And a double exposure good night

Tata

Sometimes i give people tattoo's after i had a few.

Little early

Phone

Getting out

So i've been out of school for a little time and it's been bitter sweet. Just about every day i think of what i used to do and the people i was surrounded with. I miss seeing that BFA studio door everyday and end of the month crits. Being in art history classes listening to my professor speak passionately about the blue field paintings of Yves Cline. I missed hearing the words: Identity, contrast, composition, fluidity, and kitsch. 

You know those little things that made things what they are, i miss those most. Getting psyched about the final critique, standing in front of a bunch of professors defining and defending what i do. I miss the smell of oil paint on the third floor visual arts, the flame from foundry, the voice of bonnie and helen. Have you ever stayed up until 3 am. burning out wax molds in the bitter cold making a fire in a steel drum? If you have, you know what's up. 

I miss the demanding voices saying work harder, with more passion. Well they are now all internal, somewhere a flame burns inside lighting just a small area of what i know. The rest is open ready to be explored. 

Rambles are just what i needed, the  studio is calling. Must go.

Everyday i don't get into the studio i feel empty. I'm missing out on something i could have discovered, i could have found out. 

Really now I'm finding out what it means to be lost. Standing in a strip mine with one road out, you can loop around and around like everyone else or you can cut new paths, when you get so far look behind at the path you cut. Not straight, curved crooked and bent, loop and double dips, crossing over and back, but never stopping for to long, just pausing to take in the landscape.

Rambling, just what i needed, the studio is calling, must go.

Itchy Legs

Wood construction

The Grandfather

maps

drawing the inside

A bus ride on the "V"

Spectacular

Untitleds

:See Below

Chovel

Speak Easy

Our, hour to each other

From: R(boy)

The cubic retort: I have not six sides but three to conjure up some type of sanctimonious bluff about my own pink finger. As a possessive noun i not accumulated enough clout to layer fill enough powder blue in the debate of your lovely colon. My misplaced metropolis may have married a marsupial named Misty. As gustily a wind has left mormons on the door step, the bananas remain as brown as you found them. I have not 2 sides left for a silk line you may hang your unmentionables from, but a berry blast of sugar free gum, dum, de deedle, de bum. Insert (_N_O_U_N_). The last side has absorbed successfully.

Our hour to each other

From: R(Girl)

       This is my proclamation for defecation: hut, tut! crystals of joy have been found to protrude from pompous ponies puzzled paddles. they are of an illiterate junction. jasper, the chimney sweep has once again taken leroy's coffee table, (which was covered in a string of cheesy entrails.) that man with wispy waves for hair has trucked and fucked for nearly ten succulent decades, feasting on juicy jibblets of pomaded shrimp. i'm tassled and threaded, but still a little slutty. this is my proclamation for defecation.