LAUREN E. C.

1.  The work that seems the most mine is the work I create without trying to fit it to anyone else's desires. For example, everything I have created in this class this semester has been work I have been interested in and wanted to make. In other classes, I don't always feel like the work is wholly mine because I'm not making it to please myself, but to please a professor. Work that comes from my own head for my own enjoyment is the work I believe is the most mine. It isn't always my best work, but it feels the most like me. 2.  I admire and am inspired by the work of Kehinde Wiley. He is inspired by historic portrait painting. He takes the medium of 19th century portrait painting and merges it with his contemporary ideas. I have also been inspired by portrait painting, and am relieved that there is still an audience willing to view portraiture today. 3.  Art is a broad term, so it could be argued that what we deem as art now is not the same across time and culture...

Frames: $60 Wood panels: $20

Inspiration https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3WZNSGBsoc https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43PwJShcg8U https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/victorian-wallpaper-got-its-gaudy-colors-poison-180962709/ Work

Reading Response(s) The idea of alien life being somewhere out in the galaxy is plausible, and many believe that, most likely, somewhere  out in the vast great unknown, there is some form of sentient being we don't yet know about. However, to believe that some unknown sentient being is already on Earth and has been here for hundreds if not millions of years, is generally far more difficult for the general public to fully get on board with. I, personally, was fascinated by the idea of alien life visiting Earth. When I was just a wee little girl, I was terrified of everything. Bugs scared me, pictures of bugs scared me, skeletons scared me, dinosaurs, the dark, demons, soup, low humming noises, being alone, dusk and dawn, heights, roller coasters, blinking baby dolls, and aliens all scared the pants off me. Aliens especially, because after I saw Signs on VHS, I was convinced I was going to be kidnapped and poisoned by an alien race. Not to mention they could easily be killed by ...

Reading Response If one person lived forever, imagine the emotional rollercoaster they must endure. Everyone they know will eventually die, leaving them behind. They could learn everything, master anything. Would that person spend time being lazy and watching Netflix and YouTube? If they have all the time in the world, would they even bother using it to be productive? What if the person who can live forever takes it for granted and never does anything, knowing they can always do something tomorrow if they feel like it then.  Imagine if someone who has all the time in the world, never having to worry about growing old, never fearing death, does nothing but sit around and put the bare minimum effort. Imagine if someone could do anything they wanted, and chose to do nothing. They learn nothing, master nothing, achieve nothing, and contribute nothing. How could someone who has all that potential squander it? Anyone would love to have that much time to achieve their dreams, and yet...

Reading Response Introversion and extroversion are fascinating concepts. The idea that someone draws energy from people while another draws energy from solitude is interesting, and begs the question of what sort of energy is it refering to. I can't imagine that someone who is extroverted does not eventually burn out after constant social interaction, nor can I believe that an intervet does not eventually yern for human contact after several weeks alone. Yet, these two dividors have been used to separate the human race for decades. I have always thought of myself as an introvert, but recently this has come into question. I enjoy spending time with certain people, but I need to have alone time to think and write out my thoughts. However, I don't like to be alone for too long. After a few days, I need to talk to someone. After a few hours of being in a large group, I need a break. So, which is it? Intro or extro? I don't particularly feel like I get energy from either situ...

Reading Response Lost but still here Here but now gone Gone but still remembered Remembered in a song A song that's never played Played only when days are long Long ago and now forgotten Forgotten in a song Song singing through the trees Trees bend to hear the sound Sound loud and proud and upset Upset at what was found Found the realization of hope Hopelessness to set you free Free from all the things forgotten Forgotten about me Inspiration https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxvOMHoLRBY I found this on Christian Ard's blog and thought it was really interesting https://vintagedancer.com/1920s/makeup-starts-the-cosmetics-industry/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tk_ZlWJ3qJI Work

Reading Response There have been many times in my life when I have felt insignificant. At a younger age, and sometimes even in recent years, it could bring me to tears to think about how little I will likely impact the world. I want to make a difference, or at least be remembered, and the thought of never living up to either of those things scares me. Perhaps it is less fear of not going down in history, and more fear of never amounting to anything worthwhile. When I was very young, maybe 4 or 5, sometimes my mom or dad would wake me and my siblings up in the middle of the night and we'd drive a little way down the road until we got to a clearing. We'd get out of the van in the cold, wet night, and mom would lay a blanket down on the ground and we'd watch the stars. I believe she only did this if there was a meteor shower, and we'd lay there and watch stars fly by. Afterward, we'd all pile back into the van and drive home, and mom would make everyone hot chocol...

Reading Response I thought I would write a poem this week, but the words were not coming to me. I wanted to write something pretty about nature, but poems about the beauty of nature have been done to death, and I think in my cynicism, I had a hard time writing anything worthwhile to read. It was either far too sappy sweet or completely incoherent.  So instead I'll talk about a place back home that is beautiful and in nature. My sister and I used to call it The Place. We gave it a vague name because we didn't want our brothers to figure out where we meant. In the woods surrounding the house we grew up in, my siblings and I would name certain places, I suppose to keep things orderly. There was Clay Falls, which was a dip in the creek where the water cascaded into a deep ditch of white clay. There was the Airplane Tree, which was a fallen tree that, although looked nothing like an airplane, would be used as an airplane in make believe. And there was Fern Valley, the Civil War...

Reading Response   There was a man who sat in a wheelchair in the corner of a mental home staring out a window. He didn't have a name, or if he did, he never knew it. Despite his functioning muscles, he had great difficulty walking, and was usually confined to his wheelchair where he was much more comfortable. He could not speak, and, although he could hear, he could not understand language.    He was not a stupid man, nor an incompetent one. The man experienced the world close to one-fiftieth the speed of a normal person, making typical everyday function impossible. He could not interact with anyone, because everything happened so slowly in his world. So he would sit in his chair, and stare out his window, and watch the hummingbirds come to a small red feeder that hanged from a wrought iron post nearby.   He loved to watch the hummingbirds, because they moved faster than anything he had ever seen. If he knew how to count, he could have counted each individual...

Reading Response I have often wondered what it would be like to lose a sense. Having had all of them for as long as I've been alive, I imagine losing one is much harder than having started without one in the first place. There is a certain understanding and sensation which comes with each sense that can only be truly described through experience. It's something like a brief moment of scent which suddenly reminds you of a feeling you had when you were little, which is gone just as quickly as it arrived, leaving you wondering how to possibly describe that scent or feeling. Senses are personal experiences that the user is exclusively privy to. Taste is unique, that we know for sure. No one has the exact same palate as another (although they all tend to generalize out as we grow older). Who's to say all other experiences of senses are universally shared? Who's to say the experience I call "redness" is even the same as yours? What if my experience of the world i...

Reading Response Long since past since ways were easy Time has blasted me through Inertia always makes me queasy Future won't say what to do Little time, little effort, little thought, little right Know not, dare not, attempt to fight Has and will completely unknown After falling Before dying Finding home Inspiration https://thebulletin.org/2018-doomsday-clock-statement Work

Reading Response "A Modest Proposal" by Jonathan Swift has stuck with me since I first read it in high school, which is why I chose it as the reading for my week. I wanted to see how others would respond to something this provoking. I've always found it impossible to read this article without ceding at least a little humanity in the interest of the greater good. Naturally, it is gross and immoral to conceive of the actions proposed in the proposal actually coming to fruition. Yet, it is that word "naturally" that strikes me so pointedly. Why is it that it is only natural to consider the act of killing babies evil? Why is there a concept of good and evil? It's heartbreaking to think anyone could consider killing and eating babies to be okay, but if it would benefit all of humanity, why do we feel that way? Even if not for the greater progression of our species, but just for ourselves, why wouldn't we be able to consider this as a genuinely viable optio...