pour like water, over me

Brace yourself for the impact: I've been dating.

That's right.
But its not because any of the boys in this city finally grew enough balls to begin approaching girls, and I'm therefore on the receiving end of genuine flirtation. No, it is much more imposed than that. After months of fighting back the loneliness, and after sitting through several convincing monologues by web-savvy gal pals, I decided to give online dating its fair shot.
The result has been a handful of responses and sporadic 'dates'. Nothing too significant yet, but I must admit that after years of being ignored by boys in public, the attention (even via internet) feels good and has contributed to a slight lift in my self- esteem.

Other than that, I've been quite frazzled by school.

Under the tutelage of a dynamic and connected teacher, the Hay Cake has developed into an entire project, now titled "I Can't Have That", with different 'manifestations': the cake itself, a performance art piece I completed just this Tuesday (do you want more detail on that? lemme know), a slide show installation and a few photographs. My teacher's enthusiasm for my idea and its cathartic concept has fueled a fire, and as a result, I've been working hard at it. A film crew showed up at my studio at school to film me working on the idea, and then a taped interview where you best believe I cried on camera and they thought it was brilliant.

My clay tree is coming along, but once more in the kiln resulted in some breakage that was too sad to photograph and post here.

I've a piece titled "Mother May I" at California Conference for the Advancement of Ceramic Arts. Which means I spent the day today driving my piece up to Davis to install it in AAU's designated log cabin. Of course, ceramic SUCKS and my sculpture cracked nearly everywhere and I was forced to hot glue it together. (In art school, it is a giant faux paus to hot glue your piece together. At the very least, you are to use a high-quality epoxy. I, however, did not have the patience or desire.) Needless to say, I was embarrassed and abandoned the piece as soon as it was dry.

I drove home lonely and despondent. Somewhere along the 2-hr drive, past the produce stands, empty fields, and boys named Clint, I stopped for gas in a tiny little town called Dixon. The wind was blowing intensely, but I felt still and strong against it. I didn't want to leave. I lingered. I lingered another hour. Dixon, CA. Who knew.

On the way home I listened to music with violins and it felt appropriate.

I came home to an empty apartment. Again. But waiting for me in my computer were the photos taken from my performance art piece. With smeared makeup, blood running down my fingers only to be mixed with the food coloring staining my hands, and thrashing about on the floor. I felt sick and sad, looking at these images. When I looked in the mirror just now, I noticed the bruises along my arms and hips- evidence of a performance gone right.

Another coughing, shaking fit on the floor of a spinning bathroom.

current mood: sore.

current music: bright eyes - spent on rainy days

art student weekend adventures

A couple of times a year, San Francisco has the brilliant idea to host a phenomenon called "OpenStudios", where self-declared artists collectively open their studios to the public, in hopes of luring in the elite and selling their wares.
What ACTUALLY happens, though, is that a bunch of mediocre-at-best crafters play host to droves of bored hipsters that shuffle in in search of free 2-buck-Chuck and plates of cheese and stale crackers, who engage in idle banter of feigned interests.

Nevertheless, as an art student, it is my scholastically creative duty to attend these masquerades. I went by my lonesome, armed solely with a great outfit and red lipstick, and hoped for the best.

What a grave disappointment. It’s all these little spaces with these so-called artists practically stacked on top of one another and they are all for the most part making crap.

The art was mainly 2-D, and horrible; shallow, contrived, and redundant. I felt pained and depressed.

The only highlight was when I quietly wandered into the space of an older gay painter named Paul, who let me browse inconspicuously but stopped me on my way out his door. He liked my look and is in the middle of a series on alternative models, whose seemingly effortless style actually takes great care to execute: Could he paint me?
I was so humbled, I said yes and gave him my email address.
Later, a photographer 'artist' said I had interesting eyes and asked me to pose for her. A couple flashes later, I left.

On the way home I took my sad little self to the movies to see Meet Monica Velour. I had been looking forward to it and it did not disappoint. I drank a giant diet coke and felt a little better.

Lesson? When all else fails, turn to limited-release indie films about aging porn stars.


current mood: cynical
current music: arcade fire - rococo

vacancy

I believe its been quite some time since I last posted. I've been working away, attempting to adjust to the changes in my life.
I quit my crafting studio job after my pre-teen 'boss' pulled me into the back office to yell at me for some ancient crime that never existed. And so I've begun working for the couple whose wedding I coordinated. It seems I am their "Personal/Admin Assistant". I spent the past week crafting and planning a baby shower I wasn't even invited to. Weird. We'll see where this goes. But they're cool kids and they've strong connections in Portland, which is where I see myself in two years, post- graduation.

I've begun work on a new clay piece. It's a 2-foot-tall dying tree. Instead of fruit, it will bear tiny hearts with text on them. Here's a picture of the raw clay form, before its even fired.

Other than that, I don't have a lot to say. I'm feeling vacant.

I've beautiful friends that make lovely appointments to grace me with their presence. School is going well and I've been asked to participate in a clay art show at UC Davis. My Art has never been more validated, and the creativity is easily accessed these days.

But my loneliness is palpable. It surrounds me like a stiff atmosphere, making it hard to breathe. I look around at the deserted wasteland that is my love life, and it feels like my insides are choking on themselves.

I'm so ready to meet The One, to be in Love. Where is he? And would he love me? I'm not the most stable of gals, and I have secrets that would drive away the bravest of men.

I can only sigh and hope I don't end up with a houseful of cats and doilies.

current mood: lonely

current music: the constantines - you are a conductor