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"Artistic" portraiture

RIGHT. So, I'm finally getting around to posting pictures (love Saturdays, Happy Halloween, by the way), and I've decided that first, I shall post what I want to post, which means I shall post the portraits I took, which are easily among my favorite pictures. THANK YOU, by the way, to my parents and my loverly Aunt Sandy and Uncle Fuzzy, because I am now the delighted owner of the best point and shoot camera on the market, with more gizmos and gadgets than I can handle, a delightful feel, and unbelievably gorgeous picture quality. Enjoy!

Impression of an artist

Apparently, and this was news to me (I didn't know there was a name for me), I'm a "natural Impressionist."

Let me start over.

Yesterday was the best day.

First of all, it was a Thursday, which automatically makes it amazing, because oil painting is my only class, and it doesn't start until 1, so I get to sleep in. Monday through Wednesday I have classes starting at 9 every morning. Thus, waking up naturally at 10:30 was a great start.

Second, and this is where it gets interesting, we started a new painting. Usually, this means a fair amount of stress. We have to make sure our canvas is ready for class, we change the palette slightly to accommodate whatever the assignment needs, and, critically, we suddenly have another painting in progress that we have to fit into our mindset. For me this is particularly difficult, since I have trouble ever saying a painting is "done," since I can always see flaws that need to be fixed. Jun and Jane both had to tell me to let go of our first two still lifes, to move on, and to "not even look at them." Thus, starting a new painting is usually more a cause for alarm than excitement. The one thing we had to look forward to was the color change - though a change in palette is usually just hard to keep track of (think, "did we use ultramarine blue on the first or the second still life?"), we were finally switching to a prismatic palette, which meant we'd no longer have to fake greens and blues with black, white, and yellow ochre, but we'd get to see rich, vibrant color again. What a delight!

It came to light that we'd be doing a painting in the "Impressionist" style, which, summarily, means loose brush strokes, lots of texture, lots of optical color mixing, more opaque colors and layering (and thus less "glazing back" and "scumbling up," not that anybody really understands those terms) and less of a realism requirement. From there, styles of impressionism vary from artist to artist, meaning we'd finally, FINALLY get to paint a painting how we wanted the painting to look, and less how the still-life items appeared photographically...if that makes any sense. It made me happy, anyhow

I immediately decided to paint the front door of the school. The actual front door - the nice peachy-white one that appears on the website, not the one all the students actually use to get in the school. Its coloring is wonderful, it's got cool plants next to it, and it's outside. Really, honestly, drawing from life.

It only took about five minutes for me to realize that type of painting was what I'd been missing. I was terribly paranoid that Jun or Jane would come out and tell me I'd been doing it wrong, but I was having such a wonderful time that I found it hard to believe that enjoying myself could be the "wrong way" to do anything art-related.

Let me be brief, since I think this is dragging on.

I have never had so much fun in this oil painting class as I did yesterday.

I started and finished the painting over the course of four hours.

Nothing else I've started is done.

I have found my oil painting calling, as it were.

More impressionist painting is ready to spill out of me. I just need subjects :)

I'll post a picture of my first impressionist painting ever, very very soon!

Signing off,

Egg

Mmmm

One more poem. A happier note, this time. I wrote this waiting for possibly the most delicious mushrooms I've ever eaten. Unfortunately, and ironically, this time, eating them essentially by themselves, I felt a little ill afterwards. But, the poem still stands.

dinner at Albatross

these mushrooms...
I'd fly back to Paros for these mushrooms.
Rich, like homemade risotto,
stretched to fill endlessly numerous
smiling,
happy bellies.
Spicy as on-the-house mystery cocktails
served with love
by our favorite bartender.
Sweet like fresh-baked pastries,
better than any mechanical wake-up call.
Rewarding, like timeless views of wild slopes after perilous climbs.
Hot as crowded dance floors, packed
with art students
letting loose.
these mushrooms...
I'd swim back to Paros for these mushrooms.

Compensation

Since I'm posting so rarely, I thought I'd let you in on what I'm doing, a little. Sooooooo I'm going to post some of the poetry I've been writing. I'm going through it in our seminars, but I'm still iffy on how good it is, so let me know. I'll post some of my drawings when I get John to fix the scanner, and I still haven't gotten a chance to download my pictures, but they're coming, too.

Labels. Part II.

don't you dare think you know me,

not when I cannot know myself.

Ask me, I dare you, how I feel about the plastic coffin
innocently waiting on the counter
mocking me that I cannot control myself without its contents.
Tell me that it's all genetics, that it's just a disease, or that,
"You're still yourself, despite everything."
Don't lump me in with the rest
I hate that I hate myself for this
And love the good
even as the bad
tears me apart.

"Cycles," you call it.
I will be who I WANT to be, cycles be damned.

Identity

"I understand," you say.
I've heard that before.
You who stare from behind sterile desks
framed by inconsequential scraps of vacant gothic print
proclaiming that you understand me.

A word
or a list of them,
more like.
That's what I've been reduced to.
Give me my identity back
Allow me my own words
And I'll tell you what I think of your clean cut
form letter
"diagnosis"

All in.

I
Rachael
sarcastic
snide
desperate
Rachael
talking
asking
never telling
Rachael
have a secret.

I wonder
sometimes
if the people around me
classmates
quirky
open
loving
classmates
given a magnifying glass to my soul
walked through those scenes which gnaw at my insecurities
like a hyena gorging on a meatless bone
Delighting in my pain,
If I were to point them out
could you see what I am hiding
or why I fear
I've already let it out?

Doctor out the door.

Confused.
That's how she feels.
walking out the office
stamped with the label she expected
wanted, even.
Maybe she thought she'd feel better,
being different.
But what if being different
comes with a name that proclaims you're the same as somebody else?

Labels. Part III.

Twenty-two people combine
To one single image
A compilation,
if you will,
composite puzzle pieces
[fit poorly together
as a landscape, painted
by one who has never set foot outside]
that is how they see her
...or so she believes.
But how to distinguish reality
from a fabricated projection onto already richly colored canvases
So hard to find the truth when the mind
convincing in its terrified insistence
screams that the people around her
cannot be trusted,
that they judge, even as they kiss and soothe.

I don't know what to think.

I judge you.
It is the way of all humans, isn't it?
So maybe,
perhaps,
just a little bit,
it is not so strange
outlandish
or even,
dare I say it,
paranoid
to think that
if I tell you
one by one
that this gaping flaw is more than skin deep
you won't love me anymore?

Butterfly panic.

too much
too soon
too little
too late
wrong place?
wrong time?
hug unwelcome
restrained hoped-for kiss
not that word
not that tone
running, rerunning
fix this
change that
why didn't she?
why couldn't he?
flowing and abrupt
apologies, uttered or wished
please don't hate me.

Mail me things. This isn't a request.

JUST in case anybody gets a strange urge to send me a letter telling me how much they miss me, or telling me to write them more letters, or really anything (including chocolates, presents, euros...), I will get all mail sent to:

[ME]
c/o The Aegean Center for the Fine Arts
Paros 84400, Kyklades, Greece

Signing off (and loving you all very, very much),

Egg

SCHEDULING!

I thought it'd be relevant to let you all know what classes I'm taking, and what my schedule looks like, so you know what I'm doing and whether or not I'll be accessible, or conscious!

Classes, etc.:

Vocal Ensemble
Figure Drawing
Printmaking
Oil Painting
Art History
Writing Seminar, a la Carter
Greek Literature
Draw Club
Introduction to Modern Greek (has yet to start)
Yoga (starts tomorrow morning!)

Schedule: [...all of which, by the way, is taped up in gigantic bold font on my apartment wall, so I don't really have to remember most of it]

MONDAY

9 am - Monday meeting (schedule for the week, iron out any group confusions)
10-12 am - Figure drawing
3-5:30 pm - Ensemble

TUESDAY

7:30-8:30 am - Yoga (still being officially scheduled - it may move or grow)
9-12 am - Printmaking
1-5 pm - Oil painting
6-8 pm - Greek lit.

WEDNESDAY

9 am - Draw Club! (draw for an hour. whatever you want)
10-12 am - Figure drawing
3-5:30 pm - Ensemble

THURSDAY [love Thursdays - short, just like in high school]

1-5 pm - Oil painting

FRIDAY

9:45-some late and variable time - "Friday hikes"

SATURDAY and SUNDAY

FREE!

...generally, at least, this is my week. Factor in homework, self-imposed and otherwise, hanging out with all my loverly buddies, wandering the island, going to the beach, and trying really really hard to cook for myself consistently enough that I don't completely bankrupt my parents by the end of the trip with eating out, it's a pretty packed schedule. Thus far, I LOVE IT! I'm taking every single class I've enrolled in because I want to, and for no other reason than that. If I decide to, at any point, I can withdrawl from a class, but they're just so much fun so far!

Signing off,

Egg

just a treat :)

Since I want some feedback, 'cause I don't really write poetry much...or ever...I thought I'd post the poem I wrote yesterday in a fit of inspiration, or boredom, or frustration, or something. Anywho, enjoy. <3

Labels. Part I.

I imagine that I can see it in your lips
Pity, confusion, disgust in a strained smile.
I hear whispered wonderings, covered
With a forced laugh or a hollow,
"How are you feeling?"
I know,
I think,
that you would believe
You know why I read what I read,
why I say what I say,
why I am what I am.
It all makes sense now, doesn't it?
I am so much tidier, identifiable with this name that is not mine
Plastered across my face.

Note to self:

What I am going to work on posting:

• Scanned drawings from my sketchbook
• Pictures downloaded off my camera
• Poems and stories I've written, just for the hell of it
• Brief overviews of city-by-city, what we did in Italy and Athens
• Generally, how I'm feeling about the trip, and goofy notes and "stuff you didn't know"

Much love,

Rae

Aaaaalan!

I wrote a couple stories, I promise! They're in my notebook, and I'll copy them up in a couple of days. They kind of suck, but I'll post some of the other stuff I wrote, as partial compensation.

All the best,

Rachael

Apologies, and updates.

...I know it's been an age. I've been on Paros for a week already, and Greece for a good week and a half, so you've all missed the full month I lounged (okay, sprinted) around Italia. Pistoia, Roma, Firenze (Florence), Pisa, Sienna, Venezia, Prato, and Lucca - I am truly spoiled. For a brief overview of what the heck I did for such a long time in , since it's hot in this computer room and I promised my dad I'd finish my college essay, I'll explain the purpose of cutting our Grecian work time down by a full third.

In most basic terms, the entire point of the "Italian Session" is to give the art students (read: me and 22 other afficionados, from 17 to 30) a chance to cram in as many of the world's great art pieces into their heads, so as to give a) context to the techniques we study and materials we use, b) inspiration for what works we may choose to pursue, and c) appreciation for how art developed and shifted focus from the Romanesque age through Baroque (in Italy), and through the rise and fall of the Greek and Roman empires in early Greece.

To summarize:

• Over the past month and a half, I've seen at least three hundred "Madonna and Child"'s, a few hundred "Crucifictions," and more "Annunciations" and "Adorations" than I care to consider.
• I have seen what made Donatello, Cellini, Brunelleschi, Giotto, Michelangelo, della Robbia, Ghirlandaio, Masaccio, Botticelli, Lippo Lippi, and a multitude of other artists famous and memorable, and had a chance to form an opinion on every single one.
• I've been in more churches than I can keep track of, which makes more sense when you know that in the time periods we predominantly studied (1200s - 1600s), everyone showed off their wealth by contracting art pieces to display in their local church.
• I've stared intensely at enough gorgeous nudes to no longer feel self-conscious about loving the human form and anatomy, and creating art that reflects that.
• I've discovered more about myself personally and what kind of person I want to be (as well as what kind of people I want to surround myself with) than I anticipated, a process sped along by such experiences as intensive heart-to-hearts with my Italy-roomie, Chelsey, being almost tipsy in Venice, after three tequila shots and a "rum and coke," breathtaking concerts of operatic and symphonic music, bodily dragging one of my friends back from a bar, drunk out of her mind and a good half a foot taller than me, and loving "unimportant" art and feeling apathetic towards "revolutionaries," even as my art history professor tries to tell me what pieces I should care about and why.

I'll post more later, I promise. There's tons to say!

Signing off,

Egg