. I know he's in the best hands, getting all the love and attention he could ever need. Of course I miss him, just as I miss everything, but not worried.
A member of faculty sat at the table and started asking me about my semester and said, "Which work is yours in the gallery?" (often a difficult question to answer. Most of the time the answer sounds something like "It's the painting near the back of the room, not the back corner but kind of kitty-corner to the brick wall and the big sculpture..." oh the one with the bright colors? "No, the one with the circles and the..." and so on.)
I answered, "Mine is the black wall."
"Ohhh, yeah!"
'Nuf said.
Today I gave my first presentation to a group of students and we all took turns sharing our projects this semester. One girl who is a painter had an interesting experience. Her paintings tend to be very realistic, and her Artist Teacher suggested that she just "let go and go crazy." To not be so realistic and just try stuff. Three months of trying to be crazy go by and finally her artist teacher said, "Yeah I guess nonrepresentational is not your cup of tea and you should just go back to the way you did before." The girl said, "I basically got to my elbow by way of my ass...and now I can rest assured that I really do have an elbow."
Finally, I shared my project with the group and one asked, in the middle of my presentation, "What are the photos of?"
I said, "It's not about what it's of, it's about the experience of looking at it."
"Yeah yeah—but what is it?"
"Nope," I said (An answer that I realize doesn't make total sense.)
"You're a feisty one, aren't you?" she replied.
"Yep."
Then I continued with my actual presentation. At the end I have photos of me working in the studio making the shots, and in many of these photos you can tell what I'm shooting. One guy in the group said "these photos are so good that they really stand just find whether or not you know what they are of. I think you shouldn't be afraid to tell people what the subjects are. In fact, you did such a nice job with them, I feel like it's value added to know what stuff you were shooting."
"I'm not afraid, I'm making a calculated decision. I don't want that to be the focus of the work—a guessing game." I see his point, but he doesn't know how I have seen the light in people's eyes, their interest and enthusiasm, evaporate in an instant once they find out "It's a mushroom." "ohhh," they say blandly, and walk away almost immediately. He also doesn't know all the conversations I had with my Artist Teacher in which she said, "For God's sake don't tell anyone what the photos are of." I am doing my utmost to prolong that sparkle for as long as possible. And I've worked my butt off to make them nebulous and abstract, I'm not going to just throw it away and tell you what it's of. And what kind of question is that? Do you look at a Jackson Pollock and have these yeah-yeah-but-what-is-it comments. I stand by my decision. The whole point is to rekindle the magic. I'm fine if someone eventually figures out what they are, in fact I'm happy about that because they might just see an apple or a strawberry in a new light from now on. But I'm not going to be the one who tells you. (You got one job) I also feel that that is the purpose of some of the more recognizable shots, so they have a point of access.
One girl struggled getting her presentation to work, was fumbling to open the right folders and such. It really wasn't a big deal. One onlooker said with a touch of sarcasm, "Are you okay?" she replied flatly, "I'm dying on the inside." They laughed, but I didn't. She had said it with quite a straight face. Sometimes the truth sounds like a joke, and the person suffering just slips under the radar once again. I just had a horrible feeling when she said it.
Next, I had my first critique with chair Dalida (She's like the Ken Alexander of this place). On my way to the gallery, I slipped on some stupid ice and went down. Landed on my cushy bottom and palm of my hand. My shoulder hurt a little afterward but I think I'm fine.
Shoulder aching, I went on to my critique. It went almost too well, if that's even possible. I was in good form today. I gave probably one of my best renditions of an explanation and it flowed perfectly. Most of all, I stopped myself at the perfect moment, giving just enough information to help people understand, but not to ramble on. My work was very well received and Dalida seemed moved by my explanation of the work. She asked me what questions I had for the group, so...in order to have any question, first I asked how people felt when they looked at the images. One person said they felt different things as they looked at different ones like one image felt creepy and another made them feel vulnerable and others in awe, etc. Dalida said it made her feel a deep sense of appreciation and transformation, and made her want to be more present and mindful about her own surroundings. I commented that I was glad she sensed "transformation" because my research project was centered around Don Quixote who, breaking free from all societal and cultural norms, transforms from an average guy to a noble knight. He also sees ordinary objects as majestic such as the barber's basin as the helmet of Mambrino. In the same way, I am allowing these ordinary objects to break free from our judgements about them, the "oh that old thing" reaction, and let them transform into their highest potential. Dalida replied seriously, "That's...beautiful." Someone else was pointing at the peas picture and was describing things she noticed, and as she talked about it she was laughing. I said, I love that you are laughing at that picture because it makes me laugh every time. One guy said, I just love the scale and the lighting and arrangement of every picture but especially this one (the pomegranate). He said, "I think it's a pomegranate, right?" I smiled and paused just long enough so that the group jumped in before I had to answer. They said, "Ohhh! That's what it is! You're right, Ben." And everyone moved in even closer to look at it. When they figured out what it was they were not done with it, they were in fact even more intrigued. Victory.
On my way to the opening, I slipped again and scraped my knee, but worse yet is that I made a hole in my favorite leggings. I attribute these falls to wearing my lighter thinner boots instead of the crazy huge ones. I didn't want to look like a full-blown eskimo at the opening. So sad. Two points goes to Winter overtaking the current leader. The opening went well and I liked a lot of work there and I even enjoyed some of the performance pieces. One of my classmates, Aaron, had this very captivating performance of "sorcery." We were all amazed at his commanding presence.
Naomi, part artist, part martial arts instructor, did a performance that seems to relate to all the crap that women go through or put up with etc.
I liked a few people's work. One was a chess board with all identical pieces. I really loved the symbolism of this—pointless separation, unwinable game, futility—Later she expressed that when she left her Christian faith, it basically destroyed her relationship with her mom. How do you play chess when all the pieces are the same shape and the same color? What kind of rules could govern such a game? Eternal standoff. She said that she really misses her mom but the only bridge she had to her is gone. So she made the board and the chess pieces out repurposed materials from her piano that she used to perform church hymns on. Really thoughtful piece.
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