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So I've been elsewhere. It happens. Colonizing the web not-here, etc. Oh, and signed up for classes this semester at SVA: Tuesday night: 6:00 - 10:00 PIMP MY SQUIRR-- I mean, PHP/MySQL Thursday night: 6:30 - 9:30 Illustration basics. This is the part where I get to break down and master whatever it is that makes a picture tell the story it needs to tell. I've spent years obfuscating, so it won't kill me to harness whatever skills may come. Stay tuned. What freaks me out about aging isn't getting old. It's how time accelerates. It's dizzying how weeks slip through me, and it's not like I'm not already chronically challenged. Hmmmph! Kind of obsessed with typography. As in, have accounts at fonts.com and Typedia. It all started with Thinking With Type, which is awesome and you should read it if you a) haven't b) are interested remotely in graphic design. Elements of Typography = also awesome, but I haven't finished it yet so I have to maintain more reserve. Survey says aces, so far. Also, that was a lie. Typography obsession belongs to web design learning curve. It happens when you have to make sense of what's out there vs. what can actually be used, and how. P.S. Wonder when LJ will stop using deprecated tags. Oh, LJ, you taught me such bad habits.
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The company that holds our showroom lease just sent us the June rent invoice....as a .dat attachment. From his Sekrit Y2Kave, perhaps?
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When I feel  Angelo flies into an apoplectic rage, and orders Niccolo's pursuit and destruction. But not by his own men. It is at about this point in the play, in fact, that things really get peculiar, and a gentle chill, an ambi- , guity, begins to creep in among the words. Heretofore the naming of names has gone on either literally or as metaphor. But now, as the Duke gives his fatal command, a new mode of expression takes over. It can only be called a kind of ritual reluctance. Certain things, it is made clear, will not be spoken aloud; certain events will not be shown onstage; though it is difficult to imagine, given the excesses of the preceding acts, what these things could possibly be. The Duke does not, perhaps may not, enlighten us. Screaming at Vittorio he is explicit enough about who shall not pursue Niccolo: his own bodyguard he describes to their faces as vermin, zanies, poltroons. But who then will the pursuers be? Vittorio knows: every flunky in the court, idling around in their Squamuglia livery and exchanging Significant Looks, knows. It is all a big in-joke. The audiences of the time knew. Angelo knows, but does not say. As close as he comes does not illuminate...
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When I started working with tea and ink on paper, to the exclusion of oils, it wasn't a full shift. There was always the idea of a return to oil, taking whatever I found in the meantime back with me. The question was never really when, but how. I knew I wouldn't just pick up and start where I left off, because I know more now than I did then. What I know now is that picking up a tub of gesso and jars with no list of ingredients feels like I'm baking cookies out of a tube. Or running the final leg of a relay race. It felt...not-quite-right, and so it's high time to get my lab on and usher the mad science of the Old Masters into my own work. So there's been extensive research and I'm lucky to have access to the materials. On W. 29th Street, for example, there's a store called Kremer Pigments, which I discovered by way of a helpful comment on the Natural Pigments forums. You sense a theme, I'm sure. As soon as I found out there was a place in town to buy the ingredients I needed to make my own stuff, I knew what my Saturday looked like. It looked like a bright freezing day with a few train changes and a bit of a walk, and then it looked like this: ( Do you see? ) It is the best place ever. Anyway, it turned out that Cooper Union is dutifully guiding a class through chalk ground preparation and so a) I had to build a little hoard on one of the tables as students peppered in looking for the same ingredients I needed and b) when I bought the ingredients finally, store lady gave me a 10% discount based on her assumption that I was in a class too. Let's here it for "right place, right time", ladies and gentleman. Here's my stash in progress, minus the brushes and the mortars. Not that I didn't covet the mortars. Let me tell you....  The purchase, complete, constituted the following:
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I get in trouble at museums. Not like dragged-away-screaming-in-chains trouble, but a milder sort of angry librarian trouble. "Please step away from the art." I'm not trying to steal or vandalize but I always want to see as much as possible. Now, SAT prep tells us that statements containing "always" or "never" tend to be false, but there I go wreaking havoc in the holy of holies. Because I always want a better look, and usually, a better look involves a crime-scene zoom on brushstrokes or tool marks or some detail in the drawing. The game is industrial espionage, wherein I attempt to retroengineer the piece in my head based on what I see. It helps to be reasonably fluent in various media, past and present. And it's fun to get stumped because getting stumped means learning something new. For example, S. and I wandered through the Tibetan section of the Met setting off localized alarms while I tried to figure out how paint on otherwise unprepared cloth could stay so bright for so long. What kind of paint, and what kind of cloth. The info cards raised questions instead of settling them; more often than not it was some permutation of "Distemper on cloth". For example:  Yama, mid-17th–early 18th century Tibet. Distemper on cloth; 72 3/8 x 46 5/8 in. This was new. Apparently "distemper" exceeds strictly veterinary connotations. S. looked it up later and told me it seemed like some sort of solvent fabric treatment, similar to dyeing but more applied. Today I found a distemper recipe by accident, while hunting around online for traditional painting surface preparation materials (which usually amounts to a mineral/hide glue warm mixture which seals upon drying and cooling). Turns out, distemper paint is heated hide glue (collagen) and water mixed with dry pigments, which explains its staying power. Ancient recipes present (duhn de duhn duhn DUHN!):
So there you go. Scintillating, I'm sure.
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When I was little, I remember registering certain chunks of color as candy. There were green houses with pink trim and I would gnash my teeth as we drove by: "Ka-chunk. Peppermint!" The rippling color gradients on the cover of my mom's bargello books? Slurp, dude. Slurp. Mom's needlepoint projects happened while I acquired language and ate as much color as I could fit in my brain at once. I never ate crayons, though. They were for coloring, and besides, only babies eat crayons. Winter means restlessness between naps. This is a good time for nattery physical making-things. This winter we're taking a powder on pottery; tendonitis is so not an option. And I don't knit. Never developed a taste for that flavor Kool-Aid. But in one of those discover-my-neighborhood adventures, I found a second-floor needlepoint shop four blocks north of here. (I was looking for knitting gear for  November 2008 Finished surface 7.5" x 9.25" in 3-ply Persian wool on #13 mono unbleached 8" x 10.5" canvas.
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Man, so instead of going to a party and getting on my hidden identity Friday night, I came home and crawled into my jammies all a-shiver. Thanks, microbiology! Even feverish, I'm still a Virgo and of course there was a checklist. Or rather, a fresh pile of art mags and a panting moleskine on the bedside table, all clamoring for the waking moments of my convalescence. Ok, but here's the math that doesn't happen: factoring in shit like "hallucination" or "crap-ass attention span" or "Thera-Flu Night-time all the time". Much less got accomplished than planned. Media was consumed, just not as predicted. First of all, the aforementioned Thera-Flu and John Carpenter's Vampires are natural allies, even if the cold meds do nothing to alleviate James Woods' innate assholishness. Because seriously, nothing can. I'm a little foggy on the Saturday-Sunday transition but at some point I went online to read Television Without Pity recaps for Gossip Girl, which, I'm a tad skeeved to say, may be almost better than watching actual episodes. Mock my teeny-bopper trash all you want, but I love a fairytale, and I love an opera, and the only difference between this one and the tried-and-true of yore is the "yore." Seriously, you think The Magic Flute was all heavy shit when it came out? Uh-uh. Nothing like "History" and "Mozart" to dropkick a teen romance into the Western Canon for good. And I gotta say, CW-forced marginalization aside, Josh Schwartz is giving it his second good effort. So anyway, back to the "skeeved" part - since we're already talking about a spectacle, and a spectacle about spectacles at that, I hesitate to urge any further remove. Also, you have to have watched the show, at least once, for the recaps to sweep you along as hysterically as they should. If "Jacob" weren't so clearly a gay male aged 30, and not Punk Rock Girl, Ph.D., I'd lay down money that iphisol was in the secret employ of this pitiless, and hilarious machine:He stands up nervously and asks her to look at his ridiculous art, and the part he's gluing to the wall right now says "SOMETIMES WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES..." and the huge block of boring self-important regurgitated text beneath includes such chestnuts as "you are both the author and the..." whatever the grimblefuck, and elsewhere it says NOTHING TANGIBLE OR PERMANENT IN THIS ROOM, okay? I can't wait to meet the undergrad Theory Survey professor that took this kid's virginity, because he did some fucking damage. In the glimmering present, countdown to the arrival of my newest dear friend, the flexible foldable and very imposing oak creature coming to live with me. Whenever the giant truck delivers, but the ballpark is sometime next week. Yay, direct-from-factory! Mail-order other boyfriend, ahoy:  Taking my easel and writing good checks. Done with work, time for voting.
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Is there anyone else out there who fervently believes in the untapped genius potential of Vince McMahon: Bond Villain? It's only a matter of time before the Bond cinema franchise air-drops Daniel Craig into Madison Square Garden to corner McMahon in VIP just moments before the biggest Pay-Per-View event of the season. Or perhaps a casual shaken-not-stirred Metro North commute to Stamford to face down the Puppeteer in his very lair. And with the latest news of an incapacitated (albeit recovering) henchman, how vulnerable our villain must feel, even as he arms the lasers on the outer periphery of the WWE Headquarters. Oh sweet infiltration. And with any luck, Vince McMahon will also be wearing a dinner jacket. Or perhaps, a bespoke bowling shirt. Felix Lighter, are you with me?
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Schedule wide open next week, and nothing to do but yawn? According to the ADI sales office on-hold recording (beats Norah Jones), we celebrate Outdoor Perimeter Protection Week July 28 through August 1. So hook up those biometrics, lock up your copper, and charge your tazers. Summer's headline event is only five days away.
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 ..... Yeah, I couldn't caption this either. You try.
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VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22) Seems you're pushing to learn all you can from places and ideas you barely even know existed a few months ago. Your experiments continue to provide such valuable lessons that you'd rather not wrap them up yet...
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Ok, kids. What's grosser than one Coil song about three dead babies? ( Click if you're stumped! )
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I got to keep some of my recent pottery batch around for household use. And through use, I get to learn whether they count as "functional." It's one thing to be a cup-with-handle, but another thing entirely to be a cup-with-handle that feels comfortable when grasped or held. Also, I enjoy my coffee/tea far more when it doesn't involve burning the top layer of skin off my lips. In other words, rim thickness should be a crucial consideration in the making. I still gave some as gifts;  ( The crisp quality detail you've come to depend on! ) I spend extended periods chez lui, so I get to use them too. The cups scored high on aesthetics. We both dug the iridescent glaze effects, and I noted how easy they are to grasp by their handles, which means I finally zoned in on correct proportion. The rims could be thicker. I have to wait a few before sipping unless I want to my tea to taste like burning. There are other considerations as well. I dipped all three cups in the same two glazes and fired them to Cone 6 oxidation. While roughly the same size, they vary in form and surface, and I layered the two glazes differently on each cup. The iridescent flow results from the overlap reaction and consequent flow. I used Indian Summer, a warm pale yellow opaque matte glaze and Oatmeal Satin, a semi-translucent off-white satin (not quite glossy but shinier than matte). Because I wanted the surface to be food-safe, I applied the Oatmeal Satin over the Indian Summer where applicable. Unfortunately, where layering occurred on the rims, the glaze ran so the matte glaze was exposed. Now there's no poison here, but matte glazes are porous. This means they're harder to clean and keep clean. Luckily, Himself cleans meticulously and claims the look is worth the extra cleaning effort. It's nice to make it from week to week without a poisoning on my hands so this story ends well. As per freaking assignment, I came down with the flu just after bringing home the second batch. For me the flu means lots of hot tea and night-time TheraFlu. It also means that I grab the first clean cup available and keep washing it. This happened to be one of the new ones, but one I couldn't sell or give away because of the glaze weirdness. I call this a mistake of second-guessing, which caused me to wipe off a swath of glaze I thought too thick. When the cup came out of the fire, I found the matte sheen of oxide-stained bare clay body gaping through the substantial wound where the glaze had been wiped.  ( Now with added crispness! ) Since the rims remained intact, however, the cup was safe for drinking. And in drinking hot liquids from this cup every day for a week, I fell in love with it. The cup opening is a squarish oval, or a rounded diamond if you prefer; because of the altering of the traditionally circular opening, the rim curves in a way that invites drinking. No drips! And the handle? Wide enough to hold comfortably, enough room to grip it firmly, and with optimal leverage. I have a New-Friend crush. Seriously. So, recap: the flu still sucks but now I have a new favorite cup.
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Since I dry mixed my very first glaze last night, I decided to keep a record of Glaze = Silica + Flux + Alumina (plus optional colorant) Weathered Bronze Matte Actual Batch Mixed 01/03/07 - 5000 Grams for 5 gallon bucket - dry mix: 50 g Lithium Carbonate Constitution by percentage or 100 gram batch: Lithium Carb 1.0 %
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Ok, so here's the deal. I keep referring to my pottery teacher, or the studio owner, or my instructor, but the fact is she has a name and her name is Cindy. So I'm going to call her Cindy from now on, and I hope that's cool and if you have any questions, just tie this little ribbon of data around your fingers for later. It's just easier, and also, if I'm spending that much time with someone, she deserves to be referred to by name. Her husband, and co-owner is Mark. He's the cuddliest biker-gnome, EVAR. Now, I can see where the "Mark" part gets confusing, since I already work with two Marks. So let's call him Mudpit Mark, or Mark P. if yer nasty. Cool? I've been relieved to hear kind reports from third parties that my pottery sagas are indeed welcome reading. I'm looking at you, jearl, and I'm so so sorry to have missed you. Although I guess having a blog in the first place may seem to contradict my very loyal but stern internal librarian (she says, "Shhhh. Please don't bother the other readers with your noise), I manage outbursts from time to time. And since most of them lately have been all pottery-this, pottery-that, I started to get self-conscious. I deleted a post since the most recent on the grounds that I must be the most boring monomaniac west of the Hamptons and that it was time to shut-up about my dumb hobby already. I guess I could make filters, but I'm even lazier than I am timid. Oh well. Now's your chance to escape.( Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you! ) In other news, I spent a gorgeous Christmas in Virginia Beach with my family. And salimondo came too! Since he and I both realized that packing each others' gifts, bringing them to Virginia Beach, and then carting them back again would have been way retarded, so we're celebrating our own gift exchange this weekend, January 6 to be precise. Twelfth Night, or what you will. And now, photographic proof: Happy New Year to all, and to all a good day.
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At last I have something to show you:
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If I had a way of translating my exact thoughts directly into here without the interruptive and halting process of writing, much more of the contradictory internal conversation I've been having with myself and one or two or three select others might have revealed themselves throughout the past This is why I don't use writing as a creative medium - it makes me a little nutty. I don't organize well on the fly (I don't really organize well, period) and I never know where to start. Or when I'm done. With painting, or with pots, it's not easy, but it's a less painful decision. It seems more evident. Explicit wrap-ups feel so arbitrary and contrived, so I usually just stop.
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This weekend I broke out the high-fire clay for the first time. High iron-content and whiskey-shit orange-brown. When I opened the bag, the aroma swirling out, while fortunately non-correspondent with the color, was not something I expected clay to smell like. Faintly organic, and unplaceable. Until I realized: blood. But exactly. That is iron-rich stuff. It's drier and less silky than any of the stoneware I've been using; it's gritty and feels full of sand. As much as I'm in Holiday Production Mode, and shouldn't be distracting myself with pieces I can't even glaze until January, I wanted to have some stuff ready to go. + I can center it in my sleep. Being that it's so groggy (hence the gritty texture), it's super-sturdy. ( If you're interested.... ) Winter magnaminity (I can't afford to shop for all the gifts I want to give) brings concentrated production. Which means better, faster (my only regret being that people will first receive my unrefined "experimental" pieces as gifts. I hope I'll be forgiven soon), and more versatile. Soon, I can start selling on Etsy; then all my class expenses/supplies/firing fees become tax deductible. Mud, glass, gold.
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busy
creative
accomplished
cheerful
rejuvenated
content
curious
frustrated