Yes, its true, you can buy happiness, even on credit.
I'd like to take this bad boy home today, but the manager at the Macy's says the display will be up 'til mid-January.
'Til then, my sweet.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
The Waiting Is Over
Friday, December 30, 2005
Answers Schmanswers
So maybe the Answer will come later. I feel like an idiot. A happy idiot. I have railed, and written and walked, and talked to to people, I have surfed the 'net. I have cried on my parents' laps. I have prayed and fasted. I have looked at the deadlines, I have averted my eyes from the deadlines. I have tried to be honest with myself, I have tried to do a good job and work hard. I realized that the Answer might never come, but that the bills still have to be paid. And maybe those things are actually not connected. I feel like, if my life was a TV movie, then the climax should come right about now. With soaring violins and a thrilling male lead. Ha Ha. I could say something deep and profound about Life right now, but I am going to spare you. You have probably already figured it out and are laughing at me from some safe distance.
Or maybe not.
But you can still laugh.
I look in my bag of treasures and I pull out the objects one by one. Repo Man. Anne Lamott and her little birds. The crew of the submarine. The 327 willow tree. The Silver Bullet. The 92/280 interchange. The Contessa. My Parents. (not in that order) The Knee Biter.
Its not a bad life.
So maybe the Answer will come later. I feel like an idiot. A happy idiot. I have railed, and written and walked, and talked to to people, I have surfed the 'net. I have cried on my parents' laps. I have prayed and fasted. I have looked at the deadlines, I have averted my eyes from the deadlines. I have tried to be honest with myself, I have tried to do a good job and work hard. I realized that the Answer might never come, but that the bills still have to be paid. And maybe those things are actually not connected. I feel like, if my life was a TV movie, then the climax should come right about now. With soaring violins and a thrilling male lead. Ha Ha. I could say something deep and profound about Life right now, but I am going to spare you. You have probably already figured it out and are laughing at me from some safe distance.
Or maybe not.
But you can still laugh.
I look in my bag of treasures and I pull out the objects one by one. Repo Man. Anne Lamott and her little birds. The crew of the submarine. The 327 willow tree. The Silver Bullet. The 92/280 interchange. The Contessa. My Parents. (not in that order) The Knee Biter.
Its not a bad life.
I woke up this morning with Anne Lamott. In the form of Bird by Bird. We snuggled under my down comforter, fought over the quilts and made a ruckus. Pretty soon the whole house was awake. There was a soft knock on the door, a scratching really, and when we said, "Come in!" Madelaine bounced in, bringing with her a smell of engine grease and salt. She was wearing a t-shirt and an old pair of Eleven's boxers. Her feet were freezing and she gleefully found the warmest part of our thighs and froze them with her feet. Her toenails were scratchy. "Isn't this fun!" Anne yelled over the screams.
I rolled over again, only to bump into William.
"How did you get in here?!" I asked.
"What do you mean? I live here," he said.
And he rolled over, so all I saw of him was his broad back, like a wall. Before I could snuggle into the warm depression he left, the door flew open. Prester filled the doorway. I ducked behind Willliam's solid body. I opened my mouth to say "Go Away!" but before any words came out, Anne's hand snaked under the pillow and clamped over my mouth.
"We'll make room for you," is what she actually said. In two steps Prester was airborne. He landed right on my head. For a split second, I thought my neck was going to break if I didn't die of suffocation first. He was laughing loudly. We tried to roll him over, but he was too heavy. Finally we managed to wedge him between the bed and the wall. We all laid there, panting and giggling. Prester started to say something, but William shushed him. Then the rest of us heard it, a soft rustling, like fabric being dragged through leaves. We looked towards the open door, and there was the Baby. He was making his way towards the bed with the determination of a race horse approaching the finish line, only much slower. William shoved the blankets out of his way and stood up and grabbed him by his armpits and started giving him blubber kisses on his tummy. Then he carefully deposited him on top of the heap of blankets and bodies and returned to his place on the edge of my bed. I grabbed the Baby, and let him snuggle on my chest, while he tried to eat his fist. Through the tangle of blankets and limbs, I turned to Anne and said, "This is chaotic! So this is what writing is about?" She shrugged.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
I spent the day agonizing over What To Do With My Life. I researched more stuff on the internet (focusing on the academic offerings of various junior colleges), I abstained from food in order to get closer to the Deity, I took a thoughtful walk downtown to Clear My Head, paid some bills and otherwise focused my energies on productive cogitation.
I have broken my fast, and after all this careful work, nothing has come to me.
I take that back.
One thing has come to me.
Repo Man
Every time I let my mind wander, it gleefully relives choice scenes and images. Does it, in carefully veiled symbolism, contain the Answers to My Quest?
Is it the gritty street scenes? The fabulous cars? The self-conscious generic-brand product placements? Or is it the Whole LA thing? I find nearly every aspect compelling, from the hazmat-suited extras, to the textures of the urban decay, to the cheesy plot. I even loved the concrete freeway overpasses and the LA river. It made me homesick for my half mythical southern california roots.
Ah, Freeway Overpasses.
I have a secret passion for freeway overpasses, and freeway architecture in general. It somehow lives in a civil-engineering world of its own, seemingly untouched by the zeitgeist (ugh, please save us from the hideous building trends of the last 50 years). From an aesthetic sense, they are sinuous, paradoxically weightless and massive statements. As a driver, freeways are an open world, just waiting to be conquered by my mighty machine. A fluid conduit that can take you anywhere you want to be, as if here is never good enough. They beckon to better jobs, excitement, love, all in an obstacle-free concrete gutter. As a californian, they are a symbol of all we hold dear, the great west, the open road, the rape of nature. How can you argue with speed?
Ah, Those Mythic Southern California Roots
Its hard to think about ancestors without thinking mostly of other people's ancestors. Other People's Ancestors are traceable in History. The Europeans Mangling Their Way Through Asia and the New World. Jews Finding Canaan. Africans, in the Bellies of Great Ships, making that Fateful Voyage across the Hostile Atlantic. Great Migrations across the Face of the Globe, involving every other earthling, except for my own. When I think of my Own People, I find a fat file simply labeled "LA." It wasn't the Indus Valley, the Fertile Crescent for my peeps, it was the LA basin that was the Cradle of Civilization. They came from those unmarked places on maps in black and white jalopies, with quaint hats and button shoes. They found each other in North Hollywood, they loved in Pasadena. They had children, they made stories. They moved away, or died. Nothing really started until they arrived Hollywood and Vine.
Ah, Cars.
We don't have much of a choice here. Either you have a car, or you don't get around. Coming of age isn't when you start bleeding, or when you register to vote. Its when you get your First Car. When you can answer the phone and say, "I'll be there right away." Its when you stop at the gas station and march around to the gas cap and unscrew it like you are the king of the world.
Repo Man. The Possession and Utilization of Cars. LA. Freeways. Potent, potent symbols, in Camilleland.
Thank-you, Contessa. A chance reference to the Plate of Shrimp set us on the RM course for last evening's entertainments. She has the most amazing TV video collection. She combed through three boxes of immaculately labeled videos in order to locate the movie. She even had artful calligraphy on many of the labels, and some were even organized by theme. She has embraced the zen of the TV movie video collection.
I have broken my fast, and after all this careful work, nothing has come to me.
I take that back.
One thing has come to me.
Repo Man
Every time I let my mind wander, it gleefully relives choice scenes and images. Does it, in carefully veiled symbolism, contain the Answers to My Quest?
Is it the gritty street scenes? The fabulous cars? The self-conscious generic-brand product placements? Or is it the Whole LA thing? I find nearly every aspect compelling, from the hazmat-suited extras, to the textures of the urban decay, to the cheesy plot. I even loved the concrete freeway overpasses and the LA river. It made me homesick for my half mythical southern california roots.
Ah, Freeway Overpasses.
I have a secret passion for freeway overpasses, and freeway architecture in general. It somehow lives in a civil-engineering world of its own, seemingly untouched by the zeitgeist (ugh, please save us from the hideous building trends of the last 50 years). From an aesthetic sense, they are sinuous, paradoxically weightless and massive statements. As a driver, freeways are an open world, just waiting to be conquered by my mighty machine. A fluid conduit that can take you anywhere you want to be, as if here is never good enough. They beckon to better jobs, excitement, love, all in an obstacle-free concrete gutter. As a californian, they are a symbol of all we hold dear, the great west, the open road, the rape of nature. How can you argue with speed?
Ah, Those Mythic Southern California Roots
Its hard to think about ancestors without thinking mostly of other people's ancestors. Other People's Ancestors are traceable in History. The Europeans Mangling Their Way Through Asia and the New World. Jews Finding Canaan. Africans, in the Bellies of Great Ships, making that Fateful Voyage across the Hostile Atlantic. Great Migrations across the Face of the Globe, involving every other earthling, except for my own. When I think of my Own People, I find a fat file simply labeled "LA." It wasn't the Indus Valley, the Fertile Crescent for my peeps, it was the LA basin that was the Cradle of Civilization. They came from those unmarked places on maps in black and white jalopies, with quaint hats and button shoes. They found each other in North Hollywood, they loved in Pasadena. They had children, they made stories. They moved away, or died. Nothing really started until they arrived Hollywood and Vine.
Ah, Cars.
We don't have much of a choice here. Either you have a car, or you don't get around. Coming of age isn't when you start bleeding, or when you register to vote. Its when you get your First Car. When you can answer the phone and say, "I'll be there right away." Its when you stop at the gas station and march around to the gas cap and unscrew it like you are the king of the world.
Repo Man. The Possession and Utilization of Cars. LA. Freeways. Potent, potent symbols, in Camilleland.
Thank-you, Contessa. A chance reference to the Plate of Shrimp set us on the RM course for last evening's entertainments. She has the most amazing TV video collection. She combed through three boxes of immaculately labeled videos in order to locate the movie. She even had artful calligraphy on many of the labels, and some were even organized by theme. She has embraced the zen of the TV movie video collection.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Lost and Found on the Internet.
Confessions of eBay Virgins
I started the day's journey from my parents' dial-up set up. We had another one of those "egads! you have no money!" chats and my mother started pulling dolls out of her treasure chest that I could sell on ebay. Armed with my da's digital camera, we had a diminuative fashion shoot.
A Great Gift for the Kiddies!
While no one is going to hire me to shoot for Elle, I am hoping that doll collectors everywhere will try an outbid each other for this vintage doll. It was a family effort, and it only took a couple of hours to get everything together for one item. My mom was so sweet, she even volunteered to make quilts that we could sell.
The State of the Dreams
I spent some time looking for local art teaching opportunities. I found a few leads. Something about looking for work in Flip Flop fills my heart with dread. I have lived here for five years, and have sought local employment, but never succeeded in regular, local work. The "Contessa" route is looking attractive today.
My parents said that they would help me finance more schooling. They are great. Yum, schooling, but what to learn?
Things Found
The Artist Formerly Known as Phil's Mark has reinvented himself once again, and after being totally bereft by his exit from the flickrdom, I have found his other avatar. Happy Day. The above picture is from him. Contemplating the cows makes the hollowness of my savings account seem less terrifying.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Beach
One of the perks of staying with my parents is the beach access. We walked there earlier today, and the waves were huge. I tried taking pictures of the waves with my pater's digital camera, but it failed miserably in conveying the hugeness of them. Or perhaps, I failed.
We had a great Christmas, ate lots of good food (including a ham, hooray for pigs!) and all but the most crazy of us managed to have an enjoyable time.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Merry Christmas
Just one last wish of a "Merry Christmas" to all in the Blo-Sphere. Thanks for reading! I love you all.
g'night!
Friday, December 23, 2005
Sub File: Advent
Since I don't know when the Sub Files is going to have any disposable cash, this is the best I can do with free publishing for the moment. Most of your subscriptions have expired, anyways, with the exception of a few of you.
Funny Money
I just got sucked into the blogshare fun. After poking around with the M*ster, we *finally* figured out its not real money. Yes, and "gullible" isn't in the dictionary. "Andy" owns a bunch of shares in the M*ster's old, defunct blog. I wonder if we should tell him. And he also owns nearly 50% of this blog. I suppose I should be bowing and scrapping to him, all in good fun, of course.
I just got sucked into the blogshare fun. After poking around with the M*ster, we *finally* figured out its not real money. Yes, and "gullible" isn't in the dictionary. "Andy" owns a bunch of shares in the M*ster's old, defunct blog. I wonder if we should tell him. And he also owns nearly 50% of this blog. I suppose I should be bowing and scrapping to him, all in good fun, of course.
FAT TRANNY BITCH
After a hearty brekkie of omelets with the M*ster, the OIC, the Contessa and myself decided that we needed to go walking at East Cliff. So we tootled over to that side of town. I thought it would be efficacious to park in the lot down on Pleasure Point. I have never parked there before, and I didn't know what to expect. We found many attractive, scantily clad surfers changing their clothes, lots of cars and no empty spaces. We did a few laps and finally, the Contessa spotted a cherry spot right in front of us and she screamed, "GO FOR IT!" I noticed out of the corner of my eye a rather large white truck on the right. I noticed that it was moving toward the same spot, but at that point, I didn't care. The prize was nearly in my possession. He tried to block my, but the silver bullet proved to be quite maneuverable, and we slid in without incident.
I gave him the finger with my shoe
The White Truck wasn't put off so easily. He parked himself right behind us, I could feel his hate boring into the back of the car. The Contessa recommended that we stay in the car, 'til they go. I threw my door open, and in a fit of playground pique, I propped my feet on the door.
"F* you," my feet said
FAT TRANNY BITCH, the driver hurled at us.
I knew from years of playground survial, the posture is critical, this was no time to put our heads down. We spilled out of the car, with our best devil-may-care attitudes, careful not to make eye-contact with the morons in the WT.
"Thats a dangerous game, you girls are playing," said a bystander.
I laughed, and said we were "badass enough" for this parking lot.
::
Tho' I was relieved to find the silver bullet was intact when we returned. I checked all four tires before we piled in, after taking in the fine sea air.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Learning about good hostess behaviour.
Only in Cambodia is here at 327 this week. We have been having a great time mucking about in the kitchen, and on the freeways.
I am slowly learning new skills about "making your guest feel at home."
1) When the guest screams, its a good thing to investigate. I am used to screaming women at 327. The M and the T scream when they are happy, when they are sad, when they want some attention and often just because they feel like it. But when OIC screams, its probably because the kitchen is flooding and its prolly a good idea to peel oneself from the fascination of the new modem and locate a mop. Now.
2) Guests won't take showers unless they are given towels. A single washcloth just won't do. Guests are generally not knowledgeable about where you might hide the towels. So its a good idea to offer them directly.
3) Guests appreciate clean linens. Yes they will notice those gnarly white spots that came from who-knows-where on the housemate's futon. So its always good to have back-up ones.
If cared for properly, guests will provide hours and hours of fun and food.
I am savoring a moment right now. I am trying to AIM The Bagel, listening to internet radio and writing in the oh-so-familiar text box. Things are beautiful. The rain is coming down in sheets and OIC is sitting on the floor, sorting through her Oriental Treasures. We have been having a blast, trying to figure out what to do in a wet week in Flip Flop Town. The DHL man came by with the much anticipated modem I ordered last week this morning. I was so happy to see him.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Ariel posted the seven questions a while back, and I finally have enough unpleasant chores that I need to procrastinate. I found these questions rather hard to answer, mostly because finding exactly seven of someting proved to be a bit challenging. I left off CS Lewis, the Bible and a few other universally beloved writers because they are already part of the Canon. The question about what you'd do before you die is rather morbid, but its good to be reminded that our time here is all too brief.
Seven things to do before I die.
1. Pay off some bills.
2. See Mongolia
3. Publish a comic masterwork
4. Love a good man
5. Raise and love a child
6. Busk on Pacific Avenue
7. Move to the Mission District and live the hipster dream in a loft/warehouse
Seven things I cannot do
1. Do the splits
2. Sing bass
3. Read freeway signs without the aid of corrective lenses
4. Kiss my elbow
5. Have sex with relatives or animals
6. Run long distances without arch supports
7. Be skinny
3. Seven things that attract me to [my spouse or significant other or best friend]
1. Brains
2. Creative thinking
3. Patience
4. Acceptance
5. Good smell
6. Ability to write
7. Pleasant voice
4. Seven things I say most often
1. Totally
2. Um
3. Sit Down
4. I'll be off the computer in a few minutes
5. Like
6. Excuse Me
7. Dude
5. Seven books (or series) I love.
1. Anything written by Umberto Eco
2. Beryl Markham's West with the Night
3. The Griffin and Sabine series by Nick Bantock
4. Anything written by Dorothy Sayers
5. Anything written by Anne Lamott
6. Chaos by James Gleick
7. Cages by Dave McKean
6. Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would watch over and over if I had the time)
1. Princess Bride
2. The Tango Lesson
3. All about Eve
4. O Brother Where Art Thou?
5. Mary Poppins
6. Joe vs the Volcano
7. Howl's Moving Castle
7. Seven people I want to join in, too
1. Dave (either get a blog, or put it in the "comments")
2. Phil's Mark (you could post it here, too)
3. The Contessa
4. Oxymoron (and I am not sure where your new blog is)
5. Ellie Brown
6. Nabajuice (I am helping you procrastinate)
7. Currer (there, I mentioned you)
1. Seven things to do before I die.
2. Seven things I cannot do
3. Seven things that attract me to [my spouse or significant other or best friend]
4. Seven things to do before I die.
5. Seven books (or series) I love
6. Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would watch over and over if I had the time)
7. Seven people I want to join in, too
Seven things to do before I die.
1. Pay off some bills.
2. See Mongolia
3. Publish a comic masterwork
4. Love a good man
5. Raise and love a child
6. Busk on Pacific Avenue
7. Move to the Mission District and live the hipster dream in a loft/warehouse
Seven things I cannot do
1. Do the splits
2. Sing bass
3. Read freeway signs without the aid of corrective lenses
4. Kiss my elbow
5. Have sex with relatives or animals
6. Run long distances without arch supports
7. Be skinny
3. Seven things that attract me to [my spouse or significant other or best friend]
1. Brains
2. Creative thinking
3. Patience
4. Acceptance
5. Good smell
6. Ability to write
7. Pleasant voice
4. Seven things I say most often
1. Totally
2. Um
3. Sit Down
4. I'll be off the computer in a few minutes
5. Like
6. Excuse Me
7. Dude
5. Seven books (or series) I love.
1. Anything written by Umberto Eco
2. Beryl Markham's West with the Night
3. The Griffin and Sabine series by Nick Bantock
4. Anything written by Dorothy Sayers
5. Anything written by Anne Lamott
6. Chaos by James Gleick
7. Cages by Dave McKean
6. Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would watch over and over if I had the time)
1. Princess Bride
2. The Tango Lesson
3. All about Eve
4. O Brother Where Art Thou?
5. Mary Poppins
6. Joe vs the Volcano
7. Howl's Moving Castle
7. Seven people I want to join in, too
1. Dave (either get a blog, or put it in the "comments")
2. Phil's Mark (you could post it here, too)
3. The Contessa
4. Oxymoron (and I am not sure where your new blog is)
5. Ellie Brown
6. Nabajuice (I am helping you procrastinate)
7. Currer (there, I mentioned you)
1. Seven things to do before I die.
2. Seven things I cannot do
3. Seven things that attract me to [my spouse or significant other or best friend]
4. Seven things to do before I die.
5. Seven books (or series) I love
6. Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would watch over and over if I had the time)
7. Seven people I want to join in, too
Writing From the LavaRock Cafe
I took a walk to the closest internet cafe this morning. The day is grey and nippy, but I was wearing many layers of woolens to protect my glands against the elements. I had called five friends before I left, and no one was home. I am trying not to take it personally. Of course, they are not sitting around their houses thinking, "gee, I wish she would call soon." I could have stayed home and cleaned my room and did laundry, but how fun is that?
I am still pondering the life-path-dream thing. I got quizzed about it at the Advent art opening on thursday. A few more have resurfaced since then.
life plan #9
Camille's Gonzo Photography. I was gestating this plan last summer, while I was in my "photo-phase." The "gonzo" bit is critical, no mild and non-interfering photo-action here. Camille would bring her brassy, bossy and obnoxious personality to the fore in the quest for the perfect balance between striking and artsy portraiture.
Now I am wondering when the photo-obsession ended, or is it just hibernating? I actually have neither sketchbook nor camera with me at the moment. This makes me sad. I saw some beautiful things this morning, but alas, you will have to take my word for it.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Monday, December 12, 2005
Monday Monday
I find myself in the Staff Room again, trying to put together another 5 minute post. This weekend was so beautiful. Something about being outside on chilly, yet sunny days is so magical. I love California for that. Is the sky ever so blue the rest of the year? Are the golden hours ever so long? Is it a special kind of sunlight that makes it through all the extra atmosphere. I have tried to go out for a walk every day this week. Today I went wandering around Mutton during my two hour lunch break. I discovered a Chinese spiritual center, a couple manufacturing plants, a secret hole in the fence to Central Expressway and one of the original farm houses. I had a moment where I could almost imagine the orchard that used to surround it 60 years ago.
---
I might be having another CL coffee date on Weds. If you are inclined to pray for me, please do. I don't want to divulge much, but this one can write, too. It seems that CL is a great winnowing tool for finding the good writers. Maybe that is all it is good for. I sense another life-plan possibility: somehow exploit that property of craigslist to find the next Pulitzer prize winning authors.
Speaking of more life plans, I thought of another two. Are we at Number Seven?The goal would be full-time private art teacher. I could exploit my upper-class contacts and bring creativity to the masses of undiscovered wealthy artists. (cha-ching!) Number Eight: pursue rubber purse design, eventually moving to some metro area and becoming a famous purse designer. Don't laugh, it could happen.
Friday, December 9, 2005
Thoughts On Thursday
Again I find myself in a staff lounge trying to pull together a coherent post in five minutes or less. I think I have a cold, and I can feel those nasty little viruses causing neural congestion.
How do you spell lounge, anyways? This doesn't have a spell check.
Men Writing All the Time
I spent a significant amount of time yesterday sitting at my typewriter composing a letter to the Pyro. I asked him to write me a letter. He complied. I was so happy, sitting in the kitchen, listening to KZSC, drinking tea. The kitchen was flooded with beautiful winter sunlight, the persimmons were just screaming Hermes orange and the house was peaceful. Time stopped as I pounded on the Olivetti.
Thursday, December 8, 2005
Back in Netty-Land
Boy, and are we so happy. If the Puritans would have had DSL, they would have burned anyone who got it to work at the stake, because there is just no way to explain it in normal, naturalistic terms. Two hours on the line with the tech people, plus an assortment of used modems (none of them worked) combined to create an utterly dead connection. Finally, after days without net the combination of a cable from Tibi's dead-tech-object collection and the original modem all worked. Why, I ask? When the combined intelligences of SBC and 327 couldn't fix it. I even tried this combination before, to no avail. There are forces eddying in this room that have powers beyond our ken.
Wednesday, December 7, 2005
Writing from Mutton
I have exactly five minutes to write until the kindergarten teachers take over the staff room. I chose the picture above strictly for its color.
Choosing the Sane Thing
As usual, my commute conversation with Eleven provided fodder for a weeks worth of cogitation. We talked about those times when life seems overwhelming and you think that it would be easier to go crazy than to continue discharging your obligations. At which point, in a strange moment of clarity, you realize that if you take the "crazy" route, there might be a time in the future when you can't make the sane choice. So there is nothing else to do besides getting out of bed and going to work, or school, as the case may be.
Monday, December 5, 2005
The house had an accident with the modem and so I am exploring the art of foraging for net. We are in the throes of "foraging for modems" as well. We think we might have a lead (thanks willow's mom!).
There were so many things that I have been bottling up for my big chance to get on line and write, but now, all I can think about is how much I'd like to be working on the submarine.
According to life plan #6, writing comics is a worthy occupation.
ok, bye
There were so many things that I have been bottling up for my big chance to get on line and write, but now, all I can think about is how much I'd like to be working on the submarine.
According to life plan #6, writing comics is a worthy occupation.
ok, bye
Saturday, December 3, 2005
it would be great to hear more about how you're pursuing your dreams.
comment from Poulet
I sat down during church last week, and through the tears and prayers, I made a list of 6 possible "5 Year Plans." They are based losely on the career paths of people whom I know and admire (and envy, in some cases).
The "Miss Una" or EB path.
-art residencies
-shows
-MFA
-teaching college
The Fan Boy Path
-gain some tech skills
-work in tech field funds art pursuits
The Joe Path
similar to The Miss Una, but ultimate goal is a Public Art Career
The Non-Profit Art Institution Path
-move to Mutton to devote all energies to Institution and art pedegogy
-move up the career ladder to a cush Administrative job
-write articles for The Teaching Artist Journal
-speak at conventions, write books on creativity
The Contessa Path
-cultivate local business pursuits
-cultivate local relationships
Comic Superstar, a la Too Much Coffeeman
-devote all energies to comicland, going to conventions, drawing/publishing like a maniac
-become famous, do commercial illustration, sell rights to artwork for exhorbitant amounts.
-work at home or own studio
-see own books lining shelves of retail stores
::
So there they are. The more I think about it, the more overwhelming the choices appear. So many things that I could do. Right now, the Comic Superstar is the most attractive, but they all have elements that I like. I dream of financial security, art-related work and a partner who supports my whole person (and vice-versa). Right now I have great art-related work and a supportive community. All I need to do is get a few more elements in line.
comment from Poulet
I sat down during church last week, and through the tears and prayers, I made a list of 6 possible "5 Year Plans." They are based losely on the career paths of people whom I know and admire (and envy, in some cases).
The "Miss Una" or EB path.
-art residencies
-shows
-MFA
-teaching college
The Fan Boy Path
-gain some tech skills
-work in tech field funds art pursuits
The Joe Path
similar to The Miss Una, but ultimate goal is a Public Art Career
The Non-Profit Art Institution Path
-move to Mutton to devote all energies to Institution and art pedegogy
-move up the career ladder to a cush Administrative job
-write articles for The Teaching Artist Journal
-speak at conventions, write books on creativity
The Contessa Path
-cultivate local business pursuits
-cultivate local relationships
Comic Superstar, a la Too Much Coffeeman
-devote all energies to comicland, going to conventions, drawing/publishing like a maniac
-become famous, do commercial illustration, sell rights to artwork for exhorbitant amounts.
-work at home or own studio
-see own books lining shelves of retail stores
::
So there they are. The more I think about it, the more overwhelming the choices appear. So many things that I could do. Right now, the Comic Superstar is the most attractive, but they all have elements that I like. I dream of financial security, art-related work and a partner who supports my whole person (and vice-versa). Right now I have great art-related work and a supportive community. All I need to do is get a few more elements in line.
Thursday, December 1, 2005
Even More Men Who Write
Everything I am reading this week is so heady. A quick scan of my e-mail conversations with R, Ariel's blog, actual conversations with Eleven (we commuted tuesday and sat in the car after we arrived home another 40 minutes just talking), theology class on Weds, reading Buechner's Wishful Thinking and even Jeff's blog (he usually just writes about the movies he's seen) reveals the same themes. Is it the rain? Is it just becuase its suddenly December and people are thinking deep thoughts in the dark? Even the beloved Peanut Gallery is bursting with insight.
I wanted to comment on Jeff's entry today, but he doesn't allow it, so I am going to comment here.
He writes: This modest seventy-five minute film from 1959 purports to be a meticulous examination of the education of a pickpocket, from first desperate attempts to assured mastery of the arts, but is really a study of a man lost in a spiritual crises, wondering, “why go on living,” and maybe finding the answer. One thinks often of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, though the scale here is much more modest. The tone is almost always calm (or flat), just as the thief must keep his cool to be successful. The film is all careful eyes, and hands going quickly in and out of pockets. The film is waiting. Race tracks, streets, trains, bars and bedrooms. The betrayal of trust. The hope of forgiveness?
He hits on some wonderful truth here. Between the waiting and the hope of forgiveness lies a beautiful paradox.
::
Now I feeling guilty, so much to be unpacked, and I have a lunch to prepare and eat and comics to draw and coffee to drink. But I am just going to leave it at that. Thanks, Jeff.
Everything I am reading this week is so heady. A quick scan of my e-mail conversations with R, Ariel's blog, actual conversations with Eleven (we commuted tuesday and sat in the car after we arrived home another 40 minutes just talking), theology class on Weds, reading Buechner's Wishful Thinking and even Jeff's blog (he usually just writes about the movies he's seen) reveals the same themes. Is it the rain? Is it just becuase its suddenly December and people are thinking deep thoughts in the dark? Even the beloved Peanut Gallery is bursting with insight.
I wanted to comment on Jeff's entry today, but he doesn't allow it, so I am going to comment here.
He writes: This modest seventy-five minute film from 1959 purports to be a meticulous examination of the education of a pickpocket, from first desperate attempts to assured mastery of the arts, but is really a study of a man lost in a spiritual crises, wondering, “why go on living,” and maybe finding the answer. One thinks often of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, though the scale here is much more modest. The tone is almost always calm (or flat), just as the thief must keep his cool to be successful. The film is all careful eyes, and hands going quickly in and out of pockets. The film is waiting. Race tracks, streets, trains, bars and bedrooms. The betrayal of trust. The hope of forgiveness?
He hits on some wonderful truth here. Between the waiting and the hope of forgiveness lies a beautiful paradox.
::
Now I feeling guilty, so much to be unpacked, and I have a lunch to prepare and eat and comics to draw and coffee to drink. But I am just going to leave it at that. Thanks, Jeff.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments