About a week ago, Katrina and I decided to go to Coney Island at five in the morning to take pictures. My father was visiting me for the weekend, so we decided to enlist him as our official driver on the excursion. My father wisely decided to go to bed at ten the previous night, but I decided that I’d rather stay up until two in the morning having a room-painting party in my living room. I woke up at four in the morning to take a shower and by 5am on the dot, we were off.
If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from the whole experience, it is that trying to remember anything on two hours of sleep is probably not a good idea. As soon as we arrived at Coney Island, I realized that I had forgotten the white canvas that I wanted to photograph on the beach. This wasn’t much of a big deal, though, and after a moment spent mourning the thought of what could have been, I shrugged it off and went forth to photograph the early morning theme park. I reached into my bag to retrieve my camera and found, much to my horror, that the slot for the SD card was wide open and without the card.
warm breeze just outside
the window floating
delicately through branches
underneath the nose
grass and concrete
mingle softly in the rain
a blanket of bark
and shivering leaves
drone of the fan
rotating through time, steady,
rhythmic like breath
of the sleeping
calendar squares wait
like speed bumps in the road
heavy hot days hang
in the future
nothing can do
but wait for summer.
[This is an essay that I wrote as the final paper for my History of Modern Art class.]
“What, exactly, is the point of this?” a young child asks his mother during a trip to New York’s Museum of Modern Art. The this in question is an enormous, wall-sized canvas covered in huge splatters of paint. To the art historian, it is the work of the American Painter, Jackson Pollock. To this young boy, it is absolute rubbish. The boy continues, “What’s so impressive about it? All it is is paint thrown at a surface. I don’t mean to sound cliché, mother, but I could paint this.” The woman accompanying the small boy turns to him and explains that, “the artist isn’t necessarily trying to sell you a piece of fine craftsmanship. He’s trying to sell you an idea.” That, in a nutshell, describes what much of modern art can be seen as: advertising.
[Image by Alexander Rodchenko.]
So. I was tagged in a meme. I don’t think I’ve ever been tagged in a meme before and I’m not even quite sure what the hell a meme is, but because Danielle was nice enough to go and tag me….. I thought it would be a good idea to comply. The meme is basically all about books.
Total number of books I’ve owned: I have no idea how to answer that question. A lot. My family didn’t own a television when I was little, so trips to the book store were very frequent. Today, book shopping remains one of my favorite things to do. I love the smell and feel of new books and I try to buy them as often as possible.
The last book I bought: Heather Armstrong’s Things I Learned About My Dad.
The last book I read: I’m assuming this means the last book that I finished, which is tricky considering that I have pretty much the worst attention span ever and usually get bored with books by the time I reach the half-way point, regardless of how long they are. Perhaps I have some unconscious commitment problems that I need to work out or maybe I just don’t like seeing things end. I don’t know.
If we’re talking about the last book I actually finished, I would have to say that that book is The Devil Wears Prada. But if you want to nice and let me say that the last book I “read” is really the last book I read a significant chunk of but then discarded for something new, that book would have to be Michael Pollan’s In Defense of Food. Good book. Go buy it.
Lastly….. Five books that mean something to me:
Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury (The best possible summer read you could ever find.)
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman
Anything that has the words “Harry Potter” in the title.
The Baby’s Good Morning Book by Kay Chorao (This is probably why I’m obsessed with brunch.)
If I understand this whole meme thing correctly, I believe I’m supposed to tag five more people that I think should ALSO complete this little questionnaire. However, I’m not sure if anybody really reads this blog. Besides Jill. So, Jill. Go do this.
Instead of studying for my upcoming Psychology exam or writing the three papers that I have to hand in on Monday, I’ve started channeling all my energy into procrastination and art projects. Ever since leaving art school for the semester (something I’m starting to severely regret at this point), I’ve been craving art projects like Pete Doherty’s cat craves crack. (Haaaa, alliteration.) I’ve started a little notebook with sketches and ideas for photoshoots, drawings, and paintings. This week, I decided to actually start some of the projects I’d had in my head.
On Wednesday, I went to the Pratt store and the hardware store to buy a canvas and some paint. Then, I spent the afternoon on my friend Carianne’s rooftop spray-painting a tree branch gold and doing abstract painting on the canvas I bought (pictured above). If you think that the painting looks kind of like a sidewalk with gum and bird poop smeared all over it, GOOD. That’s exactly what I was going for.