I'm Fired.

Yep. I let myself go.
Well, perhaps not in the same sense as being fired. Firing myself is an effect of the cause.
I digress.
I wrote about the differences of Art school and University, but I never wrote about living in a city for the first time in my life. Now THAT was worth writing about. But why didn't I? I talked about it all the time.
Like I said, I let myself go.
These past few months have been a strange time for me. A time of indulgence and forgetfulness. You see, I have demons. Doesn't everyone? My most challenging demons - at least of late - is the demon of severe lack of willpower.
I get bored. I satisfy myself with a trip to Sainsbury or Primark which means spending money, creating waste. I've stepped up my consumerism and, well, it hurts.
And it hurts for me to write about it.
Oh, yes, I've made advances in other areas of my life but it seems like it's all two steps forward and twelve steps back if I can't live within my means.

But here we are. I have noted the problem and the next step is to reverse the problem. Or, at least, stop the problem from continuing and that's what this post is about. I stopped writing regularly and here's my pledge to start again. I have a lot to write about! I'm stepping up this summer. I'm taking a few steps closer to sustainability and I'll have a lot I want to share.
I leave Glasgow in TEN DAYS. Maybe I can't post every day, but I'm going to try for three a week. No - that's not saving the world by any means, but it's at least a way for me to keep track of myself, to not go astray like I did while in Glasgow.

Next step - Make a list! A list that goes with the list of things I want to do this summer - a list of things I want to learn about and write about here on My Adventures in the Parking Lot.

Ophelia

Ooh, I haven't written in here in so long. That is so sad because I was doing well there for a while. But here I am again! This time with an art post.

This semester has been an interesting one. I was given an immense amount of freedom that at first scared me, but I think it has done me a world of good. I was able to explore my love of maps to a far greater level which is something that I've wanted to do for a while. AND I get to hear feedback on the pieces that I created because I'm putting them in our exhibition (which opens Thursday) so that's really exciting.

What else is exciting is that I tried something new... sort of... today. Really, it's reverting back to paintings I did in high school but with a vast new knowledge of painting. This post is about how I got to this point, what it feels like standing on that point, and where I go from here.

How did I get here? Well, it seems straightforward in my head, but I'm sure it's anything but. I've been itching for a very long time to paint realistically (particularly humans) and lately that itch has become an out of control burning sensation. I have to admit that it was sparked by watching Desperate Romantics, a BBC drama about the pre-Raphaelites. I started feverishly taking books out of the library on Waterhouse, Millais, Sargent, Rembrandt, Velasquez, Whistler, and Bougereau and I did countless Google image searches.

I was convinced that I couldn't work from a photo any more but I had no models at my disposal. I spent quite some time browsing through stock photos I took on two occasions in high school trying to find something I could work with. I found two. Hundreds of photos and I had only two.

Ophelia or Venus.

For reasons that have nothing to do with anything of import to this post, I chose to use the image of me, in my prom dress, in a mud puddle, to use for Ophelia.

Ok, but I have nothing to paint on. I don't have time or money to stretch a canvas and the ones you can buy pre-stretched are really expensive here. All the museum board I had was too small. I did have these rolls of "canvas" and after a fairly brief consideration, I used it. I guess I'll deal with making it work later since it's not stretchable... it's more like paper.

So, after hours of deliberation and much lost sleep, there I was, in my studio, ready to go. I was terrified, but I jumped in. I was doing so many things I was taught not to do. Using a photograph... printed out from a printer none-the-less. I was using tiny brushes and probably too little paint. I was smooshing the paint together to blend it. I was holding the brushes incorrectly... the list goes on.

But I was working. And I was happy. So no matter what I was doing wrong, I didn't care. I worked for a few hours, then I forced myself to stop for dinner. I came back and worked as late as the building would allow me.

So here it is, the work that I got done today (click on the images to see them larger):

Just after dinner (two hours and forty five minutes in)

Detail of how I left it at about 8.30.

Detail of the lower face. Also my first ever successful nose! And I love the mouth. If it wasn't my own, I'd want to kiss it! haha.

The first day's work. Approximately five and a half hours in.

I'm extremely happy with it. So is everyone else that has seen the pictures apparently. I got one shocked look, one pleased nod and smile with some words I could not hear over my ipod, a couple "how much is it"s, a few "you're making prints, riiight?," one "Holy damn...," several "likes", and one surprisingly coherent jumble of casplocked and casplock-less words of awesomeness.

I've also been told it's my best work to date of a human and I agree. I still have to finish it though. The only part that will be easier than the skin is the fold of the dress... but the hair and the surrounding brook are going to be tough. But I'm ready.

I hope that my tutors are ready too, because this is what's getting put up for my assessment.

All great ideas are dangerous – Oscar Wilde

I wrote before about the differences I notice immediately after coming from a liberal school to an art school, but perhaps the biggest difference is the class structure.

We’re not talking social hierarchy here, we’re talking about a nine to five job and not two three hour sessions of this or that class per week. We’re also talking about having one set thing to do – this term it’s to create a body of work based on sequence/multiples/narrative. The End.

As you can imagine, throwing Americans in to this nebulous cloud when they’re used to strict guidelines kind of freaks them out and I was no exception.

For two or three weeks now I’ve been flexing my fingers, my eyes all bugged out repeating “What am I going to do, what am I going to do,” every waking – and even sometimes non-waking, moments of the day.

Little did I imagine that a rather plausible idea would sneak up on me and scream “BOO!” thinking I had the hiccups.

In all truth though, the idea did sneak up on me but I think that I had my eyes closed.

Before I even left for Scotland, I had this idea to make a scrapbook, but not in either the old fashioned or my GIS way. I wanted to paint things around the city, people, buildings, etc. and bind them into a book. I wanted to do at least one per week. Approximately twenty-four pages.

Well, that’s all well and good but it was just going to be a side project – I had dabbled a little bit for it, but I hadn’t started and I didn’t really mean to until it got warmer.

Well, I told Brandy my idea yesterday and, in passing, she said I could even do that for my project.

Lightbulb! But it still wasn’t good enough. There were too many kinks. Oil was too much to carry around the city and the book would end up being a toothy monster. Pastel was too messy. I don’t have enough experience with watercolor. Nothing else seemed interesting.

I put the idea aside.

Today, in Life Room, Stuart asked us to draw with our non-dominant hand. I was like “grooooaaaan” but, well, I was hooked. I drew like that for the rest of the day. I even shunned my beloved pastels for it. I tested what it looked like switching between right to left, holding the pen differently, etc.

Then there it was – a project idea. My first plausible one of the term thus far.

I would make my book, but I would do it in pen, left handed. Then I would use a media I wasn’t comfortable with – watercolor – to introduce some color. In the end, it’s a compendium of foreign experience, experienced in a foreign way, by a foreign person.

So, perhaps this idea will evolve or I will choose something else to do for my exhibition here, but this book will be made. I’ve already started.

With the book, I want to add some information about each page, creating a sense of scrapbook-iness. I think I want to do that with tissue paper sort of stuff laid over the image.

So, if this is in fact a “great idea,” it seems like it could become that dangerous prospect that Wilde talks about. I can see it now – Me, traveling Europe with my little pad of watercolor paper, drawing EVERYTHING with the wrong hand, taking notes on color and reliving it all later when I finish the page with color.

No little horse, but a book review

For the third time in my life, I have fallen in love with Louise Erdrich.

First, I read Love Medicine and I thought “it can’t get better than this.”

Then I read Tracks and I thought “it can’t get better than this.”

Then I read The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse and, this time I had to be correct, it can’t get any better than this.

Louise Erdrich is a Native American author who writes about the people that live on a fictional reservation in North Dakota (among other things). Despite this Native American genre classification, Erdrich moves from the norms that populate the literature and, in doing so, her novels are able to reach out and touch anyone from any background.

In Little No Horse, we follow the travels of Father Damien, the priest of the reservation. Standing on the threshold of the novel, we look in and meet Father Damien. We the readers watch as Damien removes bandages from his chest. “His woman’s breasts were small, withered, modest as folded flowers.” In truth, Father Damien is Agnes Dewitt, a strong willed woman wooed by long dead composers and a passion for life.

We travel with Agnes through her early life in the church and her subsequent exit, her deep seated passion for Chopin, her first love, her first and second near-death experiences and her transformation into Father Damien. After molding into Damien, Agnes moves to the reservation and sets up shop as their priest, putting on the disguise in the morning and reverting to Agnes at night.

Thus, we follow Agnes as she learns the ways of men and integrates herself into reservation life. People come and people go throughout her life but there are a small few who make an impact and it is in these moments, and the ruminations thereafter, that we grasp the subtle depth of Agnes and how hard it is for her to not truly be herself most of the day. But then, what self is true? She feels at one with both Damien and Agnes, but the two can never meld.

Slowly, over the course of her life, she learns the language and the ways of the reservation and becomes so close to them that she questions her place in the Church. This love of the reservation and her belief that the people in it depend on her become at once a trial and a momentous occasion for Agnes. She loves being needed, but she must turn down opportunities to live a full life as Agnes outside because of it.

Throughout the long life of Agnes, we see several other beloved reservation staples like Nanapush, Lulu, Fleur and Leopolda come in and out of the picture. We garner more information about them to add to the stock from other novels and it is this interwoven fabric of Erdrich’s novels that I find most fascinating. Lulu, my all-time favorite character from the novels, appears throughout all three and, by piecing together different accounts and histories, I have her life unfolded before me to scrutinize and idolize.

Although Little No Horse is indisputably about Agnes, Lulu plays a huge role. In the novel, we are able to read an account straight from Lulu of her early life and this puts in perspective for us her actions later on. For most of the novel, she is a grown woman who Damien is simply smitten with fatherly love for. So smitten, in fact, that he mistakenly writes his name down for her fathers name on her birth certificate. Later, thinking his undoing is coming, this pops up from the past to save him.

Hardly known to him, this novel is secretly about Damiens saving. He battles everyday with trying to not be found out while finding a person here or a person there that really knows he’s a female. It seems to matter little to the reservation folk and they accept her into their reservation with open arms.

The Best Clause in a Student Housing Handbook and Why I Love Art Schools

I’ve never attended an art school before. Yes, I’ve gone to school for art, but there is a difference. Arcadia teaches other things so I am exposed to a greater number of people in various subjects whereas, at art school, I’m surrounded by (mostly) like-minded people.

I knew art school would be different – that it would challenge my social and creative sides by throwing me in with a lot that I’m not used to.

My first experience (other than meeting fellow student artists, I suppose) was when I was reading the housing agreement/handbook for the Margaret MacDonald House and there was a clause called studying. Now, you see studying and you think about books and maybe some music to help, or maybe you’re even thinking well, why is there a clause for studying? That seems strange.

Let me show you…

8.5 Studying

a. Any course work must be limited to ‘dry’ work. Only reading, writing or visual work using a dry medium is allowed in residence. No practical studio ‘wet’ work is to be carried out in residence.

b. Any damage to the walls, floor as a result of wet work or spray fixative will be deducted from the resident’s deposits.

c. The use of spray fixative or solvents is not permitted

I laughed out loud when I read that. It makes perfect sense but I had never even thought about it before.

And thus, begins my experience of being an art student.

The Perils and Perambulations of a Now Scottish Mountain Goat

In order to expedite this post as well as to put a stopper on the dredging of bad memories, I’m going to start my tale of Edinburgh with the leaving of Jury’s Inn to begin my 8-2 o’clock adventure.

I had my map but not really a sense of where I wanted to go so

I set off to one of the two things I was sure of in Edinburgh – The Royal Mile (the other is that huge castle that sits in the middle on a huge volcanic rock formation).

I found it easily enough (it was just up the close behind the hotel) and began walking one way and decided to turn back around and walk all the way back down at this cathedral thing (that I later discovered was called the Hub and is actually a bar and restaurant. Nifty.).

So, I walked all the way down the Royal Mile looking at the windows of the ridiculous tourist store fronts with Highland Cattle hats and little plush Nessies. Along the way I saw a lot of things…

At one end of the Royal Mile is Edinburgh Castle and the other is Holyrood Palace (and Scottish Parliament) and thus the street gets its nickname. I reached the end with the Palace and, lucky for me, The Salisbury Crags. I can’t remember if they were the reason I went down that way but once I saw them, I HAD to climb them.

I had about four hours left and I was sure that climbing the radical road would take at least an hour then I’d have to turn around and go back. Then I’d head back and get lunch and have plenty of time to check in at 2.

Boy was I wrong.

I began climbing the Crags – excitedly. The scenery is SPECTACULAR.

It was quite a climb. Really steep and rocky. I took a picture at one point that a Scottish couple walked in to. The old man was happy and chatty – he thought he actually managed to not get in the picture. It was a good introduction Scottish friendliness.

I kept climbing and climbing and realized I was making much more progress than I thought I would so I started to determine an alternate route back to Jury’s Inn. I decided that I’d see what this one path looked like that seemed to go back over and through the park. After some climbing, I found it and decided it would be easy and a great way to get back across. It wouldn’t bring me to the top of the crags, but that was ok.

That was when I realized that, although they were not official and thus not marked on my map, there were in fact trails that led up to the top of the crags. I couldn’t resist. I told myself that I’d try one then turn around. But at the end of that one I said “Oh one more, then I’ll turn back.”

You can imagine how that went.

Soon enough, I found myself at the end of the crags where they start to fall back down to ground level and I chose a path that seemed best suited for getting me down. Same as before, I thought “Oh that one was kind of steep. Maybe the next one won’t be so bad.”

Right. The next thing I know, I’m picturing myself as an American mountain goat, scaling the muddy Scottish hills with Scots all around laughing at the silly American.

It was a bit ridiculous, but it was definitely fun! And, best of all, I got down safely.

It was still really early and I decided to walk back up the Royal Mile and take a look around, maybe get some lunch. On the way, not far up from Parliament, I found Clarinda’s Tea Room and I popped in for a blackcurrant bracer and a toffee crispy. Three pound fifty and a full tummy later, I ventured out nice and warm into Edinburgh once again.

I made my way back up to the center of town and wandered fairly aimlessly for a bit and, although it was early, I went to go sit and wait for my room to be available, spent. I got to my room (a double – I’d have a roomie) and, once I figured out you needed to use a key card to turn on the lights (and you needed to leave it in there) I tried to figure out the shower. I couldn’t get it to turn on so I took a bath.

Shortly thereafter, my roommate, Brandy, came in and we talked until we ventured up for Orientation and down for dinner.

Overall, it was a prosperous first day in Scotland.

A Belated Post From Christmas...

Everyone has a food ritual that defined their lives as children. A lot of people have several. It’s this reason that no one cooks like your Grandmother or your mother. They were probably the major proponents of that ritual.

One ritual from my past was that of making Christmas cookies with my mother.

Now, let’s get this straight. Our Christmas cookie baking was not one day or even one weekend long. It started the day after Thanksgiving and didn’t stop until a few days before Christmas. We made THOUSANDS each year. We had long lists of recipients and even a list of who liked what. Trays and tins of these cookies would circulate as Christmas presents. You were more special if you got a tray, but tins made people really happy too. I had teachers and bus drivers tapping the tips of their fingers together waiting for their yearly ration of cookies.

I say this is a ritual from my past because, several years ago, my mother stopped making these cookies. Suddenly. Prices were too high – especially for butter – and we just couldn’t afford it any more. I think I was the most disappointed person, but I vowed that, when I was able, I’d pick up where she left off.

I think it was last year that I made pizzelles and decided to distribute them to Matt’s family. This year, more requests rained in.

Then my mom asked me if I wanted to bake cookies. Here was her buckets of recipe books and booklets. Make a list.

Oh, and could you make a pumpkin roll?

SURE CAN!

I was so excited. I was determined to make one of my favorites from the olden days – the Caramel surprise. Then I found a recipe for Irish Crème cookies. Then Matt bought me some Heath crunchie chip things and I added Toffee Chip cookies to the list.

I had trouble finding a recipe for the caramel surprises in the bucket so I looked online and found this one and decided that was close enough, I’d just alter it slightly so it’d be what I remembered.

Then I wanted a chocolate chip cookie recipe to use the toffee chips in and I found this one. I, obviously, left out the chips and added the entire bag of toffee.

The Irish Crème cookies were the only recipe I actually got out of the box of wonders.

So, I made a list, we got everything off the list, and I came home and prepared myself to make cookies. I put on my Coheed and Cambria/The Prize Fighter Inferno playlist on (which has every single song from the two projects and is about 6 and a ½ hours long) and I began to bake.

I started with the Toffee Chip cookies because they were the easiest. I needed to ease into this. Other than bread, I’m not really a baker and I tend to really mess up chocolate chip cookies.

TOFFEE CHIP COOKIES

1 cup softened butter

1 cup white sugar

1 cup packed brown (I used light) sugar

2 eggs

2 tsp vanilla extract

3 cups all purpose flour

1 tsp baking soda

2 tsp hot water

½ tsp salt

1 bag Heath toffee pieces

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).

2. Cream together the butter, white sugar, and brown sugar until smooth. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla. Dissolve baking soda in hot water. Add to batter along with salt. Stir in flour and heath pieces. Drop by large spoonfuls onto ungreased pans.

3. Bake for about 10 minutes in the preheated oven, or until edges are nicely browned.

They came out so beautifully. You can add ½ tsp. cream of Tartar to get a nice cracked top but I found I didn’t need this at all! They also tasted phenomenal and had a nice little crunch to them.

After the Toffee Chip Cookies, I went in to making the pumpkin roll – which ended up not being as successful…

Here’s the recipe that we’ve always used (but I’ve only ever been able to get to work for me once…).

PUMPKIN ROLL

3 eggs

1 cup white sugar

1 tsp lemon juice

3/4 cup all purpose flour

2 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp ground nutmeg

1 cup confectioners sugar

6 oz cream cheese

1/4 cup softened butter

1/2 tsp vanilla

2/3 cup (1/2 can) pumpkin

1. Preheat oven to 375
2. Beat eggs for 5 mins.
3. Gradually add the sugar and beat until creamy and lemon colored.
4. Add pumpkin and lemon juice.
5. Add the flour, cinnamon, baking powder, salt and nutmeg.
6. Grease jellyroll pan and line with parchment paper.
7. Grease and flour the paper.
8. Spread the batter
9. Bake for 15 minutes, until springy.
10. Immediately turn out onto a linen towel, remove the paper and roll into the towel starting with the short side.
11. Beat cream cheese, confectioners sugar, butter and vanilla until fluffy
12. Unroll the cake and spread the filling within one inch of the edge. Roll from the short size.

My moms oven is electric so it’s got longer cooking times. I guess I didn’t realize the roll wasn’t completely cooked when I took it out.

After the roll, I started making the Caramel Surprise cookies because their dough needed to chill for 30 minutes. I tripled this recipe

CARAMEL SHORTBREAD SURPRISE COOKIES

1 1/4 cups flour
1 1/4 tsp baking powder
7 tbs butter, room temperature
1/4 cup sugar
1 egg yolk, room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract
7 caramels, cut in half

1. Cream the butter and sugar. Add the egg yolk and vanilla and mix.
2. In a separate bowl, combine the flour and baking soda. Mix the dry ingredients with the wet to form the dough.
3. Wrap in plastic wrap and place in refrigerator to chill for 30 minutes.
4. Preheat oven to 400°F.
5. Unwrap and cut each of the caramels in half
6. Roll the dough into a ball and cut it in half. Roll each half into a 7 inch log and cut off one inch slices.
7. Place 1 caramel half in each slice and roll it into a ball, trying if you can to not have the caramel poking through the top.
8. Using either a dusted measuring cup or something else with a flat bottom, flatted each cookie slightly.
9. Bake for about ten minutes or until lightly golden and let cool completely.

IRISH CREAM COOKIES

The Cookies:

1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

½ cup butter, softened

¼ cup half and half

¼ Irish Cream

¼ tsp rum extract

1 ½ cups all purpose flour

¼ tsp baking soda

1/8 tsp salt

The Glaze:

¼ cup powdered sugar

2 tbs Irish Cream

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit
2. Mix the brown sugar and butter on medium until creamy
3. Reduce the speed to low and add the half and half, liqueur, and rum extract
4. Add the flour, baking soda and salt
5. Drop the dough by rounded teaspoonfuls and bake 10-12 minutes
6. Mix the powdered sugar with the cream until smooth and drizzle over the cooled cookies