When the world zigs, I ZAG

My car : )

So, I used to be a really bad driver. I've actually gotten better since then, but I am still forced to live with the scars of the sharp turns I took last year (note: I have never been involved in an accident with a moving vehicle). One of the worst accidents I had last year required duct tape. Silver is super boring, so I decided to go with tie dye. Even though it apparently looks funny to passerby, I'm always having the last laugh! Who says your canvas can't be your car?

Joyous driving

I was driving down Greenville Ave., lookin' around, waiting at a light, bored. Then I heard music blasting. It was coming from a car near me. When I looked in that direction, I found this bowm chicka MAMA rockin' out to her tunes. I wish more people were as unafraid to let their voices be heard and their freak dances be seen.

This encounter acts for me as a reminder to try to enjoy every single minute of life. To never waste a second. To appreciate everything. Even things small as songs : )

Optimists be cautioned

I am worried. Not for me, but for my grandchildren and
I am worried that as American’s we have lost our passion and voice.

I am worried that ‘Generation Y’ is not asking the simplest, yet most powerful question ‘Why’, as our predecessors have. 

I am worried that we have the tools for so much, and the restraint for so little.

I am worried that like a young, spoiled child…we need a spanking.  

And like a spoiled child, no one is there to give it to us. That is until we leave our gated neighborhood to realize the rest of the world wants this life more than we do.

I am worried we have seen the best of America.

The amount of guilt we should feel, if we are the generation which allows the slogan, “American made” to sail off into the distant sunrise of the East, is tremendous. 

People sacrificed everything for an opportunity at freedom of speech, something my generation has known nothing different than. 

Rather, my generation gets paid to share opinions and are now surrounded by the constant Tweeting and sharing of thoughts.

We can look up how to make an atomic bomb in under 1-second from our phones, but only have the attention span for ‘LOLcatz’ comics.

In order to increase this focus time, we are prescribed ‘necessary’ amphetamines rather than figure out what makes you want to focus.  It seems we need a change of heart, not a change of policy.   

I am so worried.

A place of hope, a place of joy

I have heard many artists say their creativity comes from a place of pain.

For me, artwork comes from a place of joy, not of suffering.

I am too afraid of unlocking secret hurt with art.

Art is about painting a dream world, the world in which you wish you could exist. It is about escape, not revisiting. It is about letting go, not holding on.

I want endless joy in my life, so that is what my art tends to focus on.

Doodling dreams

One of my in-class doodles- Austin, TX: DREAM CITY

Diversity is not necessarily the first thing that comes to mind when talking about Texas.  But through my two years in the Lonestar state, I have discovered more diversity in a 200-mile radius than I had in my previous 18 years of traveling within the contingent U.S.A. 

Just a 3-hour drive on South I-35 allows you to traverse the state from a cosmopolitan hub to a natural, low-key city built around a college campus and state capital. I find my personality being an intersection of South I-35 as these two cities are able to fulfill both sides of my personality. Not one could do this alone. But if I were smack dab in Waco with my foot on the U-haul truck, I think I would have to go keep truckin' south towards Austin. This is where my heart is. 

Finally something in Greek life that I can get behind: cooler decoration

The side of the cooler: "Bowl for Two" lyrics

A sketch of what will be going on the cooler's front

The cooler's cover

I love giving presents, personalizing things for others, and obviously, I love art. So naturally, the Greek tradition of decorating coolers is one of my favorites. I am not Greek, but my boyfriend is, so I still get to experience a couple things Greek life. What you see above is the cooler I have been slaving over for him for the past semester. Ha... let me reword that: What you see above is the cooler I have been slaving over for my own enjoyment, and for him. Clay (the boyfriend) keeps telling me to stop working so hard on the cooler, that it's already good enough. But what is "good enough" for Clay in this case, is not good enough for me. I have a vision for his cooler, and I intend to see it finished! 

But why continue to work, when the gift's recipient is satisfied? Because I cannot call something that I am doing complete until it has met my standards. Anal-retentive? Maybe to some. A perfectionist? Ok. Determined to see vision come to fruition? Absolutely.


For me ideas are like gold. If you have them, don't waste them. And definitely don't just sit on them. Do something with them, let them appreciate. Also like gold, the more I let information marinate, the better my idea. Auto-thought. It's how I get my best work done.

The Pink Dress Challenge

I have one pink article of clothing, and that is it. I purchased it about three years ago, and it has never been worn.

A shot of my closet. Note the one pink dress

It's not that I don't like pink; pink is a fine color, I guess. It's just that wearing pink, to me, means many more things than just enjoying the color. Pink's supreme association with femininity makes me uncomfortable. During the few times I tried to wear pink, it made me feel vulnerable, like a "dumb girl." I felt like everyone was looking at me, and taking me far less seriously. I felt like "fair game" for all the guys. I did not feel in control, and I definitely did not feel sexy.

When I see other women in pink, I usually admire their ability to rock the color with confidence. I actually wonder what it would be like to be one of those pink-wearing, planner-obsessed girls. So, I did an experiment.

I challenged myself to ONE NIGHT OUT in my one and only pink dress, just to see how it would feel.

Before stepping out on the town in PINK

Getting ready proved a bit more difficult than usual. I tried to add edgier accessories to the dress in order to harden the softer look, but nothing black and spiky looks good with pink unless you're aiming for punk. I am not aiming for punk.

I eventually settled on the ensemble you see above, and left to meet up with my friends. I was nervous walking in the door, as I knew people would react to me wearing pink. Sure enough, everyone freaked out; they couldn't believe they were seeing me in hot, HOT pink!

As the night continued, I relaxed a little bit in my new color. I convinced myself to own it like it was a pair of combat boots. By the time I returned home, I was feeling confident, and feminine, a combination I haven't experienced too much before.

All in all, pink isn't so bad. But, it's not for me. I'm glad I gave it a shot, but why not stick to what I love? Not wearing pink is part of who I am. And I'm not changin' for anyone : )

Groupthink in action

I've been learning about the phenomenon of groupthink for a couple years now, but I had never noticed it occur in real life... Until yesterday.

My group for the Creative Project 3 was a dream. I got to know three girls to whom I had never spoken before, and got to spend more time with one of my friends. We all got along swimmingly to say the least.

Everyone contributed, everyone cared about the project, and everyone respected one another.

However, I believe that our like for each other caused group think to occur at one point. We had a section that was super choppy and didn't fit in with the rest of the documentary. Since one girl out of the five of us was responsible for editing that specific portion, no one wanted to say anything about changing that section. I could see eyeballs skirt around the group, trying to see if anyone was going to bring up the need for a re-edit. No one said anything. We all said the video looked "great" and "amazing," "oh my gosh good job." We all sort of figured that the rest of the documentary would make up for one crummy section. Or, we each figured we were the only one who disliked the section. Certainly, none of us wanted to offend anyone.

But then we watched what was, at the time, supposed to be the finished project. I couldn't handle it. That section stuck out like a really sore thumb! So I said something. Carefully, but I said something: "Hey you guys, what do you think about trying to make this section smoother?" Everyone exhaled at once, like all of them had been holding their breath. The group excitedly agreed, expressing their own wish to do the same.

I'm glad I broke through the groupthink blockade. My only regret is not doing it sooner.

Practicing the divine art of failure

I've never liked this piece of mine. I didn't like it while I was making it, I didn't like it after I finished it, I don't like it now. But rather than tearing up the piece and throwing it in the trash alongside the rest of my failures, I decided to hang it up. Why hang up a piece I hate? To get over hating it. To force myself to understand that art is art, there is no definition of beauty, and there is no such thing as a mistake. 

When I look at this piece, I get this weird feeling that I'm choking something dry and bland down my throat. Everything about this piece doesn't work. But I made it, it is part of me, and it is not a failure; rather it is merely another step toward my becoming the artist I want to be.

"Fail harder."

Hold me to it

In Intro to Creativity on Tuesday, we discussed the many awards and publications available for advertising buffs. After I heard about CMYK, the student-only advertising publication, I made it my goal to get published TWICE in CMYK before graduation. I'm hungry. I want it. I'm passionate. I'm holding myself to it.

Let's go.


Ok so I just looked at a bunch of the work and resumes on CMYK. I got that stomach-flipping feeling we discussed in class. God, good work really is nauseating. But, like they always say, "Once you puke you feel better," so I guess I just have to look at it, puke, and move on. BLACHGHHHH. Puke. Moving on?

Food: it's more than just nutrition, it's creation

I woke up this morning with ambition. Ambition to cook. What did I want? 

BANANA PANCAKES

of course!

So, I went online and searched for a recipe. This one looked the best:

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup buttermilk
• 1/4 cup whole milk
• 1 tablespoon melted unsalted butter, plus 3 tablespoons
• 3 ripe bananas, cut into 1/3-inch slices

Directions

Preheat oven to 200 degrees. In large bowl sift together flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and baking powder. In separate bowl whisktogether egg, buttermilk, milk and melted butter. Slowly combine the dry ingredients with the wet ingredients. Stir until the flour disappears, but being careful not to overbeat the batter. In a large cast-iron skillet, melt about 1/2 tablespoon remaining butter. Ladle about 1/4 cup of batter into the pan for each pancake. Immediately press 4 or 5 banana slices into each so the batter oozes slightly over the fruit. Cook until bubbles appear and then flip and cook on the other side, about 3 minutes total. Transfer the pancakes to a platter and keep warm in the oven while you cook the remaining batches, adding butter to the pan as needed. Serve hot with syrup.

____________________________________________________________________

Sure enough, I made the recipe and the panCAKES were delicious! Seriously, they tasted more like cake than any breakfast I've ever had. 

My boyfriend's portion was half gone before I even put mine on the plate!

I take pictures of all the food I make, with the exception of quickie meals like sandwiches. Why? Well, I'm proud of my creation. And, I guess a lot has to do with the fact that I consider food a creation. Actually, I consider food to be one of the most beautiful creations on earth. Because I'm a...

FOODIE!

I love all things food. Central Market? My crack-cocaine. Elaborate presentations? I'm all about 'em! Ridiculous combinations of foods whose names you can't pronounce? Throw 'em my way!

I love finding new restaurants in the Dallas and Austin area (I go to Austin about once a month for a weekend), or in the Milwaukee/Chicago area when I return home. To me, it's just as important to try the foods of your own culture as it is to try the foods of others. I keep constant tabs on restaurant happenings in the Dallas, Austin, Milwaukee, and Chicago area. Too few people appreciate their own culture enough.

My boyfriend, Clayton, enjoying his first Friday Night Fish Fry, a Polish Milwaukee tradition

Fried catfish and wings at Aw Shucks on Greenville Ave. in Dallas. Best wings I've ever had!

Finger lickin' good barbeque in rural Texas

Garrett's famous popcorn in Chicago, IL. The best you'll ever have! Get the Chicago Mix!

But more than anything, I love experiencing the foreign flavors of new cultures. The more exotic, the better.

A crepe stand outside of my favorite tea house in Milwaukee

Milwaukee's only Oakland Gyro's, open 24/7 with the best gyros in town

And... I swear this isn't because I'm from Wisconsin (I don't like cheddar)... but... I am totally guilty of loving a good cheese plate. An artisan cheese plate. Each cheese is so representative of its own culture. When I bite into a cheese, I am instantly connected to its origins. I am swept away to a new land, with a visual of someone else, a few thousand miles away, eating the same cheese and having the same moment of simple appreciation. 

I whipped up this little number for my boyfriend and I on Valentine's Day: spinach au fromage with sliced french bread, Onion and Chive Boursin, warm brie, sliced apples, red grapes, imported Sicilian sausage, and of course, crackers. Who said college kids eat like crap? 

I followed the cheese plate with flank steak cooked in a cocoa and coffee bean paste (that I made), asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, and onion rings (that I did not make).

For the grand finale, I prepared a chocolate cake with chocolate chip fudge frosting in the middle and fudge frosting on the top (my boyfriend loves chocolate). And don't forget the decorative kettle popcorn drizzled with caramel, white chocolate, and milk chocolate. Seriously. Like what? So good.

Just cheesy enough for Valentine's Day

Remember how I called Central Market my crack-cocaine earlier? I wasn't lying. I could spend hours in that store, soaking up the whirlwind of different sensations. Here are some of my more interesting Central Market finds:

"Gummi Techno" bears: metallic gummy bears

UT + Zapp's= a match made in heaven

Dragon plum pitaya fruit

A better idea than ice cream. Fun to try but nasty to taste

All in all, I seriously enjoy food. I don't like gorging myself, I don't OD on frozen pizzas, I eat food that I can call an "experience." Mindful eating is the key to a great relationship with food. Thinking about each bite. Eating slowly. It may drive your dinner partners wild, but your pleasure is well worth their wait.

Daunting... what's the point of it? GO

I was nervous

I needed a release

Acid ouch

What to do

Draw

Draw hard

On my body

On the wall

On something

Go

In red

DON'T BE AFRAID

Sometimes...

                               When I have a lot to do, I freeze. I become afraid of failure, unable to begin any of the work at all. My brain is locked. I don't have the key.

But then I draw, I let my thoughts flyyyyy out of the cages and SOAR onto the paper. The wall. The dress form. The table. The dish. The mantel.

Art sets my mind free, makes me ready for anything. It soothes me. It organizes my thoughts. It prepares me. 

So I did this today, wrote "DON'T BE AFRAID" on my dress form. I purposefully did it in red. For passion. GO. 

And for some reason, after I finished writing out the phrase, I felt better. It was like for the first time I admitted that procrastination comes from a place of fear, a fear of failure. I acknowledged it, kicked it in the ASS, smiled, and moved on. 

I'm a hands-on kinda gal

Give me the pages, I want to handle them

Give me the person, I want to hold him

Give me the paint, I want to use it

Give me the ink, I want to spill it

Something about this blog format wigs me out. It overcomplicates my thoughts, muddling them. Maybe it's the little beige box, surrounding my words, keeping them all neat and aligned. Or maybe it's my irritation with the limited formatting options. But something about this method of expression bothers me.

I want to be able to touch my work, let my handwriting loop more loosely as I daydream, doodle. I so much prefer writing out my ideas than typing. 

I've always been the kind of person to let things develop freely, by themselves. I like to watch my art create itself, rather than forcing it to be created. My hand carries out my thoughts on a page, or a wall, or a piece of wood. There is no such thing as a mistake, every mark matters, means something, contributes to the overall message. 

My art digs deeper into my mind than my mind itself, teaching me about myself, and about my thoughts. 

Take this piece for example:

This piece originated from the mess of another piece. 

I love using my fingers to paint. I feel so much more connected to the art that way. Needless to say, it gets a little messy. After completing a finger painting of a flying lady, my hands needed some serious cleaning. I decided to press my palms onto several sheets of paper to get some of the wet paint off before touching the sink's faucet. But when I looked at all hand prints, I was inspired to turn them into art. I sat down and started drawing immediately. 

For the above piece, I started by tracing the outline of my hand four times in pencil over the hand prints. Then, I outlined the spaces between the fingers. When I stepped away from the paper, I noticed that the many outlines looked like a grenade. The piece immediately took a social justice turn for me. So, I added the sun on the bottom right, and the earth with its moon on the bottom left. 

...a couple messy hand prints led to some hand tracing...

...which led to a grenade...

...which led to a social justice interpretation...

...which led me to draw the sun and earth...

In the end, the piece became about humanity and its control over the balance between life and destruction. The many different colors of paint used in the hand prints represent the many different people responsible for humanity's pain. The hands form and hold the grenade, but sit on top of the earth, suggesting humanity is responsible for bringing destruction to the earth. 

So, I like learning from my art. I like learning from its development. I like going in with a mess and finding the beauty. I like starting with a doodle and making it a masterpiece. 

Don't stop when you grow old

When we are young, we are free. We are free to explore, be ourselves, create, speak out, believe, cry, scream, play, make a mess, be afraid, make mistakes, get uncontrollably excited, need someone. We are not worried about what we should do or what they will say. We just do.

Then somewhere along the line, usually upon the entrance into adulthood, we stop valuing creativity. Instead, numbers rule our lives. Money becomes our god, and big houses and cars become our goals.

Meanwhile, we spend our free time reminiscing on the "good old days," where things were simple and summer was long. When we were free to just be.

Adults so value children's ability to live and think without boundaries. But then why don't we value this same ability in adults? What makes some feel as though they are above finger painting? Or others feel as though their shoes are too nice to get muddy?

When do we stop putting emphasis on experience, and start putting it on achievement?

When does the free spirit end?

When money begins.

ADELE "rolls" out a masterpiece

ADELE's "Rolling in the Deep" gives me hope for my generation. That we are in fact capable of creating songs with as much passion and class as the soul singers of the early 1960's. 


This song breathes life into hopeless bones. It shakes slumberers awake from a season of apathy.

It makes souls hot that have been numbed by lives lived without passion. 

It threads itself like red ribbons through rib cages, surging hope through sad bodies.
Its power rolls into my ears like a 1,000 member stampede.


With her lyrics, Adele digs deep into the hearts of the heartbroken, planting fires of resentment, revenge, anger, and eventually, toward the end of the song, of personal recovery.

This song makes me think of my mother. I think of her strength. I think of what it took for her to get through a divorce from the man to whom she was married for 26 years, from the man whom she still loves deeply. I think of her heartbreak and I cry every time. I love my mother so much, I JUST CAN'T UNDERSTAND HOW ANYONE COULD EVER HURT HER.

But with my mother's pain comes a lesson. When you feel alone, call someone. If they don't answer, meditate. Meditate until you can't keep your eyes closed any longer. Go out. Join things. Get involved. Always be kind, always be true. Never lose yourself in the pain.

"There's a fire starting in my heart, 
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bring me out the dark, 

Finally, I can see you crystal clear, 
Go ahead and sell me out and a I'll lay your ship bare, 
See how I'll leave with every piece of you, 
Don't underestimate the things that I will do, 

There's a fire starting in my heart, 
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bring me out the dark, 

The scars of your love remind me of us, 
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all, 
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless, 
I can't help feeling, 

We could have had it all, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
Rolling in the deep, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 
You had my heart inside of your hand, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
And you played it to the beat, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 

Baby, I have no story to be told, 
But I've heard one on you and I'm gonna make your head burn, 
Think of me in the depths of your despair, 
Make a home down there as mine sure won't be shared, 

The scars of your love remind me of us, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
I can't help feeling, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 

We could have had it all, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
Rolling in the deep, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 
You had my heart inside of your hands, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
And you played it to the beat, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 

Could have had it all, 
Rolling in the deep, 
You had my heart inside of your hands, 
But you played it with a beating, 

Throw your soul through every open door, 
Count your blessings to find what you look for, 
Turn my sorrow into treasured gold, 
You'll pay me back in kind and reap just what you've sown, 

(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
We could have had it all, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 
We could have had it all, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
It all, it all, it all, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 

We could have had it all, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
Rolling in the deep, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 
You had my heart inside of your hands, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
And you played it to the beat, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 

Could have had it all, 
(You're gonna wish you never had met me), 
Rolling in the deep, 
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep), 
You had my heart inside of your hands, 

But you played it, 
You played it, 
You played it, 
You played it to the beat.