Monday, April 30, 2012

Last Day of School

Today was my final exam!

It was a 1.5 hour critique on our assignment to create a self portrait from a photograph of our faces in some form of "distorted" position. We were to use charcoal or conte on toned paper, or watercolor paper stained with tea or coffee.

Below is (from left to right) a girl who pulled her glasses from her face so her eyes were enlarged, a boy busting through saran wrap (indicative of his feelings of claustrophobia at the end of the semester), and a boy posing with other people's fingers poking in his face (to which half the class responded, "Dude, I've totally felt like that before!!!")

From left to right again, a boy who put on swimming goggles and then stretched his mouth tight into a scream, a lady who wrapped floss around her face, and a dude (Chas) who put packing tape over one eye to pull the eyelid down, wrapped a leather strap across his face, bound a binder clip to his nostril and bit down on a bottle cap. He was working with the feelings of being bound up and conformed by others, and the bottle cap was an attempt at some relief in the pressure.

Here we are:

That's Joe on the left. The genius.

Second round in the Critique included a girl who bit down on a slinky then wrapped it around her head, some Mom who got her oldest child to put his hands in an A-OK sign around her eyes and her oldest daughter to hold a spoon to her nose, then a fair blonde with a clown nose.

Then a miraculous belly-dancing veil masking the eyes of Hannah, a duct-taped mouthed advocate "speaking out" for the 27 million modern day slaves in the world who have no voice, then a harnessed chap with a halo, trying to break free.

It seems there is so much suffering in the art that a pre-req?

Here's mine up close:

There is still work to do on it...but so far I feel pretty distorted.

Saturday, April 07, 2012

Jackson Pollock Experiment

Over Spring Break, we invited a few friends over and made a mess.

An organized chaos type of mess over several canvases.

I had visions of discussing Jackson Pollock and Art forming in the Experience and Motion of the Process. But our artists were ages 3-8 and much more interested in squealing when the paint got on their feet or went haywire off the canvases.
That's art too, I guess.

After everyone went home with a piece, I hung these four in the kitchen:

I hope they remind me to respect the process despite the end results.