Textual Poaching

As was apparent by my first post by this same title, I initially didn't understand the assignment.  Actually, I didn't have a real clear idea of what aspect of my life I was going to focus on.  I thought on fudging and still being able to piggyback on the genius of Queen and other bands worthy of my praise by focusing on the fact that I am a multifaceted individual, but that would be really focusing on many aspects instead of a single aspect.  I didn't get a clear sense of what to represent until Sunday night when I was at my parent's house.
I always eat with my parents and any extended family and friends that decide to join us after church on Sundays.  This time, I was sitting in the kitchen with my dad and talking about the different food I could have potentially brought to help out with the meal.  My cooking is a kind of joke in my family because I often just throw things together, usually using leftovers and other things that need to be eaten.  It usually turns out well, but my family always expects it to be spicy and have the apparent influence of Latin America.  The food I was suggesting was consistent with this typecast.
My father made a very interesting statement.  He told me, "You have become partly Latino.  It has become part of who you are."
There is a lot of truth in that acknowledgement.  I have used Spanish in both of my jobs I've had since the mission and have been teaching Spanish in the MTC for over a year now.  I often speak in Spanish to my best friend and parents, about half of my prayers I still say in Spanish, and I still have different views of life that I picked up while interacting with the Spanish American immigrants in British Columbia.
I know and recognize that facebook.com isn't older than I am, but I believe it fit better than any of the other Spanish media that was conceived before my birth.  I have taken two Spanish literature class, and a Spanish history class and so am well aware of many artistic works from before my time and have even cited the works of Gabriel García Marquez in a previous artist statement and mentioned the Mexican muralist movement - spearheaded by artist such as Rivera, Siqueros and Orozco, but those older sources have only added to the preexisting foundation.  It's really the interpersonal relationships with the people on my mission that have woven their food, language and culture into by being.  The best way I have to show who I've become through them is to show their publications that have come to me.
In a way, this art piece is similar to that of Marcel Duchamp and his creative work L.H.O.O.Q. in that the piece he borrowed from is on the public domain.  There are no copyright laws against altering the Mona Lisa.  Essentially, items on the public domain accomplish what Girl Talk wants - things made public being open to the public for use.  I'm not certain about any copyright laws for things posted on facebook, but near as I can tell the posts are made public to all with facebook accounts and unless they come from a business, I see nothing wrong with using them how I want, as long as it maintains the integrity of those I borrow from.

AP ART PORTFOLIO

Here's a brief explanation.  When talking about the artistic movement manifestos and how they could probably benefit from more artistic restrictions, I was lead to think back on my AP art portfolio I had to submit.  The first twelve works had to be noticeably similar while still showing progression.
I maintained continuity with the following restrictions:

• I always matched up the eye line, and the rest of the face the best I could.
• Both people were always of the same gender.
• The two people I used were supposed to have a similar connection to me and usually had a connection to each other.
• The mode of creating these pieces was consistent.  I would cut out one to four woven sections at a time, draw/color that section and then move on to the next square (or not square).
• The two subjects had to be making a similar face.
• I only did drawings of people who were looking at me head on.
• All the pictures were done in color pencil.
• I personally took all the pictures.

I showed progression in the following ways:

• I was particular with how I used color, starting from black and white, progressing through color and later purposefully coloring certain skin/hair sections a color that does not match their flesh tone, but even this I did with purpose using either complimentary, neighboring, primary or tertiary colors and ending by using a combination of all the different color patterns used previously.
• The patterns used to weave the drawings changed until coming full circle and being woven as people would normally undertake such a project.
• For most of the pictures, I would purposefully not weave properly certain portions of the subject to give emphasis to that facial feature.

I started off by taking a picture of two people (in this case adopted brothers) and I cut up the pictures and wove the pieces together.

                          

This one I photocopied because I was it was to be done in pencil only.

                          

These next two show how close I got to the actual photos.  The one directly below has the other person erased out of the picture.

                             

The next twelve works were supposed to show that there is a variety of things I can do.  They do not correlate exactly to the movement manifesto, but I thought I'd include them because they were part of my portfolio.

Textual Poaching

Freddie Mercury enchanted audience with what is arguably one of the greatest voices to be associate with Rock.  I look to Queen as a standard of what good rock should emulate.  Honestly, I get tired of hearing so many songs that are musical for a very short period of time, but then wish to only repeat themselves with slight variation for the rest of the song.  Much of what is on the radio today I consider to be cheep, unoriginal, overly repetitious pig slop.  I know there is better out there because it existed previously and on occasion gems become apparent amid the rubble of musical ingenuity's still crumbling waste.
One thing that attracts me to Queen, besides Freddie Mercury's astonishing vocal performance, is their simplicity, but also their assumed complexity to songs by using layers.  The use of layers doesn't have to be intricate, just effective.  When you listen to this song, pay attention to the different harmonies.  Their composition isn't difficult and the artist do not try to outdo one another, but instead compliment each other by working in unity.  The paradox is that the unity brings diversity to the piece.  Listen to it, and you'll see what I mean.
Somebody to Love
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pMM4iwC-ag

Movement manifesto piece

Good art makes uses illusion to present the familiar in a new way.

It takes what you think you know and turns it on it’s side. 

The whole purpose behind this kind of art is to make us tap into our creativity which allows us to invent and create new things.  When we see such common processes in a new light, it helps us to view our whole world at a different angle.  This helps us make unobvious connections that we may not have seen before.

Art that presents the everyday in a new light takes us into new ways of thinking.  It makes us see everything we know (or think we know) in new angles.  It can be created with all types of mediums, as long as it makes us rethink our views of the world.

The main goal of good art is to take what we see as familiar and flip it, mix it, and recreate it.

The story:

Rachel walked down the street of her neighborhood, concealing a package of Girl Scout cookies for her grandma under her sweatshirt.  It was dangerous to be walking around that area with any possession someone might deem worth taking, and Girl Scout cookies are definitely on that list.

            Rachel tried to block out the constant wail of sirens and sad people, sounds that eventually morphed into one strange entity.  Sometimes Rachel wanted to stop and look at the more curious graffiti amongst the sea of it, but she’d been taught not to linger too long anywhere in Pinewood Acres.

            The sun began to set on the horizon as Rachel finally came to the winding road at the end of the block.  If she could just make it to the end of the road where her grandma lived before dark, she would be okay.  She picked up her pace just to be sure.

            Rachel had reached the halfway point and everything was going smoothly.  Suddenly the next few streetlights ahead of her went out with a few bangs and flashes of sparks.  Rachel jumped, but quickly collected herself.  She could see the light pass the shadows, and decided to keep moving as quickly as she could.

            After a moment or two, someone spoke to Rachel out of the darkness, “Ya’ know… you shouldn’t be walking around here in the dark at this hour.”

Rachel frantically looked, expecting to see a scary man, but the voice belonged to a calm and normal looking guy, no older than 17.  His face was charming somehow, and Rachel was no longer afraid.  Abandoning her cautious attitude she replied, “You’re probably right. I’m trying to get to my grandma’s house in Paradise Grove.  I know this road will take me to it eventually but is there a faster way?  What with it getting late and all, I’d like to get there as quick as I can.”

            “Yes, I do,” said the boy as he took a step forward. The wail of sirens suddenly got louder and the boy hesitated.  He then spoke, “There’s a trail off the road here that goes through the park and eventually hooks back up with the road right before Paradise.  It’s faster ‘cuz it’s a straight shot.”

            “Thank-you!” said Rachel, and she gave the boy her most dazzling smile.

            “No problem,” he said, “see ya’ ‘round.”

Rachel took the shortcut and made the rest of her journey without any other delays or distractions.  When she got to her grandma’s the house was dark.  Rachel knocked on the front door and it fell open.  She moved inside slowly.  “Grandma?” she called, “Grandma, are you here?”

            Suddenly Rachel felt one hand cover her mouth, while another grabbed her hair.  She struggled to get away, knocking over pots, pans and picture frames.  The hand was removed from her mouth for a moment, and she was able to let out a short scream before it was stifled and she was forced to the ground.  It was then that she saw her attacker to be the boy from the street.  “Shh,” he said.

            Rachel looked past the boy to see her grandmother’s bedroom door open.  Behind it, lay her grandmother on the floor unmoving.  Rachel began to let out stifled sobs.  The next thing she heard was a bang so loud, her ears rang.  She looked up to see a man in a blue uniform standing in the doorway with his gun raised.

            “Ma’am are you alright?” said the officer.

“Yes, but my grandma...”

Rachel looked to see her grandmother rising from the ground.

“I think she’s okay,” said the officer after tending to Rachel’s grandma. “How’d this guy know to come here? Do you know him?”

“No, but I accidentally told him.”

“Jeez kid…” said the officer, “Didn’t you ever read Little Red Riding Hood?”

The Picture:

Artist Statement:

Good art makes us think. That is the purpose of all of our classmate’s manifestos.  But in our specific manifesto, we tried to show how good art should make you think of what you think you know in a different way.  Our goal was to start a movement that has people flipping what they think they know.  We want art to be challenging and creative.  We want it to inspire.  We want it to twist your thoughts.

Our Manifesto’s main objective is to take something most would consider ordinary or commonplace, and to see it in a new light by flipping it on its side.  One of the ways we thought of to do this would be in a story in which your expectations are upset.  I tried to do this with my Little Red Riding Hood story. Whether or not I succeeded is up for debate since it probably wasn’t hard to see what the story was early on.  Nonetheless, the story adheres to the criteria laid out in the manifesto.  Little Red Riding Hood is a story we all know, and for a time, this story is unrecognizable (or at least it was supposed to be) though it is completely based on Red Riding Hood, and follows the same plot line nearly identically.  This could be done in a number of ways through story.  For instance, The Matrix, takes a look at what everyday life might really be. 

Kind of like the piece by DJ flood, while trying to define what we were trying to create, we had to search for other artworks that match our movement.  The interesting thing is that the art we found through research defined our manifesto as much as our manifesto defined the pieces we created.

There were a few ideas I bounced around in my head before settling in on the person dunking a basketball. I considered turning a person leaning back on his/her chair against a wall so that it looked like the person was on the wall and leaning against the ground.  I also thought back often to a piece I was shown in the drawing class I took last semester where a person photo shopped the metal base of a light bulb underneath a hand that was making the shape of the “light bulb” that wasn’t actually there.

The mind is a tricky thing.  Much like the light bulb example mentioned above, my drawing is an illusion.  Not only did I change the way we normally see someone hanging on a rim in preparation to dunk a basketball, but I was also quite particular in the style I used to create the piece.  In the real world, very few things have an actual outline.  Really we see texture, shape, depth and contrast and from there we create assumed lines in our brain.  My piece was based off of contour line drawings where thicker lines suggest shadow.  I did the background using only line, again because of the illusion line drawings are.  I can make things look rather realistic and create textures and portray depth, but in this piece, there is a deliberate lack of such things and yet we accept an image, flat though it may be.

Story by Kaden Watson.  Drawing by Sterling Elliott

Artistic Movement Manifesto

Good art makes us think about the familiar in an unfamiliar way.

It takes what you think you know and turns it on it’s side.  The whole purpose behind this kind of art is to make us tap into our childlike creativity which allows us to invent and create new things.  When we see such common processes in a new light, it helps us to view our whole world like this.  This helps us make unobvious connections that we may not have seen before.
Art that presents the everyday in a new light takes us into new ways of thinking.  It makes us see everything we know (or think we know) in new angles.  It can be created with all types of mediums, as long as it makes us rethink our views of the world.

Kaden- a story
Sterling- drawing
Marissa- photo/video

Good art should be ambiguous enough to be universal.

Historical Story

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1rEXfo6yerfrX2K3xUdutsTFp168gnSXVLjz2RHfKM-w/edit

Use the link above to view the script.  If that doesn't work, then I've attached the script as images below.

Artist Statement:

Whether or not an artist intends to insert a theme into his/her story, a theme will be there.  Sometimes, it exists only because the audience seeks for one, but generally speaking, you find what you look for and miss what you aren’t looking for.  Many people will see the more obvious exterior themes and motives while missing the deeper, underlying theme that bears the true message, like roots that go unnoticed because people are too enamored by the leaves.  Thus it is with our story.

On the exterior, people may think that our story is about how to woo women, but if you notice, Izzy has very few speaking lines.  The story isn’t about her.  She functions more as a catalyst.  The story is about some of the greatest inventions, and the fact that many times the greatest inventions are not accompanied by the greatest motives.

Admittedly, there are worse motives that foster creation than to win over someone’s heart, but even that seems selfish when we step back to a bird’s eye view and see how the inventions of fire and the wheel have revolutionized the world we now live in, and how both inventions are still used today.  The fur coat was probably important as well for survival during the cold, winter months or during the ice age, but that is where some of the irony comes in.  Because none of the cave people were able to recognize how impressive the things they created really were, the person who, by comparison, made the least important invention was the one who ended up with Izzy.

One example from recent history that mirrors this concept is the invention of the Post-it Note.  Sterling had heard the story from his mother at the dinner table and decided to investigate it further.  According to Wikipedia.org, Dr. Spencer Silver, a chemist working at 3M, accidently produced an adhesive that could be reused with pressure.  He tried for years to promote his invention at conferences within the company, but the value of his work wasn’t recognized until a colleague of his, Art Fry, saw that it could be used to keep his bookmark in his hymnal.  He later used the companies “permitted bootlegging policy” to promote what eventually came to be known as the Post-it Note or Sticky Note.  The company has made millions, while, according to what Sterling’s mother told him, because of the bootlegging policy, the inventers have made very little.

Obviously, no one exists that still has memory of the invention of the wheel or the fire, so blatant creative liberties were taken.  That does not make our version of history of less importance than other people’s versions of history.  Just as Ethan Canin’s story, Vivan, Fort Barnwell demonstrates, our own memories – even when based on physical artifacts – can betray us.  Ethan had a memory of playing in a pool and soaking blankets.  The way he remembered his mother’s appearance and the memory of soaking blankets were both based on a photograph that was supposedly taken that day that included neither blankets, nor his own mother but was  a picture of leaves and his grandmother.

History, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

Genealogical Artifact

Heirloom

I doubt most people get to know their great-grand parents.  I only knew one of mine.  My great-grandpa Loyd (with only one “L”) Ronald Clark was born on Sept. 25, 1910.  He was an excellent woodsman and handy with a gun.  He served our country during the second World War fighting against the Japanese.  During our brief interaction, he told stories of boat fights and how he and the others on their ship would line up near the side the enemy was boarding holding a knife in their right hand.  That way, when the hand to hand combat started, if they punched and missed with their fist, they still might make contact with their knives.  He said that the enemy soldiers would sometimes jump back off into the water when they saw the line of armed militants.  

My uncle received one of his knives.

He told of more weighty stories as well.  He told of a time when he was forced to kill women because the Japanese had stripped them down and strapped them with explosives and told them to run toward the American troops.  He was rather unforgiving toward the Japanese for that and other experiences.

In my youthful memory of Grandpa Clark, he seemed to be of a sound mind.  He told us that he had actually seen a yeti while hunting, and was about to shoot it but decided that it looked too human.  It later chased him and knocked into his car.  When I was younger I was rather convinced of the certainty of this story.  Now, I’m a little more skeptical, but more open to the possibility of the existence of the Sasquatch than most people.

My elder brother received a skinning knife with a leather sheath.

As a youth, Grandpa Clark was rather mischievous.  He once opened a can of German black bees in his class room which, according to him, only sting you if you move around and freak out.  He sat quite still, laughing to himself, while everyone else ran around getting stung.

I heard all these stories from him during the short period of time where he stayed at my aunt’s house just preceding his death.  Actually he died in my aunt’s house.  He had very few worldly possessions, and not much money to be given as an inheritance.  I received two items – his bathrobe which has since been word through and ultimately disappeared, and a blanket that I always keep handy in times for when the winter sets in and I need extra warmth for my shivering toes.

There really is nothing too special about this blanket – it’s not overly thick, it isn’t large enough to cover a bed, it doesn’t have an extraordinary design, just some simple strips on one side and more of a plaid pattern on the other.  It was, however, the blanket Grandpa Clark had with him and kept his old, now frail body warm during the short time he was living with my aunt preceding his death.  He passed out of this mortal sphere to whatever realm awaits the disembodied soul while resting at my aunt’s house.  My family came over that very night to pay our respects and say a final good bye.  If my memory serves me well, he had the blanket draped over his legs, the way he always did while resting in his recliner chair.

Although I am named after my great-grandpa, I can’t say that I think of him often.  I do remember him, though, whenever anyone asks to borrow my blanket.  It came from him and warms me with his memory.

Artist’s statement:

Honestly, this assignment was a little trickier for me.  Like I mentioned above, the object I described does not bear any particular attractiveness.  It’s not an unsightly blanket, but there is nothing extravagant or impressive about it.  Honestly, the only reason why I’m fond of the object is because of the man who gave it to me.

For part of the assignment, we were asked to read Pablo Neruda’s Ode to Things.  I had already studied many of Neruda’s writings the previous semester in a Latin-American literature class, and I believe to have read the very piece in Spanish before.  I decided to look it up again.  Not that I thought the English translation in the book had anything wrong with it, but I just wanted to see the way Neruda originally penned his thoughts.  One thing I noticed right off the bat is that the poem is much, much longer than the English exert we had in our textbooks.  He used repetition as a poetic device and began many of his new verses (paragraphs, really) with the word Amo meaning “I love.”  His Ode to Things was all about the things he loved and appreciated and seemed to fall right in line with my thoughts about the blanket.  I love the blanket.  Amo mi cobija.

Quite honestly, the outside source that I can connect to most would have to be Mouse Hunt.  I only saw the movie once, and liked it more than I thought I would (granted, I could have done without so much sexual innuendo) and it became memorable to me for two reasons: first because when the body of the deceased father plunges into the sewer through an open manhole, my dad burst out, “That is the funniest beginning to a movie I’ve ever seen!”, and second because of how important a little piece of string came to be for two quarreling brothers.  I can still recall the string, though previously eaten by the troublesome mouse, descending from the heavens as the brothers become united and the painted portrait of their father then bears a smile where once a paintbrush had produced a frown.  Little pieces of string hold essentially no monetary value, but for them it was priceless.

I was nine years old when my great-grandfather passed away.  I do not know the chronology of when he did the different things I mentioned in the story, nor do I remember the order in which the stories were told to me.  I decided to organize them by theme, and in accordance to my own stream of consciousness.  I chose these particular stories to show that not only was he a real human being.  He went through hard times, he had flaws, he liked to have fun and overall was a good person.

I decided to include some of the other gifts that people inherited from him in conjunction to a story almost as an afterthought.  I thought it would make a nice allusion to other stories that could be told, other memories that are had about my namesake, Grandpa Clark.