Me, myself, and food.

As is per this time of year for any college student, I have been hellaciously busy over the past few weeks. A lot of my courses are sprinting towards the “projects before Thanksgiving” deadline, so all of my weekdays have been spent foregoing the comforting verbal arena of the Internet in lieu for self-portraits, painting series that change mid-project period, and the ever-present weekly deadline for making a book. By Friday, I was longing desperately to get back to my writing communities, as it seems that all my friends there are specifically crafted to be the penultimate cheerleaders in your life (and if any of you are reading this? Thank you so much), but also because I’ve found myself to be a little rusty at the edges in terms of using the English language. All my creative energy was being invested in the visual, so when it came to catching up with my creative collab work elsewhere, I found myself lacking. Ergo: this entry.

I’ve had quite a few entry ideas for this tiny blog throughout the week, to boot. The horrors of undergraduate figure drawing are probably going to be up pretty soon (especially as one of those aforementioned cheerleaders in life may or may not have said something to the point where I need to relate my ongoing adventures in this subject), as well as a general art dump that I figure this place warrants. But my first topic to get me back on the writing horse is something that quite a few people asked me about a few weeks ago, thereby making this a long-overdue entry (especially, in all places, this blog): my relationship with food. Continue reading

I should let my brain vomit in class more often!

Occasionally, I like the Internet to remember that I make stuff, for whatever godawful reason (READ: that reason is vanity). Frequently, I run into the problem wherein I struggle to find anything that I am actually vain enough to pimp, but then I did this relatively neat drawing-based-on-a-drawing for my (WAIT FOR IT) Drawing III course! Admittedly, being given the permission to use whatever the hell I want was helpful — hell, the fact that I kind of went crazy today with the conte marks was really theraputic. I’m not even sure if this will be considered worthy of a dece grade in class or anything, but whatever I had fun making it, which usually ends up with my thinking that what I made is awesome.

So, BEHOLD MOTHERFUCKERS:

ABSTRACT DOOHICKEY?

I have no idea what to name it at all, other than "Abstract Doohickey." Wtf.

Detail II (out of order)!

See, this shit is just crazy. Like me, probably.

 

Detail I!

Maybe if I stare at the marks long enough, I'll get some titlespiration. Doodle?

 

Combatting autumnal intolerance.

Admittedly, for the past few seasons, fall hasn’t exactly been agreeing with me in an emotional sense. I don’t give a shit if people think that SAD is made up — it usually feels pretty damn real to me around the time where the first real weather shift happens and my summer commute turns into the dark and dreary drudge on I-70. Still, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love the good old atumnal equinox in an intellectual sense; after all, my birthday usually falls (har har!) right on the first day of autumn, the weather is nothing if not striking (when not raining), and there are great smells that exist with the departure of leaves et al that are incapable of being reproduced anywhere else. As such, I like to take advantage of the awesome thingsĀ  that fall provides, even though I am frequently moping and pining through it.

Some examples of this awesome were taken at the Mansfield Covered Bridge Festival with the biffle, who makes being sad at any juncture rather impossible:

Sadly, I did not see how fucking delicious this was.

Sadly, I did not see how fucking delicious this was.

I totally crapped myself taking this photograph.

I totally crapped myself taking this photograph.

Seriously, I thought of My Antonia the entire time we drove through here.

Seriously, I thought of My Antonia the entire time we drove through here.

Sometimes, Indiana can be pretty. Really really.

Sometimes, Indiana can be pretty. Really really.

When you go to my Flickr account, you can see some of the more humorous accounts of this particular adventure, but these are by far the prettiest examples I have of early fall in the Midwest to date. I want to go on a leaves-are-changing photo spree sometime in between assignments or drag the family to an orchard to depict the epic inevitability that is picking a good load of apples fresh from the tree, but these are for times when I am not procrastinating desperately on starting the beginning of the end of my study blitz for my midterm. I think this tiny entry has served its purpose of warming me up to write, though, as well as a nice reminder that there are lovely things about this season even when shit feels rough.

What a birthyay!

Look at what the Internet gave me!

Look at what the Internet gave me!

Dude, I turn old and end up getting sweet Internet art pix from Jen Overstreet. THAT’S RIGHT, WE LINKED OUR BLOGS TOGETHER. WATCH US BE PART OF THE BLOGOSPHERE TOGETHER. But dude, I have been talking to that sweet lady for a long time before your “blogospheres,” your “Tumblrs,” or your “hipster Internets culture” became “en vogue,” because we’re awesome and it is a patent fact. I am pretty lucky to still be able to be getting in her area, knowing how she do, and doing stuff like challenging the other to Batgirl drawing faceoffs and writing about bromances. It is people like this who make birthdays into birthyays, for the record.

Drawing Intelligently (OR: The Difference Between Good and Great)

I’ve been thinking lately — admittedly, a dangerous past time, but my desire to live on the edge is a tangential subject to the post at hand. Although it would be quaint to fully claim that all this rumination is purely due to this being the anniversary of my birth, the timing of this particular birthday has its significance. I haven’t reached any technical milestones (save for the 23 on the 23rd part, which I find cute), but this year will serve as the crossroads for my program at university, the likes of which I was reminded but a few days ago when catching up with a professor after class.

As back story: the whole of my Mondays and Wednesdays last week were spent in a rather atrocious bit of transportation limbo, which forced me to end up missing the whole of my sessions for that week. Fortunately, the professor was terribly understanding (and this after I had blown up in a mess of ugly stress somewhere else on the Internet), and so my meeting to catch up with the odds and ends of made-up assignments and the like was a little less apprehensive than it could have been. Still, I was colored by a bit of worry: the grades of my first two assignments, which the professor had returned but moments before. A B+ and a B respectively were certainly not bad, per se, but I’m no settler — and, well, it would be a lie to ignore the very fact that I had never received a B for a drawing project in my life until that point. With these thoughts in mind, I set to conferring and catching up. Continue reading

When I grow up, this will be my sketchbook.

Alright, so I have a confession to make: I suck at keeping sketchbooks.

It’s something that I’m not particularly proud about, given my supposed seriousness about getting into this “art profession” or whatever, but it seems awkward and strained. What do I start drawing? Do I just start sketching still lives for shits and giggles? Do I need to spend afternoons on the canal people watching and filling my Moleskine? Does it need to be a large sketchbook? So many questions, not enough answers. To me, using a sketchbook — which is touted as a tool that should be utilized 24/7, if your professors are to be believed — is less the not-optional toothbrushing part of my schedule and more the exercise “if I’m lucky enough to have the time” type of activity. Much like exercise, I’d like to change this attitude.

When I do, I’d like to take on Dustin Harbin‘s style of sketchbookery to heart. I found this dude through Kate Beaton, and along with enjoying following his general line of thought in his blog and all, I have to say that his Flickr account is a delightful stroll through a shitload of awesome pictures. Along with his finished works, there’s his sketchbook set that I find to be impossible to miss (ergo, this fucking entry). What’s really helpful are the notes he includes with his scans, which talk about process, the pros and cons of the mediums of choice within, and other charming anecdotes. If that doesn’t interest you, then perhaps I should just bribe you with images. Make note, though: IT SHOULD.

My apologies to Mr. Harbin, by the by; if you would like me to host this on my own server/take this image down, PLEASE COMMENT OR WHATEVER. I just like your style dude and would like others to hop on that style cock. Thanks!

My apologies to Mr. Harbin, by the by; if you would like me to host this on my own server/take this image down, PLEASE COMMENT OR WHATEVER. I just like your style dude and would like others to hop on that style cock. Thanks!

See? He is all MIXING THEM INK COLORS and it is just cool stuff. Really, the images that I wanted to use are kinda-sorta cockblocked by Flickr, which means that I am assuming that the artist would like it that way, so you should just go and see why I suddenly want to go and buy 230498234098 colored ballpoint and gel pens so I can sketch like a nerd on the go and be 1/230498324098th as awesome as this person. After all, everybody needs inspirations to get them to do better and more productive things in their lives, right? Right.

The day I post something substantial in here is the day that 2009 forgets to kill someone awesome.

I was going to write something here, but whatever, PATRICK SWAYZE DIED.