Friday, April 12, 2002
Psychograms and Psychicgrams
OK, first the Psychogram. Guestbook signage. It's been so long since I've gotten one of these. I guess she found my site again after being in rehab. This time she's going by "Melody."
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Name: Melody
How did you get here? blogplates webring
Comments: Your site doesn't look very professional, you should think about changing the layout before even attempting to offer your low quality unoriginal graphics. Just a little constructive criticism, don't take it too harshly! (winking smiley graphic)
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Melody's really got to stop using those non-CSS compliant Version 3 browsers.
Now the Psychicgram. Yesterday, I was paid a visit from a local gallery director. She really liked my work and offered me a choice of time slots in the summer. I'm aiming for July. More details to come. She had gone to the UW Madison as well, began her MFA after Stan got his, and had the same or at least similar set of "turds" (her words!) for profs as we did. It's so wonderful to know that you're not the only one who didn't have a good experience at the UW Art Department. She gave us lots of juicy gossip on "Where are they now." Let's just say it's pretty incredible...Affairs, backstabbing, betrayal, power trips, alcoholism, murder for hire...well, not murder, but *almost.* Pretty amazing. That place was was such a hotbed of nasty politics...it's so nice to see it hasn't changed. I just hope no student was harmed in this latest little passion play for professiorial alpha dominance, as they so liked to use us as their pawns. But I digress. She also happened to mention something about a South Asian conference that was going to be held at the UW, and that her gallery was going to host an art exhibit featuring South Asian art. I couldn't believe my ears when she said this. Remember my dream a few days ago? I told her that I dreamt about this, but I had no idea anything like this was going to take place. She said, "How could you? Nothing has been printed up yet." Whoah. That is extremely weird. Extremely so. Stan was quite non-phased. "You're psychic," he said, "it's not amazing, it's just the way you are." It's still pretty weird to me.
Posted by Ann @ 08:56 AM CST ..::Link::..
Thursday, April 11, 2002
DREAM
A weird dream where I was one of three people, one of whom I can't remember and the other who appeared to be Robert DeNiro. We were involved in some sort of plot to create a bomb. We were conspiring at my parent's house, and at times had to move outside and into the bushes so that people wouldn't hear us talking. I think my mom was there and being very "milk and cookies" and totally oblivious to what we were talking about. I wish I could remember more of it, but I dreamt it earlier in the night, so I can't retrieve it. I wish I could, as any dream with Robert DeNiro is certainly worth remembering!
Posted by Ann @ 09:33 AM CST ..::Link::..
Wednesday, April 10, 2002
Close Your Mind and Count to Zero, Backwards.
A big story lately in my part of the world is the case of 12-year-old straight A middle school student, Christian Schmidt, who brought a steak knife to school to cut an onion for a science project. Poor kid has been expelled since March 12. They brought in an independent examinor to mediate the situation. She is recommending the ending of his suspension to the school board, and stated "...if we haven't gotten the message to him that he made a mistake already - which, in fact, he's admitted - by suspending him for 15 days, we need our heads examined."
Nope, I don't agree. Well, I do agree on the head exam part. But the kid didn't make a mistake! He brought a steak knife to school to cut an onion for a science project. A science project. Tell me, how is one to perform science projects without the use of certain implements and materials that can be considered questionable in certain situations?
I know, let's ban science projects!
Like someone aluded to in a Wisconsin Public Radio call-in talk show, "Zero Tolerance," which this is a fine example of (and which I ranted against vociferously in my "about me" page), is another name for "Zero Sensibility." Educators want Zero Responsibility for making decisions on what is acceptable and what is not. No one wants to think. Why think? Thinking is hard. It's easier if we had rules like Zero Tolerance so we don't have to think and consider each situation on an individual basis.
Everyone is looking for a Columbine under every back pack, and all common sense has been thrown out the door. I'm sure Christian Schmidt had the purest of intentions with his steak knife. But if it were me in the same situation, I'd be so pissed that I'd now be tempted to use it against a few select administrators, whereas it never would've crossed my mind initially had they not made any fuss about it.
Everything that tries to be part of the solution seems to be more of the problem than anything.
Posted by Ann @ 10:02 AM CST ..::Link::..
Tuesday, April 9, 2002
Bonus DREAM
Hey, bonus dream! I forgot this part when I was writing the art studio dream. I had found one of my cactuses, the "Living Baseball" (yes, there is such an animal...I have one) and it had grown all misshapen and amorphic, instead of the nearly perfect sphere that it presently is. I had also forgotten to water it for what looked like many months, and it had grown brown. I quickly poured water onto it, and as I did, it instantly rehydrated in streams of green where I poured the water. It was very odd.
Posted by Ann @ 10:04 AM CST ..::Link::..
DREAM
I was at a university with an art department. I don't know if it was CSU or UW, but the layout of the studio seemed like the one I had as an undergrad at CSU, although the student's attitudes and post-postmodern art drivel being produced looked more like that from UW. I found the area where I used to have my studio...some of my possessions were even there. I specifically remember cardboard trays of large pieces of soft pastel. Some of the pastel seemed more like organic matter formed into a large crayon. Some people had moved in on my territory and I was throwing their stuff out. I was actually getting rather violent, and was flinging easels into the air (if you've ever tried to lift an industrial strength easel from a college, you'd know that'd be impossible, especially for me). I went out to the main office in the building, and was standing by the receptionist's desk. I was talking to some female student either from VietNam or of Vietnamese descent named Tran (isn't Tran a man's name?). She was tiny, only about 4 feet tall. The receptionist was telling us that there was going to be an opening reception that night for some Southeast Asian art exhibit. Then she gave us these weird paper hats that folded out into these head embellishments like ones I've seen in a Thai traditional costume. (This is the 2nd dream in recent memory where something made out of paper folds out into a 3-dimensional object). Tran asked me if I wanted to go to the reception with her that night. I told her I would. Then I met up with Stan later that day or night. I was being given birthday presents in my studio (again, it is NOT my birthday!). I think there was a black man there with me...I don't know if it was someone I used to know or not. My parents were there too. My dad gave me a bunch of chemicals in solid form in old fashioned containers...very small containers. It was sort of neat...oxides, minerals, inorganic compounds and such. I was thinking that I should use them in art. (IRL my dad worked as manager of the chemistry stockroom at CSU and has his PhD in Chemistry and has amassed a small [and hopefully not dangerous] chemical collection). Then I realized it was the next day and that I had entirely forgotten about the Southeast Asian art exhibit and meeting Tran there. I felt horrible...I had not intended to stand her up. I went out into the main area of the art building again and found her and hugged her and profusely apologized for forgetting about the opening. I don't think she was mad at me.
Posted by Ann @ 08:06 AM CST ..::Link::..
Monday, April 8, 2002
The other 30%
I just heard that US Attorney General John Ashcroft has a 70% approval rating. What does this say for a society, that 70% of its members approve of someone who spends $8,000 to install a drape over an aluminum female statue's breast that has been standing in the Great Hall of Justice, undraped, since the 1930s?
This is the same mindset as the Taliban that destroyed the ancient Buddhist statues. It's called "closed."
I for one, do not approve.
Posted by Ann @ 02:33 PM CST ..::Link::..
DREAM
I had a bunch of worms I was cultivating on my Croton plants. They started out small and then started growing. They were sort of peach colored. They were rather disgusting...skinny, slimy, amorphic. I have no idea why I was raising them let alone let them devour my poor Croton plants (which need as much help as they can get!). As I was looking at them, I noticed a noise, like something fell. I looked to the right of the plants where there was a ledge with some clothes on it. I looked in the clothes and noticed they were full of adult bugs...don't know what kind, but I assume it was the adult stage of the larva I was raising. It freaked me out.
Posted by Ann @ 08:39 AM CST ..::Link::..
Sunday, April 7, 2002
Cynic
Doing a search on "banana houseplant" (don't ask) I found this unrelated cynical tirade on "The Good Life" which lead to another tirade, "Art for Slackers." I love this guy!
Posted by Ann @ 08:37 PM CST ..::Link::..
DREAM
I was visiting Stan's parents in the house they lived in before Stan's dad passed away. The weird thing was, is that their house was in the same city as the one my parents live in. We had our pets with us, I think, except instead of our Boston and Pug, we had a French Bulldog with markings similar to a Boston. Their house was really crowded, full of their friends and relatives. I felt like I had to go home, which was back to my parent's house. It was really confusing, however, and I can't recall all of what happened, but I thought I was getting the French Bulldog ready to take with me. But I was riding a bike back home, and by the time I got back, I noticed the leash had no French Bullldog on it. I started to panic, and was wondering if I had left it at Stan's parents house, or if it had gotten off the leash on the road somewhere. I went back to their house on my bike (you know how hard it is to ride a bike in a dream? It almost never works as it should). The image of mounting the bike outside my parent's house and trying to cross the median on Pitkin street was very vivid. It was a mountain bike, and I was trying to go up the curb on the median, but it was really difficult. I eventually got back to Stan's parent's house, and I began frantically looking for the Frenchie. I couldn't find him anywhere, but then some relative or someone took me to a back room that was filled with cats. It was like a cat colony. I didn't think the dog would be in there, but sure enough, it came running to me. I can't remember what happened after that.