Discontinuation

Given that I have finished this project, I am discontinuing this blog. I found it very helpful for the development of my ideas, and much of it will be reflected in my exhibition this April. Feel free to read blogs for my other projects!

A Lack of Content

In terms of artistic ideas, my mind is pretty barren. I think it's mainly because I'm in a state of rapid transition, and because my life is (or appears to be) fantastic right now. Now that I'm living in a dorm and around entirely different people, I am very distant from the thoughts/feelings that led me to produce two very large and interconnected bodies of work (which pretty much defined my high school experiences.)

The kind of fervor that was once abrasive yet persuasive now seems very far away. I feel like I've lost a lot of technical skill, but more importantly, lost touch with myself. It seems that my most poignant work is done during and after an emotional conflict, so I can expect to work "better" during some sort of social explosion or internal struggle.  

I don't know what to expect this semester, but I hope I can channel my thoughts (or, rather, the associated stress/negativity) in the same fashion (it seems to work.) Everything will make sense once things settle down a little, and I think a new era-- a new set of characters, environments, visual concepts etc.--will begin.

A Recipe For An Original Idea

People nowadays are scrambling for answers to many large and pervasive issues-- the environment, health care, etc. This search for knowledge is the very essence of MIT. To be honest, I'm pretty clueless as to what form of ingenuity it took to, say, split the atom, but I have a reasonably good idea about what makes an "original" idea in the context of visual art.

I think most "good" art requires a certain level of technical skill. The principles of design are key. Trying to balance different elements of a piece of art is much like chemical equilibrium-- adding or removing an element in a given area often shifts its "equilibrium" to another area, requiring the artist to interact with every part of the page until equilibrium is met. This is a sort of innate skill that is hard to teach; it's more a matter of getting a feel for what is "missing" in a piece, and when too much is too much. However, technique does not always equal success. Essentially anyone can learn to shade an apple with proper training. In a more extreme case, one can even recreate a work as advanced as the "Mona Lisa", but the recreation has little meaning. In the opposite case, a lack of technique can be made up for by conceptual ingenuity.

I also believe that the most important aspect of art (in all its forms) is not technical. The key to "originality" is verve-- the passion and personality that define an artist's body of work ("verve" itself is almost a synonym for "original.") This aesthetic and emotional "originality" is often consistent throughout an entire artist's body of work, but it may vary by project, or even by individual works. For me, "Pieces of Paradise" is rather continuous. This may be in part because all of the frames are in pen/ink with similar line quality and identical textures. More than anything the feel of the body of work is is defined by an artist's personal experiences. Cumulative experience, as well as specific events and themes, are instrumental in the development of a body of work (or a single piece of art.) Sometimes experiences/emotions creep in subconsciously, but in other cases (such as this project) they are used as a starting point.

Here are some of the sources of inspiration I used for developing this project:

1. A trip to Italy and Sicily, where I discovered the umbrella pine.

2. The aesthetics of comics

3. The physical and emotional characteristics of three real people (including myself)

4. Two connected and multi-layered experiences

5. Greco-Roman art

...among others.

Another source of inspiration that I find intriguing is music. I believe that the acoustic environment I'm in greatly affects how I work. I don't know the exact science of it (I'm guessing there is some sort of adrenaline rush), but music-- particularly otherworldly soundscapes and music with imagery-heavy lyrics-- increases my artistic productivity. Often, music with lyrics parallel to the themes (or illustrative of certain people and events) of a given piece of art are especially effective. A few such tracks are:

"23" by Blonde Redhead
"The Scientist" by Coldplay
"I'll Believe In Anything" by Wolf Parade
"K56" by Cranes
"Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect" by The Decemberists

...and, most importantly-- "Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings" by Sunset Rubdown. This song has been incredibly influential throughout the development of this project. The lyrics very closely match my intent as an artist, and the "boy" and "wing" imagery is almost identical.

All this is art theory is very complex, and thinking about it all makes me a little crazy. But I continue to be intrigued by what is behind what we call "art", and what we can learn from one another without words.

Just Keep Your Eye On The Upper Left Corner...

It might be a better idea to wait until it's complete, but I thought I'd release the link to my book in progress. The first thing you'll notice is that there is only text on one of the twelve completed illustrations. This is merely for me to keep track of the format/feel of the writing-- most of the other text is disjointed and in great need of editing, so I left it out for now (Plus, there are lots of gaps and I'm actually struggling with what wording to use. Maybe I'm just a little lazy.) Here is some commentary (or, maybe just uninteresting banter 0_o) on the structure of Pieces of Paradise. Writing all this helps me to become more mentally organized, and it's always helpful to refer back to my thoughts in the midst of an intellectual/artistic doldrum.
--

In terms of organization, each frame contains three different elements:

1. The primary narrative image
2. Text-- two lines per frame
3. A phase in one of two different cycles, or a transition. They aren't really cycles, per se, because they don't repeat, but since they are generalizations, they are assumed to occur over and over again (but independent of the narrative.) The phase is the thing that's always in the upper left corner. It, in a way, gives a sort of context of time (though it is not proportional to real time.) The full spheres represent a state of grace (or, perhaps, what is perceived to be a state of grace), and they deviate in different ways.
i. Lunar Cycle: rather than the cyclical waning and waxing, it is the cracking of the moon. It begins as a white sphere-- the full moon. This is an aesthetic I've been working with a long time, both randomly and within my AP Concentration. This cycle represents a process of destructive change.
ii. Floral Cycle: The unfolding of a flower from a spherical bud (radially outwards.) This represents the gradual unfolding of an inevitable truth, and a more peaceful way of finding an end. It begins as a black sphere; the beginnings of each phase are actually quite similar in theme, but the "characters" involved in each are opposites (hence the inverse in tone.)
iii: Transitions: There are two major transitions: the patterned sphere and the spiral. The end of the book will be something completely different, but I haven't figured it out just yet. It has to be epic, and "epic" hasn't really materialized yet. I think sometimes, it's best to wait and let the idea come.

Thoughts On Writing

I really regret that I don't write in notebooks anymore. I never really kept a diary as a kid--I just wrote lots of poetry and made many attempts to write novels (I did finish one that was approx. 120 pages of college-ruled paper, but soon after I found it too ridiculous and embarrassing to consider publishing or anything.) More recently, I've been recording my ideas electronically-- on MS Word documents and on this blog. It's not quite the same, but it seems to be more fitting to my increasingly multi-tasked lifestyle. It's really hard to tell if this sort of "electronic expression" is less poignant than regular writing. I was just discussing this with a kind of anti-Internet friend of mine, so I'm going to make it a goal of mine to observe my progress/digression as I become increasingly involved with technology--Oh God, this sounds like the FEE all over again!

On another note, I've finally decided what form of writing I'll put under the illustrations. I'm going to write a long-ish poem without any rhyme scheme (...or maybe there will be? I'm not entirely sure yet), and put 2-3 lines of text under each frame. I want to steer away from writing a concise narrative simply because that would eliminate room for interpretation, and might establish a sort of bias. Ultimately, I need to decide how much real-world information to attach to the narrative. My goal is to keep it surreal, but to establish meaningful connections to the moral concepts at hand.


Above: Experimentation with characters before starting the project. Possible cover?

Frame #1: Ambition

In writing for "Pieces of Paradise" I found a striking similarity between the event I was describing, and my current state of mind (which, of course, is geared towards the upcoming transition to MIT.) While I won't blog about every single frame in this fashion, I thought I'd do so to document my train of thought in completing this project. Plus, it's a great way to brainstorm what I'll actually write about.

Here is Frame #1:



It's an illustration (soon to be coupled with words) of ambition. I saw "progress" through a distorted lens--viewing it as very simple and systematic, as a stairway with *prepare for nerdiness* an unchanging slope. While my mind was set on the goal, I did not expect the organicism that came with the process of achieving it (or rather, the realization of it as a delusion rather than a goal.)

I see MIT as a parallel. When I got in, everything seemed to simple: I'd go to school, adapt to its rigor, get a job, blah blah blah. As easy as it all seems, I know the process will change me in ways I can't anticipate.

And on that note, I'm off to work another frame :-)

Finding Forgotten Memories

I've been going through my stuff a lot recently since I'm going to be moving out soon. It's weird sifting through memories, even if it's just an old test or long-forgotten pair of shoes. But I came across something far more meaningful-- a book a friend gave to me the summer before my junior year. I was filled with a feeling of awe going through the pages, and being reminded of how thoughtful a gift it was-- how oddly the illustrations and content match my own personality and artistic style. It seems that all this time I had forgotten the person who gave me the gift, a person who genuinely listened to me, a person who touched my life in a positive way.

In the chaotic jumble of facts, routines, and emotions that is life, I can be quite selfish. The last two years, I've been so caught up in unsuccessful romances, burnt bridges, and academic competition. I've been divided inside and very confused about myself. In this chaos, I forgot this valuable friendship, and the peaceful way we drifted apart. I forgot the simplicity of his kindness. It's so amazing how something so simple is so beautiful and powerful, yet so forgettable. If I could learn to appreciate the small, temporary gems of life, maybe I could see the bigger picture.