Archive for the Self-reflection. Category

Shh. Don’t tell Nell how behind I am.

Posted in Self-portrait., Self-reflection. on April 26, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

Okay, okay. So I am a sucker for lists. Doesn’t much matter what it is you’re trying to tell me, just bullet point it and add some cutesy pictures and I’m hooked. Admitting this is incredibly difficult for me, the college student and possible English major, because I am expected to understand the complexity of life without it being spelled out for me; this might be the reason I enjoy the shortcut entitled “lists” so much. Things seem so much more organized and much more manageable broken up into pieces. But we’ll get to this later.

Today in class, I started in on day two of my self-portrait. Several of my classmates complimented the “creepiness” of the work and my hair, though whether they meant the hair on the paper or my real hair, I can’t be sure. We’re going to go with both.
I could have screamed…  Although I assume no one would have been able to hear it for the mask I have to wear. (Note to self: Wash your face before every visit to your piece. It gets hot and sweaty and generally uncomfortable under that mask business. Also, charge your Ipod. That performance today sans music was just sad.) I covered and erased and covered and erased and squinted and measured and tried eighty-thousand different ways to get precise lines, but to no avail. My head was too small on the paper, my nose too small for my eyes.  AND THE MASK WAS HUGE. I must have been transfixed by the difference it made in rendering myself (Nell’s class directions were for the nose and lips- I could see neither on my face). Did I mention this was around the time my easel fell apart? Thanks to Polly Nance for helping me reset my work space. :]

Thing number two I have a hard time admitting: Nell is right. I am a wanderer. I don’t stick in one part of my artwork for too long; I try to get a general feel for the big picture and go in to make slight changes as needed. I cannot do that in this project; I have to touch only the parts of black that are attached to a finished shape. I don’t know if I can do it, or, more precisely, I don’t know at what point in this project I will feel confident in my ability to see. If ever. But! I read this amazing list just a few minutes ago (don’t you like how I brought it all back? I bet you do!), and it really pointed my artistic compass back toward north. Well, northish. You can’t really point a rat out of the gutter, you can only give her better scraps. This is the article:, and I highly recommend it to anyone who’s struggling with her own mind to get this thing created (Elle, Katie, and Kelley specifically, if I can recall correctly from class).
Make it more manageable! Break it up into pieces smaller and smaller until you can’t even recognize yourself in the mirror, then fake it ’til you make it.

This class in one sentence: Sometimes the whole really does only equal the sum of its parts, so pay attention to how it all fits together.


Self-Portrait: For starters.

Posted in Notes., Self-portrait., Self-reflection. on April 22, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

First: I am allergic to charcoal dust.
Second: Our self-portraits will be done in charcoal, specifically by grinding charcoal pieces into one piece of paper (or palate) and swiping them onto our working piece with toilet paper. (As Nell says, because it’s supplied by the school, and it’s scratchy!)
Third: we will have to erase the highlights from our faces onto this paper covered in charcoal dust, while using only a kneaded eraser as your tools?

So this is our teacher-student conversation went: it. Wear a mask.
Rose: … You want me to draw a portrait of myself in the mirror while I have a mask on my face? How is that gonna work, Nell? Should I try to recall, like from memory or something?
Nell: Oh. No, I guess you’re right… Wait! Just draw it as part of your face! It would be interesting and cool, and it sounds like it would be right up your alley.
Rose: Oh. Okay. Sure. Whatever you say.

This goes back to the fact that Nell could fail me. I could have argued with her, and she would have seen it as a refusal to do an assignment, and I’m almost positive that means I would automatically fail the class. I vote no.
So Bethany covered my paper in charcoal dust while I waited patiently for a mask- I couldn’t even walk all the way into the art room without it. Finally, we start- and almost as soon as we start, I am frustrated. My frustration and satisfaction come in waves for most of the afternoon, based upon how much work I did versus how much work I had to cover back up to start over. All in all, I left on a sing-sing note. In fact, I hate that I have to wait so long to start working on it again.

Dream: 04.14-04.15.2011

Posted in Abstracts., Almost irrelevant topics., Self-reflection. on April 15, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

Can I tell you about the dream I had last night? I know it’s a little off-topic, but really. It’s interesting! And very aesthetic.
You know what? I don’t need your permission because this is my blog, and you won’t be reading it until after I am done writing it, anyway. Winning!

So. We were here at Agnes. All of us. Some of us (well, a lot of us!) were performing in a tribute dance for Michael Jackson- more specifically- Thriller. Almost every girl on campus was dressing up as a zombie for the parade, and Phoebe Perry had taught all of them the appropriate dance. Anyway, a friend of mine in the dream, a girl I’ve never seen before in real life, comes to walk next to me and let me know that she isn’t participating either, so we could hang out and watch everyone else (My dancing is so bad I don’t even do it in my dreams. How sad.) dance down the streets of Decatur. She was in a white dress. That was very distinct. Long, curly hair. Bright blue-green eyes. White, white teeth.
Then it started to rain. She and I (the mystery girl, that is) walked alongside the parade, getting pelted with giant masses of water. The show went on, though. And then! Suddenly, the dancers all began to turn toward us with a deprived, hungry look in their eyes. We raced to a van to find it magically unlocked, and tumbled into the back unscathed. We locked the doors, and only just in time- the girls had begun to smear their sweaty, peeling faces onto the doors and window of the vehicle.
Weird, right? I thought so, too. But wait! It gets better.
I drove us to DeKalb Medical Center, just down the road from school. I figured there could be no safer place considering the situation we had just come from. We got out and spoke with the nurses and any other staff we could run down. Finally, we got a hold of a security guard who believed our story, and he ushered us to a waiting room to allow us to calm down and for him to contact his boss regarding the issue. Little did we know; he had put us in a quarantine room with the intention of killing us. I watched blue smoke creep in through the air conditioning vent, a sure sign of poisoning. Obviously! So I pried open the doors and grabbed Mystery Girl’s hand and headed for the exit.
And that is the end, folks.

I looked up the colors and main themes to try to find some symbolism and/ or reasoning behind all this. My records are as follows:

  • Blue: could mean happy or sad, depending on the context. Wanting to get away from a situation with your clarity intact.
  • White: most commonly “a clean-slate.” Hm.
  • Dark green: indicates materialism, deciet, and/or difficulties sharing. Also a hm.
  • Getting wet from the rain: indicates cleansing from your troubles and problems.
  • Zombies attack!: To dream that you are attacked by zombies indicates that you are feeling overwhelmed by forces beyond your control, or you are feeling out of touch.
  • Hospital: You need to get back to the flow of everyday life, or you are afraid of losing control of your body.
  • School: relates to anxiety about performance and abilities.

So, if I am interpreting this correctly, I want to run away from my problems, all of them, without reprimand, with a clean slate in a new place with a girl who seems innocent but is really out to deceive me and take my money… That sounds like my conscious life, but with zombies. I didn’t need Michael Jackson for that.
I wonder if I could make this dream a painting… ?


Blast from the past.

Posted in Almost irrelevant topics., Mechanisms., Self-reflection. on March 30, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

I have started to see a pattern develop in my work- the underplaying of hypersexualized images, and the sexualizing of everyday images. I ran across an old photo I took of a friend when I was… sixteen. Relatively young. And it wasn’t the first photo in this sort of vein, either. I wish there was a class in which I could simply develop this theme as a way to build my portfolio. Do they do that at Agnes? Do they have portfolio building classes for photography?
I can’t remember ever loving a hobby, a passion, as much as I love photographs. And I know I could be so much better! I’m just an amateur.
All I’m saying is this is a skill I would like to develop as much as possible. Pleaseandthankyou artteacherslashacademicadvisor Nell Ruby. I know you’ll tell me exactly what I need to know about these things.
The photo I ran across:


Most immediately, it is part of a pair, a two part peering into the life in foreplay for this particular couple.
Quite possibly still one of my favorite photos from my collection.
If you are interested in where this came from and my old experiments, you can catch my profile at, and keep in mind that art gallery hasn’t been updated since 2008.

This is one of the few things I can look back and be proud of- my sixteenth year wasn’t all scandalous. Well, you know.

Notes: 03.27.2011.

Posted in Abstracts., Constructions., Mechanisms., Notes., Self-reflection. on March 28, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

We critiqued our abstracts today. Wait! Hold the presses! There is a second portion to the project? I have to take pictures to match the nonobjectional pieces in front of us?
I would like to change my abstracts to make the photo easier to conceptualize.
And I am assuming this is exactly why she didn’t tell us until now. 😐

Before we get to that, let’s talk about the art that has already been made.
I was especially drawn to Polly’s scattered/ cohesive pairings, not only because I feel Polly’s words without having her describe them to me, but also because it is obvious she made real efforts in doing this project the right way- intensely, focused on the task at hand and nothing else.
I feel as though, by now, everyone should know that my best work has come from dicking around- and don’t think that my best work is something to be proud of. I just haven’t gotten to that point yet. I suppose it is true that we admire the things we do not possess. Was that Nin? Or Nietzsche? Oh, well. I can’t remember the quote or the author, so let’s just pretend I said it. Cool? Cool.
But back to the point. Polly’s use of fierce black and stark white makes her image, one of her cohesive prints, full of dimension (contrast via shape/ value/ color). It’s just so damn awesome! I commend her and her work.

And this is the part where I write a polished paragraph about my choices for intense and mild…
Well, let me tell you about intense. Do you know what intensity is like? The sweat of anticipation on your upper lip, your heart beating furiously under your breast plate, your ribs cracking under the pressure of your lungs trying frantically to suck in oxygen that seems to have disappeared from the air around you? Yeah. It’s like that. It’s all that put together, and what you see when your eyes are closed. The incredible contrast in feeling and unpredictability of shape, form, and framing. There is an extra turbulence created by the media (charcoal), which only adds to the effect of intensity.
And as for mild? This is me imaging the moment you open your eyes after a plain dream. Not good, not bad. Just there. Much like the feeling (or lack thereof) I embodied for several of my teenage years. It is uniform and calm, with minimal contrast and little variation. even the lines are almost all horizontal, drawn in pencil. It was me shaping a piece of around the phrase, “Don’t rock the boat.”
They both were accomplished the way I had envisioned them- I only wish I had the skill to capture them more effectively.
{insert photos}

Oh, and as for the photos, I think I have an idea. But I’m not going to tell you what it is. You’ll just have to wait and see.


Posted in Constructions., Mechanisms., Self-reflection. on March 27, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

In English, we are reading a book titled Dime-Store Alchemy: The Art of Joesph Cornell. It is a text that uses poetry and prose to better explain the life and work of Joesph Cornell.
Professor DeWeese (that’s my English professor- look him up. He’s a mighty fine poet. In fact, I’ll do you one better: That is his blogspot, and it is great. Check him out!) asked us to write a paragraph in the style of the author, describing one of Cornell’s boxes he had chosen to display on the projector. This is what the box looks like:

Hotel Eden- Joesph Cornell.

And this is what I wrote:

“Little night music for the eyes.”
Jack be nimble. Jack be quick. The cuckoo sits on a crooked stick.
This is what the inside of a bird’s house looks like. The cuckoo prepares his worm on a wooden stove, heated with tidings and shiny fragments of discarded human life. Berries and a worm, to perfection. Medium-well. The early bird gets the worm, an inch at a time.
Shouldn’t something make noise?
The strategy of home and Gardens for birds…
Like ours, but with a few more corks. (Thus, more alcohol?) What a view.

I should be a bird, but only if you are a bird, too.
Being a bird would get pretty lonely without you.


So. For all of this, I have but one comment to make. If we are translating literature into art and art into literature, who is to say I cannot do both?

On doing art for Latin 202.

Posted in Abstracts., Constructions., Mechanisms. on March 10, 2011 by fullcircleproductions

First: the translated poem.
Catullus 07- Sometimes titled “How Many Kisses.”

You ask me how many of your kisses
are enough and more than enough for me, Lesbia.
As giant a number as there are grains of sand lying between Cyrenia,
where rests the temple of Jove,
and old Battus’s sacred tomb; or as many stars, when the night is silent,
as see the stolen loves of men.
It is enough and more than enough for mad Catullus
that you kiss with so many kisses
Kisses which the curious can neither count nor
bewitch them with an evil tongue.

The instructions were to make an artistic interpretation of one of the poems our class had read thus far. I chose that poem. This was my project:

Just needed somewhere to keep track of it, really. This seemed like the place to do it.