you need to know just how different art school finals are from other finals. we are not memorizing, cramming. we are, in fact, trying to finalize conceptual ideas + figure out the words to explain the piece + the actual physical labor of the piece + limitations of time + limitations of space in the kiln + limitations of being able to lift & carry your mold in order to get a proper casting out of it + cold barrels of dirty wax + glazes that melt your ceramic pieces together instead of simply making them glossy + limited amounts of decal paper to apply text to your clay piece + a part time job that you MUST keep because it pays for more art supplies
= frazzled kids in dirty clothes standing outside the art school building, smoking, starving, exhausted and by now, half delirious.
or, lemme put it this other way:
-i cant remember the last time i ate something, washed my hair, or changed my socks
-my arms are covered in lumps of gunky PC-7
-my cuticles are shot to shit, with manganese ink wash and englobe under my nails
-my pants and shoes are specked with globes of wax
-my shirt is flecked with white underglaze
on my face? a contented smile.
BUT, I will confess: my Borderline Personality Disorder saw an opportunity. this morning, in front of half of the class, i had a breakdown in front of my ceramics teacher, because i was TERRIFIED that my clay did NOT look enough like wood, while she enthusiastically persisted that it looked perfectly like dark, carved wood from every angle of the classroom.
i knew i was crying in front of near strangers, and i knew i should stop, that these tears and the intensity of this emotion would scare them. luckily for me, this time, the sheer embarrassment was enough for me to find the brakes and i inhaled strongly, strongly. it was eventually strong enough to suppress the salty waterworks momentarily.
I'll post pictures of my installations as soon as they are complete.
wish me luck.
current mood: busy.
current music: cassius - toop toop
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