Thesis Nightmare: Is it too early for that?

I'm in a metaphorical football game. I've just hiked myself the ball and the plan is that I'm gonna run it – all the way. It's a tough run, I block myself from tackling myself several times. I'm gaining considerable yardage as the calls come closer and closer to leveling my momentum. I'm playing hard – I'm a "gamer" as they say. I reach my goal and spike the ball in a triumphant and manly downward stroke – as if I own the joint. The apposing team and its' administration crowd around me. It's made of smart, muscle-bound, 8-foot tall critics who are angrily pointing out that I've run in the wrong direction. I've run the ball directly into the sidelines of the apposing team. The overwhelming sound of thousands of people spontaneously bursting into energetic conversation with their neighbors floods the stadium as I'm washed away in it. Pointing fingers and hands thrown in the air of confusion lap my body as I rock uncontrollably in an ocean of dumb questions. My voice grows in a chorus-like mantra, harmonizing with the crowds babble, "these are the questions stimulated by your work, these are the questions..." Whirlpooling around the stadium-turned-funnel, I'm sucked through a tiny hole in the field of play. Lucky for me, the hole closes emitting only myself and an anonymous fans giant, foam pointy-finger. It's sitting in tall grass, pointing at me with the words, "YOU RULE!" printed across the knuckles. 11 beautiful women in white sun-dresses approach from behind me. They all want to put a hand on me and sit very close. They don't talk to me – they only talk to each other – in giggles. The Sun is at about 4:30PM on a beautiful summer day. The temperature's perfect – slightly warm with a cooling breeze. The air is a soft visible blanket of refracted light that stretches for miles across the grassy hills before us. My football team arrives – they're all sweaty versions of myself. Quarter-back me drops the ball and looses himself in the pile of women around me. My other team-mates follow suit while just over the hill in every direction, I notice the advancing heads of a beautiful, blonde army of girls. Then I realize they're all my girlfriend and they're armed with genital seeking heat-lasers. They ruthlessly open fire on my team-mates – castrating them one by one. I've been hypnotized by the version of my girlfriend directly in front of me as she trudges on towards me. She's the scariest because her aim is unmatched by the surrounding clones. She's the only one in the girlfriend army firing on the girls as she looks me dead in the eye. Alone on my back, lying in a lake of fire, she stands over me like a guerilla soldier wrapped in ammunition. She quietly scans the perimeter with her eyes and suddenly I feel safe and pure in the realization that I'm dating a Terminator robot.

Art critic or vandal...or have we forgotten something?

It was interesting to see the New York Times reporting on The Splasher. It seems some people are getting fed up with the successful street artists Shepard Fairey and others whose graffiti-inspired tactics have propelled them to modest levels of art-stardom. It would have been fun to get a copy of the Splasher tabloid...

But is adding to a work (or, some might argue, destroying it) a form of criticism? Street art is often discussed in terms of vandalism, and the response of the Splasher to the comodification of extra-gallery art is described an act of vandalism on top of that. But what about iconoclasm? Maybe the Splasher is a form of leveler, one who seeks to obscure or eliminate images based on the degree to which they are attracting un-deserved attention…

…but no one in the art world -- let alone the world of street art – is anyone getting un-deserved attention are they? No way!

When you need to get away this summer...

When you need a break this summer don't hesitate to go see Satoshi Kon's Paprika. There's only a few perfect movies in the world and this is one of those. What can I say after that? Don't miss it on the big screen – it's playing at the Ritz now. Below is a link to the trailer:

http://www.apple.com/trailers/sony/paprika/trailer/

A little help from my ... iPod

I know. No one came here to become a writer. But I thought I'd share my latest excuse to care about sentence structure - Grammar Girl's pod casts.

I know. The only thing worse than diagramming sentences is listening to someone diagram sentences. But Grammar Girl's chipper and concise podcasts tackle thorny grammatical subjects with wit and insight, not schoolmarm-ish authority. She reminds us that writing well is communicating well - and that following the rules of doing so helps make the apparatus of writing disappear so meaning can become more clear.

If you're dreading the writing you have to do this summer, get ahead by tuning in and making being engaged. Afterall, you might as well work on all aspects of your craft while you're here...

Revving up...

Just a note to say we'll be renewing this blog for the summer. Hopefully it will get some use - alumni can follow what happens in the studios and when visiting artists come to town. Current students can snipe at one another (sorry - that's on our other blog!).

The big event of the week (aside from crits - expect terse posts from me) is Chris Houston's (MFA Painting '07) crit and BBQ on Saturday night. If you not heard, get in touch with him for details.

I also recommend the opening of Susan Arthur-Whitson's show at Yo Gallery (113 N. 23rd St) on Friday night from 6-9.

I'll be there. With jet lag.