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May. 1st, 2003 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
This is not the time to be discovering new webcomics. Really, it is not.
I have a paper of huge and ugly proportions due on Monday. *insert much whining about other projects that are due far too soon after that project for comfort*
On the upside, I have finished my painting of Naked Potter from my art class. (Not to be confused with Naked!Boy, the Haitian.) It's the largest canvas I've ever painted, and now it's done done done and I never have to think about it again.
I think the story of Naked Boy deserves some exposition, if only because I find it amusing. He's a potter. He comes into class fully dressed, toeing off his shoes under the table. Understandable. The floor in the art room is polished rough tile, and I don't wear shoes or socks in there either. (Yes, my feet are splattered with oil paint nine days out of ten.) Then, he'll take off his shirt, because he doesn't want to get clay on it. And, somehow before you know it, he's sitting around naked.
Now, I'm not squeamish about nudity (I lived on a semi-nudist colony whilst going through puberty. All body issues I might have had were dealt with brutally and immediately.) But it is odd, to see someone so out of any of the contexts we associate nakedness with. The first time someone noticed he was running around without clothing (which for the record, was about three hours after he had undressed), everyone blushed. Once we had that out of the way, it was just the naked potter. His corner of the room is far from the door, so no one from “the outside” has noticed anything out of the ordinary. (Well, that and our art lab is hidden away so well that you have to have an inside connection to find it in the first place.)
And he was sitting there, nude, one day, potting away, and I attacked him. (For attacked, read: yelled “hold it right there! WHO IN THIS ROOM HAS A CAMERA?! I need a photo from which to paint!) Having gotten my photograph, I’ve still been arranging my schedule around his, so that I can paint him for the majority of the last semester. Oh the sacrifices I make for my art. (I’d strike a dramatic pose at this point in the story, but it’d be utterly wasted on you, so I won’t.)
It’s a big huge canvas (five by five) and as of ungodly hours this morning, it is finished. Yay. Except for the part which comes now, in which I have to do something with the damn thing. Who has that kind of wall space? Or, more to the point: who has that kind of wall space and wants a big semi-impressionistic portrait of an odd-looking naked guy they don’t know? I love making art, but then, there’s the “now what” factor, which always annoys me.
Randomly, because I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before: Outside my art lab there is a bulletin board which we use as a “who’s here now” sort of announcement. As you walk by, you put up your “introductory piece” and if you have any guests, you mark them up as well, so that we have a running tally of who’s around, more or less, at a given time. This would be unworthy of notice, except that our teacher insisted we make them in our “art form of choice.” Our class is two sculptors, a photographer, two painters, a performance artist and me. (I’m painting and sculpting at the moment. Whoohooo for the multidisciplinaryness!)
We have the fairly tame self-portrait from the photographer, albeit self portrait whilst coved in black tape. Then we have paintings, one in water colour and the other an oil sketch. Both are abstract, but not really worth commenting on. Naked Potter did a cameo, and the other sculptor did something with welded spikes, which has drawn blood from more than one person who come too close. (I find this more amusing simply because I’m not the only person who has lost an eyebrow to this evil malevolent thing.) Mine is a three dimensional collage that bears a disturbing resemblance to both a boat and Thomas Jefferson. The performance artist, (who currently is costuming his mas-TAH-peice) has a tape of a person alternately screaming and laughing their head off. You can only hear it when you’re right in front of the bulletin board, which is a blessing, but it’s a little disturbing that I associate this man with the sound of someone dying in agony.
I’m totally procrastinating both my chem homework and my fifty page paper. Could you tell?
Also, I find this hugely amusing. Probably more so because I can imagine Noam reading this. (Why, yes, we are on a first name basis, he and I. Interning pays off once again!)
I have a paper of huge and ugly proportions due on Monday. *insert much whining about other projects that are due far too soon after that project for comfort*
On the upside, I have finished my painting of Naked Potter from my art class. (Not to be confused with Naked!Boy, the Haitian.) It's the largest canvas I've ever painted, and now it's done done done and I never have to think about it again.
I think the story of Naked Boy deserves some exposition, if only because I find it amusing. He's a potter. He comes into class fully dressed, toeing off his shoes under the table. Understandable. The floor in the art room is polished rough tile, and I don't wear shoes or socks in there either. (Yes, my feet are splattered with oil paint nine days out of ten.) Then, he'll take off his shirt, because he doesn't want to get clay on it. And, somehow before you know it, he's sitting around naked.
Now, I'm not squeamish about nudity (I lived on a semi-nudist colony whilst going through puberty. All body issues I might have had were dealt with brutally and immediately.) But it is odd, to see someone so out of any of the contexts we associate nakedness with. The first time someone noticed he was running around without clothing (which for the record, was about three hours after he had undressed), everyone blushed. Once we had that out of the way, it was just the naked potter. His corner of the room is far from the door, so no one from “the outside” has noticed anything out of the ordinary. (Well, that and our art lab is hidden away so well that you have to have an inside connection to find it in the first place.)
And he was sitting there, nude, one day, potting away, and I attacked him. (For attacked, read: yelled “hold it right there! WHO IN THIS ROOM HAS A CAMERA?! I need a photo from which to paint!) Having gotten my photograph, I’ve still been arranging my schedule around his, so that I can paint him for the majority of the last semester. Oh the sacrifices I make for my art. (I’d strike a dramatic pose at this point in the story, but it’d be utterly wasted on you, so I won’t.)
It’s a big huge canvas (five by five) and as of ungodly hours this morning, it is finished. Yay. Except for the part which comes now, in which I have to do something with the damn thing. Who has that kind of wall space? Or, more to the point: who has that kind of wall space and wants a big semi-impressionistic portrait of an odd-looking naked guy they don’t know? I love making art, but then, there’s the “now what” factor, which always annoys me.
Randomly, because I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before: Outside my art lab there is a bulletin board which we use as a “who’s here now” sort of announcement. As you walk by, you put up your “introductory piece” and if you have any guests, you mark them up as well, so that we have a running tally of who’s around, more or less, at a given time. This would be unworthy of notice, except that our teacher insisted we make them in our “art form of choice.” Our class is two sculptors, a photographer, two painters, a performance artist and me. (I’m painting and sculpting at the moment. Whoohooo for the multidisciplinaryness!)
We have the fairly tame self-portrait from the photographer, albeit self portrait whilst coved in black tape. Then we have paintings, one in water colour and the other an oil sketch. Both are abstract, but not really worth commenting on. Naked Potter did a cameo, and the other sculptor did something with welded spikes, which has drawn blood from more than one person who come too close. (I find this more amusing simply because I’m not the only person who has lost an eyebrow to this evil malevolent thing.) Mine is a three dimensional collage that bears a disturbing resemblance to both a boat and Thomas Jefferson. The performance artist, (who currently is costuming his mas-TAH-peice) has a tape of a person alternately screaming and laughing their head off. You can only hear it when you’re right in front of the bulletin board, which is a blessing, but it’s a little disturbing that I associate this man with the sound of someone dying in agony.
I’m totally procrastinating both my chem homework and my fifty page paper. Could you tell?
Also, I find this hugely amusing. Probably more so because I can imagine Noam reading this. (Why, yes, we are on a first name basis, he and I. Interning pays off once again!)
no subject
Date: 2003-05-02 11:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-03 10:23 pm (UTC)>:O
no subject
Date: 2003-05-04 12:53 am (UTC)and that icon with the skimpy thongage isnt helping. INFACTITSMAKINGITWORSESAVEMESAVEME