Because I forgot which blog these are to be posted to...
1000 WEST BROAD STREET, A TIME IN THE AFTERNOON
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 7TH, SOMETIME BEFORE 6:00 PM:
I’m going to go into Communication Arts. I want to be an amazing draftsman, to be able to render the human body in every thinkable pose, and to be able to manipulate it with all of the knowledge of anatomy in mind. I want to be able to render space accurately, and to understand how things move within it. I want to be well-rounded, and my ultimate goal is to obtain these tools so that I may articulate my ideas to the best of my ability.
And Communication Arts is the best environment in which to learn these tools, because of the focus they place on strict observation and articulation of concepts. I would be lying if I didn’t say Epshteyn wasn’t a huge factor, along with Jorge Benitez teaching art history. I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that from my standpoint Communication Arts has seemed less messy and intimidating than the other majors, because I’m wary of diving into experimentation with material. I say to myself, if I learn to be an excellent draftsman the rest will come naturally. Who cares if I don’t want the package of Communication Arts? I’m using it. We’re supposed to use our opportunities to advance our own agendas.
I am later informed that this thinking poses a bit of a problem.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9TH, AROUND 2:00 PM
812 WEST FRANKLIN STREET
COMMUNICATION ARTS OFFICES
I had drawing studio in this building, and a project class with Jorge in Comm. Arts. I like most of it- Franklin Street, the structure of the building, the windows, the French doors. I like what art I saw on the walls last semester. I walk aimlessly around the building, waiting for Jorge to return to his office. There aren’t many students afoot, so I don’t talk to anyone, and unfortunately there isn’t much art on the walls yet. There is one collaborative project with historical figures, each printed in blue and tied together in a sort of paper map. The students are to write quotes on the little cards, and alter them. Most don’t impress me much, except for Sigmund Freud’s card, which has little red horns drawn on his head in red sharpie and one of his more ridiculous quotes about the psyche of women.
I like the project, but I think of the other things I’ve seen- they hint of parameters, limits, all that kind of business. Which I’m fine with for some time, but I get the impression that much of the department is like this. Problem. And the hallways have carpet, which is a nitpicky thing, but carpet weirds me out, especially in an art-creating environment.
I go back to the offices and find Jorge, who has his usual expression of gleeful observation. (Those aren’t quite the right words, but they’ll do.) I begin to talk to him, and he tells me more or less what I expected; Communication Arts is a good major for those who are called by what it offers. And without judgment, he describes these people as analytical, sometimes uptight, good at solving other people’s problems.
These are all things that I can be when I want to, but they do not epitomize me.
He says the program’s rigidity, which is its strength, as it will teach its students the technical skill, is also its weakness.
And I’ve met some students in the program- I like them just fine, they’re great people. But there is a little disconnect there. These are people I admire for their ability to commit themselves to things I might find tedious and soul-sucking- but I realize now that for them, it isn’t soul-sucking. (Okay, some of it probably is, but a touch of soul-sucking builds character.)
So, somewhat sadly, I’m saying goodbye to this major. However, I’m definitely coming back to talk to Jorge.
LIKE 2:30-3:00 OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT
1000 WEST BROAD STREET, 1ST FLOOR
SCULPTURE DEPARTMENT
This. This is the business.
I’ve already spoken to Nia, my time studio teacher, about Sculpture and Extended Media, and over the last twenty-four hours I’ve become increasingly attracted. I’ve shied away from the major in the past because “sculpture” sounds like woodshop, mold-making, papier-mâché. Stuff I can do and do successfully, but don’t want to make my Thing. But “extended media,” I discover, means whatever you want it to.
How wonderful! I want to explore space, make paintings that deal with space, make video that accompanies three-dimensional work, make work that distorts people’s sense of space, create little environments.
I meet Maria, who works at the desk there, and she offers to give me a tour of the department. She’s charming, bizarre, and welcoming. She’s my type of people. She leads me into the room of studios, which are just as strange as I remember from that time I visited, whenever it was. But this time, I’m thinking what I could be doing in one of the little cubicles. I meet David, (I think he’s a second year? Third year?) and he talks about getting into the major, the people there, what you can do. He says not to worry too much about the portfolio, which is a relief.
He also says there’s a great sense of community- something that I’m sure isn’t lacking in other majors, but here I feel like the people are those I would most relate to. Everybody is doing their own thing, which is scary, but in some way that seems to lessen the sense of competition. He shows me a rubber pizza, some molds he made, a small, abstract object cast in bronze, and talks about making an entire bronze pizza.
After speaking to him Maria leads me into the woodshop and introduces me to one specific machine, the name of which I don’t remember, that takes designs created on the computer and carves them into wood.
This is the business. More research must be done.
3RD FLOOR, PAINTING AND PRINTMAKING DEPARTMENT
When I was down in sculpture, David hinted that he had Words to say about this department. Whatever, they’re in the same building, light rivalry is to be expected.
I don’t talk to anyone up here, because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to major in it. However, a minor would be pretty sweet; the studios up here are well-lit, and mostly smell of linseed oil, a smell I associate with buttery-rich color and tranquility.
I wander into several empty rooms and look at the art- some of it I either can’t see or don’t care for, but one huge oil that hangs on a wall makes me freak out a little bit. The blues, the palette knifing- I step back and forth, examining it.
Definitely need to take some classes in this department.
Another room is fairly empty- there is a sign above the sinks that says something to the effect of “don’t stink up the sink, don’t put paint stuff in here, wipe down the surface after you clean up.” Obviously this has been interpreted very loosely. In the middle of the room is a chalkboard. On it is the following:
“Lesson #1: Art school is expensive.” And an arrow pointing to that statement says, “You can say that again.”
And then, “Lesson #2: StumbleUpon, take out= bff.” (There was something else there that I can’t recall.)
Even though I’m pretty sure I only want to take a few classes in this department, I need to talk to people- I can probably talk to Reid, my project class teacher, about the nature of the program.
Because, you know, dicking around with paint is the jam.
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