STUDIO566 UPDATE
Monday, June 22nd, 2009 | STUDIO 566 | 1 Comment
1. Dramatis Personae received another recognition: 4th Place in the International Christian Art Competition (Stephen Sawyers’ baby).
2. I was accepted into the TYPE BASED GALLERY:
http://www.typebased.com/gallery/penny-collins/
(You can give me stars and commentary!)
3.I have 4 pieces at the ART PAD GALLERY, LLC in Columbus, Ohio. They will be showing until December 2009.
4969 North High Street, Columbus Ohio 43214
614.888.8966
Open 12ish-6ish pm Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday (or call for appointment)
http://www.artpadgallery.com/Home_Page.html
That’s it for now…
Maiko
Monday, June 22nd, 2009 | STUDIO 566 | No Comments
I spent this entire weekend with my neglected girl. I believe she is finished (some tweaking aside, I mean). Here she is. I have been staring at this one non stop for hours on end. At one point I totally dorked something and had to go back and redo, but frustration builds character, right?
I am not sure what I am walking out with this - a Maiko being a Geisha in training (Maiko’s have the white make-up). I wish I had as much talent, intelligence and class. I am not sure if this piece reflects the bittersweetness I tried to communicate. In fact, I only know I was attracted to the concept of the Maiko and the painted mask. “Dance Girl”….
I lost some hours of my life on this - but I have looked at it so much I have no opinion of her any longer. Perhaps some distance… then I’ll be ready to commit. *snort*
WTF - The Daily Question I ask Myself…
Monday, June 22nd, 2009 | LIFE, STUDIES | No Comments
Every day. WTF? I am not sure what the hell I am doing or am about anymore. Having said that… I was granted an “A” in Art History (good Lord I thought I would kill myself in that class).
I feel like a walking dichotomy - or hypocrisy - but I do not feel like a conundrum. Maybe I should stick to becoming a walking tirade. I will burn more calories that way. Maybe my face would clear up.
I am getting new ink soon. I also had a piece of one of my teeth chip off right at the gumline. This is from years of clenching my jaw… the basic manifestation of my utter hatred towards humanity. Let’s see… tattoo or dental work… hmmmm.
Here is what I am starting with:
I am having Miss Blue work her majik on this idea. It will end up being a V shape on the small of my back. Yes, I finally am getting my tramp stamp.
http://www.evillittleblue.com/
You met me at a very strange time in my life.
Thursday, June 4th, 2009 | LIFE | No Comments
The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.
It is a very strange time, is it not?
I received an email today. A very philosophical email about the universe and its unfolding and refolding. I get many philosophical and spiritual and religious emails. I just don’t read them. If only I could get the universe to fold that laundry that has been sitting in baskets for 2 weeks now. But I digress…
I ran across this line: Because I cannot control the universe and attempting to will kill me.
What I read:
Because I cannot control the universe attempting to kill me.
Is that is what is happening? How many times can I use an Infinitive > Irregular Verb (To be) in a sentence? Why do I even *know* that “is” is an irregular verb? Isn’t it? I can barely remember why I had to learn that. It had to do with diagnostic linguistics and American Sign Language. I am TRYING desperately to FORGET why I learned American Sign Language.
And there is the theme of my life: THINGS ARE OK - SOMETHING STUPID HAPPENS - TRY TO FORGET AND PRETEND IT’S OK AGAIN
Why do I sit at work and just stare out the window? I can’t even see above my desk - I have to stare at a haze of gray blue that is the sky between broken blinds. Why is it the mega church can’t buy new blinds for these windows? I can see the top of one parking lot light and a rectangular cinder block column. I’m in a pit of black lacquer and technology looking past cinder blocks. If I stretch, I can see the top of a satellite dish. We use that to broadcast prayers heavenward. Wouldn’t it be a bitch if God didn’t have cable?
Why have I been daydreaming a lot? The phone just rang and scared the shit outta me. They may find me one day soon curled up under this black lacquer desk dead of a heart attack because of this damned phone. Then the people in charge of stripping me down for the coroner will have a chuckle at my giant granny panties. I’ll go out with people looking at my tattoos and laughing. Please cover my feet though. They are always cold. Of course, where I am headed, that might not be a problem.
Hire a crier for my funeral too. I want to at least give the illusion someone actually loved me. And I want balloons. Red ones. Filled with helium and tied to my crotch. It’s cinematic symbolism. Look it up. I have already requested the giant phallus as my grave marker. It’s Freudian. Look it up. Write ANIMA on the phallus. It’s Jungian. Look it up.
Lady of the Wild Things never did have a happy ending but she gave quite a few.
O… I like that. It’s Goddess symbolism. Look it up.
The History of Art History
Tuesday, June 2nd, 2009 | Uncategorized | No Comments
A week or so ago, out of complete frustration of being so completely challenged - I wrote Dr. Steven Golan a relply that went to the effect of:
One day, as God as my witness, I will turn in an assignment in which you will respond simply: “Well done.” It may not be in our lifetime so I’m just giving you a heads-up.
The next unit is on Early Christian and Byzantine art. This is my “tour.”
http://ohioart2.com/art/COLLINS_Wk3A2.doc
THE RESPONSE:
Hi Penny. You made my day with your tour (and it is actually my birthday today, so that is something). It is so good to see that you have really fallen for early Christian art (just kidding). It is great to see, however, that you appreciate is as a reflection of the historical period and not just something to be loathed (too much). I especially appreciate your stylistic and iconographic contrast between the Classical tradition and Early Christian art. This is where we see an incredibly close connection between the function of art and the culture that influenced it (really the underlying premise of this course). I think some people get too wrapped up in being anti-Christian that they tend to ignore this basic concept. However, once you look objectively, Early Christian art is just another period that displays a marked change from an earlier tradition. So, OK, here it is: Great job!
…. Great job!
And now - to do it again.
I did What? I’m sorry… I guess.
Friday, May 29th, 2009 | LIFE, STUDIO 566 | No Comments
I have not touched the Maiko since last Sunday in my studio. There have been a couple of things I haven’t touched since last Sunday in my studio. Now, I’m chasing the dragon. The dragon I chase is now priority.
Not a swell time today. But that page has turned. And now… I must sleep. Tomorrow, I begin again. Bridge burnt. Anguish extinguished. Cooling embers will glow but eventually die. I like the river without that bridge anyhow.
For the first time - I think I’m tired of that favorite old novel I’ve been reading. I prefer a different story. Although it’s an older story - it is new to me.
I’m tired of running after ghosts. I can’t touch them anyway.
Maiko - I hear you. I do.
Mah Bunneh
Thursday, May 28th, 2009 | LIFE | No Comments
- MY BUNNY THAT ISN’T MY BUNNY
That’s my bunny. Well, actually, truth be told, he belongs to someone else.
I have, however, developed a rather close relationship with him. As odd as that may seem. One would never suspect. And it seems I am the only one he has this sort of bond with…
I like that. I’m the crazy lady he loves.
When I descend the stairs each morning, he is usually waiting for me. He is more of a morning creature than I am too. He has trained me to awaken just before 7 am. through the use of a Pavlovian bell that he would keep ringing. I would come down at that time. Now, the bell doesn’t even have to ring. I open the cage to give him his morning love and before I even get my hand near him, he will lower his head to me. That is his way of asking me to touch him. I do my best. Sometimes he gives me kisses. I kid you not, I will pet him and he will lick my hand. It is a form of grooming. I find I am existing in some bizzarro scenario reminiscent of Mice and Men.
When I am busy or occupied intensely with some odd thing, if he is out for the evening, he will either chase me down or, if I am there, simply jump on the couch - literally seeking me out to play or to ask me for some attention. He is sweet that way. Very much so. He also wrestles with me and throws things off the couch if they seem to be taking my attention away. Sometimes he just simply sits with me and is content. And ya know… I love all of it.
I don’t know if it was the rain today, or the mood… maybe VanMorrison’s INTO THE MYSTIC (or a combination) - something was different for me. A crack appeared in the armor. Not that my bunny who really isn’t my bunny had anything to do with that. There was some sort of vulnerability that creeped up on me today. I am usually pretty guarded against such horrific things. I know when something is hormonal or spawned by painful memories… and I can act accordingly. Or hide just enough as to not let on.
Today, I wasn’t as guarded as I thought I was. Feeling vulnerable puts me into a sort-of panic. It really isn’t a panic… I just tend to… try to get the pieces back to where they were before the crack in the wall appeared. Paste them back up quickly before the whole dam bursts wide open.
I was experiencing such… whatever it is I am experiencing today…
and dug out a poem that just about tears my heart out when I read it. I haven’t looked at it in YEARS. I am sure Freud would have a field-day with that.
The first time I read it - it was 3 am in the morning. I sat alone. I actually just sat in some bizarre morphic field and cried. You will see a pattern to my tears: it is either song or poem or an image that cues the rain. And, as I said, I am usually already feeling either hormonal or am already in a funk. (And no one, but no one, sees me cry).
Not today though. Complete surprise today was. At least, that is what I keep telling myself. So in that I didn’t feel quite emotional enough in the beginning of my day, I came home and dug this little gem out. mr ee cummings certainly struck a nerve way back when. And again when I read it after I had my children and could see their beauty and power and vulnerability unfolding in the words below:
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
_______
Today was very odd, however. I finally admitted to myself from my heart of hearts, that what I would love is that someone would see, somehow, somewhere, a beauty and vulnerability in me unfolding in the words.
Were my hands ever perceived so small? Ever?
I cannot imagine anyone ever seeing the power of my intense fragility - when I refuse to show such things. Is there honestly a human touch out there that renders death and forever with each breathing? I imagine if so, it would be something slow and purposeful - fingertips remembering every curve, lips and eyes taking in each detail of the landscape to be remembered somewhere…
I am not sure anyone has ever offered that to me - or I have even permitted the offering.
somewhere i have never travelled.
nobody, not even the rain.
… I want to rock your gypsy soul, just like way back in the days of old and magnificently we will float into the mystic. Too late to stop now… (I’m Van Morrison!)
I love the rain. I think I am going to go hold my bunny for a while.
A walk in the dark
Saturday, May 23rd, 2009 | LIFE | No Comments
The Maiko - In a social style that is common in Japan, men are amused by the illusion of that which is never to be…
I’m not sure if every jaunt down memory lane is like walking in the dark. As long as the moon is out, it’s all good. My eyes adjust and I can find my way back. Of course, sometimes the path taken to revisit leads to a different way home. I am sometimes truly enthralled with the human psyche. Aren’t you?
Ah the moon - the inconstant moon. There’s a Shakespearean line for everything. If God didn’t put in in the Bible, Bill put it in one of his plays or sonnets. I remember taking my Shakespearean Quotations test in the incomparable BOB - BOB BRITTON’s class. There was a line after every quote where we were to write the answer to “WHO SAID.” Ideally I wold have written the names of characters from various plays that I was supposed to be studying. I wrote either GOD or SHAKESPEARE. And yes, I did pass that test. Talk about feeling my way through the dark. Yes, Bob, I live heah.
The past is an interesting animal. I somehow have managed to refuse to be victim to it. For those of you who know me who actually read this - stop laughing. I still suffer self pity at times, but I make sure to truly indulge when I do. I roll in it. I wallow in it. I am a veritable pig in shit.
I do not believe for a moment that God “tests” us or puts us “through” something in order to fulfill some higher purpose or plan. In XTian terms… wasn’t that why there was a certain young man who was hung up on a tree? God created us perfect. God created us to tend His garden and be fruitful and then multiply. God created us a little less than gods. Don’t you know that we will judge angels? What the hell is the point of putting someone in a highly dysfunctional family? We’re judging angels - not the trailor park.
We do what we do to ourselves and each other. That’s just the way it is outside of the garden. Hell, that’s exactly how it was IN the garden, otherwise we would still be walking around naked and unashamed. It’s that reaction to these things that’s the kicker. Remember when Jesus totally confounded Pilate with His silence? And Jesus was summarily lead to slaughter. Do you suppose there was part of the man who didn’t say anything because… well… what good what it have done? I understand the whole religious dogma that it was “His time” and that He fell silent to fulfill the prophecy. But… He was human. In being silent and doing “God’s Will” He threw up his hands and basically said, “Why bother.” I mean, no one was really listening to Him up to that point anyway…
Jesus was without sin. I do not believe that. He came here to restore relationship between God and Humanity. In order to come Earthward and BE our ransom, He had to enter the same legal way we did. And He did. All men are born into sin… are they not?How relatable is a superhuman perfect Jesus? He was tempted. Just like me.
Superman. We’ve made Him a comic book character.
What He did as a human being is what made him so… AWESOME. What he DID with what He was given…
So there He was - on trial and being passed around more like an inconvenience than a person - bought for 30 pieces of silver. That was the cost of a male slave back then. And legend has it that He could have opened His mouth at anytime and stopped it all. He was the son of God, after all.
I wonder if after Gethsemene (where he was sweating blood, mind you) - if He was just so physically, emotionally and spiritually spent that He had white noise in the head. Maybe the only words going through his mind were the Aramaic equivalent to, “Crap. Let’s just get this over with.” Although the son of God probably wouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition.
He just sat there. He didn’t say a word. What a price was paid for that. The shedding of innocent blood. That does mean something to some of us.
All because the cost of sin is a human life. Worth 30 pieces of silver - or the cost of a medical precedure.
Life’s BIG Distractions
Saturday, May 9th, 2009 | LIFE, STUDIO 566 | No Comments
The Geisha Girl in Training remains unfinished. The whole theoretical point of starting her was to distract me from my distraction. Illustration has a wonderful way of pulling me away from here and putting me in a zone. It not only focuses me, but it also has a wonderful quietude that allows my thoughts and feelings and process to not be my own.
I always work to music. Those familiar with me know it is usually Pink Floyd’s WISH YOU WERE HERE cd or some BEATLES pick - usually the first tho. FLOYD and most of my BEATLES picks are at the studio without me. I received a new song today. A small gift, in fact. No one goes wrong when they give me heart-felt gifts of music.
Not my usual fare of heavy crying guitars… or hypnotizing Waters. So perhaps that is what was causing my eyes to keep drifting toward the window.
I started yet another project to distract me from the distraction that was supposed to be the distraction. This one was going to be a small typography project. I even pulled elements from another piece figuring I would relax and play and have something to show for it. I should have known better.
Sometimes I think too much. I would never believe I felt too much until recently. As for processing — sometimes my mind just cannot wrap around things and I choose to coast - or “wait and see” - I am enjoying the ride. I always do. I always do.
Interestingly enough - the piece is a jazz sort of piece. It has faint hints of another thing I once held close which has since gone its way. The music is French sounding. Which, I must interject the SAD CLOWN OF LIFE as I do when discussing anything French. Of course it could be Italian - but I know of no SAD ITALIAN CLOWNS OF LIFE… except maybe Fredrico Fellini. I do not travel much, it could be French Canadian for all I know. There are a lot of sad clowns in Canada (mostly at the casinos).
I am sure most people would imagine coffee houses - art - loves both coming and going or unattainable or unavailable - and a cycle of life continuing on regardless of our opinion of it. An art house film noir movie. With subtitles. And a personification of death. You get the picture.
I love violas and lower strings. I love low instruments to begin with - but I love those strings because they have the sound of human voices. THAT makes me feel inside. I guess I don’t *see* so much with music. I tend to feel music. Since I am usually either concetrating on things, images are sort of floating by deciding to stay for later or depart.
I have never thought of what I “see” — the only song that ever held me like that was AMAZING JOURNEY with the London Symphony. Today, I consciously had to force myself to be still. How restless. I can easily “see” people “seeing” a coffee shop here - but I feel a person who is just a person. On their ordinary journey - going where life is taking them. God are ordinary people complicated and yet simple. Complicated and simple at the same time. How terribly dichotomous we all are. But then there is an odd glitch in the continuum.
I’m not sure what the glitch would be. God knows there is enough of them in a single lifetime. I am hoping the glitch is something causing a person distraction. I shouldn’t be the only soul unable to sit still. It feels like a gaslight reality. Reality is always there for the taking… until we take our last breath. The trick is - getting to the last breath without a single regret. Is that possible?
Oh my god - I’m on an Ayn Rand everyman tangent.
So I see myself … actually… I started to see myself in something quaint - it feels quaint. But you know what I see? My life sort of unrolling slowly before me.
It is interesting that we are all on our own paths at our own pace. But regardless of our thoughts, beliefs, our yearnings and seekings, our loved ones pass on, and we do too. Maybe that’s the underscore of melencholy I am carrying through this music… that knowledge that we are all going to take our last breath eventually but we try so hard to not think about it, fight it or build a faith so strong that we try to convince ourselves that we have no fear…
Anyway - the song brings my life to some point, with some *thing* or some *one* standing in front of me… and the page turns. I’m not sure this song is necessarily the end of the story. Why yes, I *am* projecting - why do you ask?
Helplessly hoping her harliquin hovers near by - awaiting a word.
This stream of consciousness was brought to you by the LETTER O and the number 2
and the letter:
