I AM SO EXCITED FOR FALL. It’s the only season with two names because all of its splendor and glory can’t fit into just one word. In case you’ve forgotten what fall is all about, here are a couple of vocab words to refresh your memory:
1. “California Gurls”
I’ve been home for 24 hours and I’ve already spent an embarrassingly large percentage of that time watching Pura Sangre, my mom’s new addiction on Telefutura. Compare that to the time spent by other Carleton SpringBreakers doing everything in their power to look like this:
(inspired by Robin and Bill’s Semaphore duet)
lSomeone who will not be named (Ernesto Manuel Llano, Davis 111, 507-250-2924, firstname.lastname@example.org) suggested (demanded) that I be completely honest in this blog and reveal some of the unappealing things about myself. And since I love talking about myself (flaw #1), this entry was born.
2. I haven’t showered since Monday at 7 pm. I don’t plan on showering until tomorrow. This is a weekly pattern.
3. I chipped the same tooth twice in the past week. There is no cool story behind it. I got excited about Whoa and hit myself with an empty cereal bowl, it looked dumb. I still look dumb. Hopefully I’ll get that fixed before Haley gets married so that I wont get shopped out of all the wedding pictures.
4. I use boy socks.
5. The last time I did laundry was December 22nd, 2009. No trips to the Watson Laundry room have been made since last fall, when I filmed that video for that stupid Cams class.
6. I got an effing B+ in that stupid Cams class, wtf. I don’t get Bs unless it’s a (fake) physics class. This was CAMS. I spend my free time picturing ways to make Paul Hager whimper.
7. I say things like “effing”.
8. I spend my Aesthetics class writing down my feelings. Today’s notes, for example: Thing I Don’t Like About the Guys in this Class. V’s mouth is too small and always hangs open. M’s mouth is always half-open. His eyes are ALWAYS half lidded and his beard is scraggly. K’s fingernails and hand gestures. The three of them are sitting in a row on the other side of the room, are they magnets to each other?
9. If I’m not friends with you, I either idolize you or hate you.
10. If I’m friends with you and your name is Jon Aranda, I hate you.
11. From Sunday through Tuesday, I made stupid decisions that resulted in my staying in Boliou until 3, 5 and 2 am.
12. Consequently, my immune system shot itself in the face and now I have a cold. I wipe my nose on my shirt because I’m too groggy and lazy to look for a tissue.
13. I sprayed my perfume in my mouth by accident. Perfume doesn’t taste as good as it smells.
14. I hate brushing my teeth. I talk myself out of having to do it when I’m really tired. Which is all the time.
15. I lose everything. Everything. I’m very aware of this, and constantly check all of my coat/pants/bag pockets to make sure I still have my keys/Onecard/cell phone. I have lost all of those at least once this term. Also lost this term: my 2012 shirt, my mitten, my earring, my bra, two of my erasers, the pencil I bought and swore I wouldn’t lose.
I’m going to go have dinner, which will probably consist of cereal, english muffins, 2-4 cookies and softserve. It will NOT consist of soda. Because I’m doing the lent thing for the first time to improve myself as a person. Not that there’s a need.
(as in “two”.. hahahahahaha get it?)
Last week, I could’ve picked between studying for finals or watching My Kid Could Paint That. A High Five Fantastic Time’s reaction to Bar-Lev’s 2007 doc (though it was mostly a reaction to the reactions from the art majors in her class) had gotten me pretty curious.. Needless to say, I know very little about the French conditional and future perfect tenses, as will undoubtedly show up on my final grade.
It’s been a few days since I watched the film, so some of the initial excitement/anger/ frustration provoked by the doc has died down a little bit. But the fact that something other than Glee could have provoked such an explosion of emotion is enough to prove that watching that film was soooooo worth watching my chances at an A in FREN103 poof into oblivion.
My Kid Could Paint That
1. Marla vs Dad. In Courtney’s blog, she writes that the film proves that 4-year old Marla was responsible for her paintings. Although the doc includes footage of Marla completing a painting on her own, this footage is used to show how unlikely it is that Marla is the sole artist of her work. Bar-Lev compares the painting Marla completed in front of a camera to those that were previously exhibited in galleries and sold for thousands of dollars, and the message is pretty clear; the former looks nothing like the others in the collection in terms of composition, in terms of color palette, in terms of how the brush was used, in terms of overall aesthetics. By the time the documentary gets to this footage of Marla’s 100% pure handiwork, Bar-Lev isn’t redeeming the Olmstead’s stained reputation by proving that Marla is “the real artist”. He’s materializing his doubts about the family’s honesty and gouging your eyes with them. He also documents the doubts expressed by once-loyal Marla art collectors, who swear over their Hummer and all their grandkids’ trust funds that “Ocean” (the redeeming footage painting) looks like it’s done by a completely different artist than the one who made “Ode to Pollock” and “Asian Sunrise”.
The point is, My Kid doesn’t at all prove who was responsible for the all of famous Marla paintings. It proves that when placed in front of a camera and told to act natural, Marla painted “Ocean” without anyone’s help. It showed how eager she was to finish the painting and go to some room not filled with documentary equipment, probably to finish a puzzle or make fun of her younger brother (who has these artsy SHENANIGANS* to blame for his inferiority complex). It showed that “Ocean”, the only painting we knew to be 100% Marla’s handiwork, could be interpreted as being completely different than any of her other paintings.
2. Doc about a Doc. Whether the Marla Vs. Dad question is answered isn’t ever the point of the documentary, because Bar-Lev’s film is a documentary about documentaries. Half an hour into the film, there’s a creepy confessions session during Bar-Lev’s car ride back home where he basically spills that:
– He doesn’t know whether to believe that Marla’s work is genuine anymore
– He wants to believe her family because they’ve been so nice and whatnot
– Is it bad to pretend he believes them to their faces in order to remain on good terms and finish his film?
The story develops around the notion that no one can measure anything without altering the results (PHYSICS FOR POETS**), and that any story is only a compilation of true/false. Should we expect anyone to perform 100% normally in front of a camera, let alone a 4-year-old? Etc.
3. moving on. Going back to a comment from Courtney’s post: “[The people in Courtney’s class] argued that because the girl was a 4 year old that it wasn’t real art and that she shouldn’t be selling paintings for thousands of dollars. It mocks what real artists try to achieve and struggle with.”
The comment addresses some major points: a. what constitutes Real Art, b. the ethics of art marketing,
b. It’s completely reasonable to be outraged by the fact that Marla recieved the recognition she did, because the fact is that all the recognition didn’t have as much to do with the quality of the paintings as it did with the fact that she was four years old. If Marla had finished those same paintings when she was 23, she would probably be living off Ramen in a bathroomless studio. And I have the right to be outraged about that because there’s no way I can justify that Marla’s talent at 4 years old consitutes her as a modern art prodigy. Even when comparing “Ocean” to her “more polished works”, the canvases generally look like accidents, some more aesthetically pleasing than others. This ties us back to point a.
a. Another interpretation of My Kid: It isn’t just the marketing of oblivious 4-year olds that mocks what ‘real artists’ try to achieve, but the fact that work done by oblivious 4-year-olds could even pass as art. Because a piece like “Ocean” looks like it could’ve been done by an oblivious 4-year-old, or a Modern Art major, or a homeless war vet, or a hamster on steroids, or a blender. I’m not yet at a point in my career as an ObsDraw graduate where I can appreciate something like “Ode to Pollock” or Andy Warhol’s soup cans as much as I can appreciate Degas’ dancers. I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was charged $12 to see Penis Hat at the New York Museum of Modern Art. Is it wrong to be bitter about this? Penis Hat looks like it was inspired and completed by a drunk Jace Rustan. Who cares. It’s 2:33 am and I can’t fall asleep and I’m bitter. Suck it, 21st century Modern Art. Oh gosh that ties back to Penis Hat, and I’m so mad/tired I’m not even going to hit the backspace key. 12 effing dollars.
It’s Friday and I refuse to be unhappy, even if half the campus wants to wipe their butt with the Carl Horoscopes for all the stupid alliterations that someone (Blanky Blanky) decided to add. Unless your name is Shel Silverstein or Eminem, thinking that alliterations will make your sentence sound better is like puking on your hot dog to give it extra flavor.
GUESS WHAT? LIFE IS ROCKING RIGHT NOW.
1. Inching my way to the top of the Carleton College Publications Pyramid is going better than expected. I even skipped a whole level (The Carletonian). It’s like skipping a grade but it’s more rewarding and no one plays Monkey in the Middle with your lunchbox during recess. Writing/editing/fighting with (Blanky Blanky) about the Carl Horoscopes isn’t a bad way to be part of the elite few who get to call themselves editors of this school’s most respected (read:recycled) paper. Brag! Brag! Editor! Brag! Carl! Brag! Trelawney Protegee! Brag!
2. Courtney Bertchinger: Like any good friend, I was reading your Facebook info and I noticed that one of your listed Favorite Movies happens to be one that I love with most of my body and all of my soul and that has since served as my personal definition of “beautiful”. Thanks for reminding me of my definition of “beautiful”.
3. Ernesto LLano: Like any good friend, you were creeping on my Firefox tabs and noticed that I was having trouble coping with the possibility that I might never again watch Portraits Chinois. Thanks for making me extremely happy. Next time we watch it together, maybe you won’t fall asleep half an hour into it.
4. I am trying very hard not to write this all in caps but holy crap Ebony is tomorrow and I am so excited you wouldn’t even believe it a a a a a a a h h h h h h hh hhh!
5.ça fait longtemps, and it’s lovely to have this as part of my life again. I love the internet.
(because I can’t love too much one part of it)
The Carletonian: Like Old Faithful, you never fail to be the most advertised AND most boring attraction on campus. Except for 4th week’s issue, where the open letters to/from SaGa were more entertaining and passionate than anything in the Carl. Thank you. Please go back to being bland.
Benjamin Parks: Thanks for the migraine-inducing Clap article. Or whatever that was.
Fall: Your one night stand has broken thousands of hearts across the midwest. I hope you’re making potato chips out of leaves somewhere far away where you’ll be underappreciated until you cry the way my heart did when I saw snow outside my window.
Bob Dylan: Thanks, but no thanks.
Rubber Eraser: WHERE ARE YOU?? THE OBS.DRAW MIDTERM IS ON WEDNESDAY LSDKJLSKJDKLSJFLSDKJ I don’t want to spend another 2$