racing,

i always feel suffocated in california. maybe it's because i've been here for too long, and that there is nothing here for me anymore. maybe because it's too dry. strange, because i've always felt that i thrive within the mundane, but i sometimes... actually feel like i can't breathe here.

and how can i say i am living, if i can't even breathe properly?

there's a plant at the end of the hall next to my room that always looks like its on the verge of death. but everytime i come back home, it's always still there, the light penetrating the dry leaves, illuminating the skeleton underneath. so slender is its stalk, i wonder how it holds up year after year.


my mom is my best friend. she still drives me crazy sometimes, but her kind of crazy might just be my kind of crazy too. we do this thing, ever since i was little, before going to bed we lay side by side and talk. about health, politics, history, and the deepest philosophies. i think, the most challenging but influential lessons i've ever had were recieved lying there next to this severely anti-social, ocd, stay-at-home mother of mine.



one of my final pieces of the semester was stolen. nice, guys. that's awesome.



i think next semester i'm going to make a portable room.


oh yeah, truly, have a merry christmas everybody :]




oh!! and i want~ http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/016075982X/ref=olp_product_details?ie=UTF8&me=&seller=

the solitude of ravens

i wonder what you dream of?

works by japanese photographer, masahisa fukase:

maybe i need to get a life

i'm obsessed. i'm not especially proud of it. you know, i was a well-rounded person at one point.

i'm in the uncharted territory of the olin library, working on this paper. it's comparing Robert Smithson's critical essay "Cultural Confinement" and his piece, Spiral Jetty, to one of my own favorite contemporary artists, Francis Alys. (I posted a video documentation of his performance piece, "When Faith Moves Mountains" earlier). the content is engaging, relevant, and i'm enjoying writing it, but it's 2 am and i think i may have slept a grand total of 12 hours last week.. why am i not in bed??

i know what this is. i've had it before. its when studio ends and it leaves this gaping void in my life, and now i'm compulsively filling it with theory. this is actually sick.

see this is what happens when you love. it consumes everything and as my studio friend aptly puts it, it makes you into this bizarre abstract of yourself. and its weird because then what happens is everything that happens outside of studio becomes hypothetical, unsubstantial. and nothing else is very real? (this is probably why i don't date) and i feel pigeonholed, displaced by my own design. why do i do this?

"In this sense, myth is not about the veneration of ideals--of pagan gods or political ideology--but rather an active interpretive practice performed by the audience, who must give the work its meaning and its social value. After all, isn't the story of modern and contemporary art and its cult of the object really just a myth of materialism, of matter as an ideal? For me, it is a refusal to acknowledge the transitory, a failure to see that art really exists, so to speak, in transit" francis alys

good things

i wonder if people realize how they are surrounded by design, how humanistic art can be, even if it is often confined within white neutrality of galleries and museums. how they function as more than an expression, but a question with a sideways eye. how the thick build up of branches across a span of space, the tips of grass catching the light, or the trajectory of a shadow's movement through a room are all drawings in their own right. i don't believe i view the world through a more beautiful lens, but rather i try to see them for what the truly are. and i bet you that my reality is more beautiful than yours.

and where is this good mood coming from? .. I GOT MY GRANT!!!!!!!!! if all goes according to plan, my piece will be up in Kaufman park by april. sigh.

response?

i have never been in love so i can only guess, but here is what i know. it is a vague term, and an incredibly double sided term. behind every great love there is also great hate. sometimes, it isn't even like they are two sides of the same coin, but they become actually one in the same. while it is capable of terrible things, the thing that makes it special, arguably the most unique human emotion or state of being, is that, in the case of love, it makes us put someone else's happiness before our own. what other circumstance induces something like that? it's miraculous. but why limit love to one person? why is it not possible to embrace any friend, any beautifully flawed human being on this earth, with the same kind of unconditional compassion? why must there be distinctions? because once the distinction is drawn between one person and the other, doesn't that make the love conditional? circumstantial?

i'm asking for a little much.

i can try to pin it down, like a butterfly to a display case, but at the end of the day, as long as i have not experienced it flutter through the air, i will never know its true nature. but i do know, however, that i love art. i love everything about it, all of its beauty and all of its bullshit. it makes me feel free.

crunchy time

√ final critique

√ since 1960 paper part A

√ painting crit

workshop projects

√ proposal for public art piece presentation

√ final presentations, documentations

since 1960 paper part B

dance paper (2)

hello december

(: