brand bread

I was looking at it and I said “he’s an interesting person but his paintings are all the same” and my friend replied “but that’s a thing painters do, they search for a language and then they repeat it over and over again”. My friend is not an artist but a creative of other kinds, so I appreciate her opinion. I like to hear the opinions about art from honest smart people not in the arts. I just had been looking into the sculptures of this one artist who is A Sculptor. Some artists are Sculptors and Painters and Performers. And I think those that have ONE discipline delve into the means of that discipline in a particular way. Say they are in the world of paint, of liquids and pigments into surface, they’ll thrive to find a place of their own -a style- and then go round and round and round and stretch it to infinity again and again the same shapes the same motives ‘how else can I talk about this through this‘… //little parenthesis here – I’m talking about a certain type of practice, not so much discipline, which is connected to the following thought// Another friend told me she showed three of her works to a curator who really liked them but didn’t find a common interest between all of them. Now, my friend could possibly be lost/in search for her language still. When you don’t know yourself yet you sprawl in experiments of curiosity which depending on the levels of self-maturity might come across as related to each other in some way OR if the levels are lower, an attempt to reach for too much. Independently of which case this was, there’s another idea in the curator’s comment: fucking branding. Branding, if you can really see it, it’s godamm heteronormative (to name a root of evil), it tells you to pick a side and stay on it, and don’t make people confused. It’s forced individuality, which is strongly superficial.

Some artists don’t have much control or interest over visual compositions, they care for the materials as long as they pass the message. Sometimes they lack the obsession that makes you find deeper associations. Sometimes it looks like crap.

I mean, I am suspicious over surface, over harmony, but also over detachment. I think you can really read intention in art, always. Read the artist. But this is another theme, the artist in work.

I’m out now, anarchic critic style.

the emotional report of an academic seminar

my head is in pressure, as if against the wall or with an iron heavy object on top of it. I feel slightly on the edge of crying, of exhaustion, even though I don’t feel that tired, even though I’m pretty tough, I feel a special weight, atmospheric weight.

I will cry at some point, smoothly to decompress. I’d go swim, but it had to be summer and really hot, I’d let myself go with the heat.

My work broke and with it so did I, a little, right before mentioning Sarah Ahmed and the fragile connections of things deemed breakable, before Halberstam and the queer ethics of clumsiness.

One of my tutors is a monotone patriarch who fills the space with his intellectual cords, his knowledge is vast and his delivery irritating like a kid who knows it all. He provides unwanted guidance, unnecessary moderating skills and has a worthless commitment to (also) control time. He has a stupid crystalline alarm, like cartoon sparkles from Cinderella, when she puts her silly glass shoes or invites all the animals in with her singing. He’s using the same strategies as Disney, to fool you with stereotyped harmony. I would respond much better to an actual alarm, as if the room was on fire. As I would respond better to his pedantic interventions if they weren’t said in such an educated breath of voice. The alarm sounds 10 minutes before the end and then again to announce it, and after that his face expression will range from distracted to anxious, like a blown up fish. What an asshole.

How unneeded it is to deal with his presence in this situation. On the other hand, I’m the first to defend how useful it is to be exposed to a “bad crowd”, to train yourself. I’m an advocate of putting yourself into certain hard situations, just to learn how to deal with them, in case one day they appear by surprise.

To be fair, my colleagues are generous, intelligent, attentive, interested and ultimately very nice. I’m aware of how hard it is to be honest and outspoken in such a sterile environment. The academia system most definitely thinks we should be put through these situations. But you see, that’s not the same, because I put my own self in it, I wouldn’t force it on others. But that’s not really why I’m here.

My machine broke before and after, my dear friend drop it on the floor. What a horrible feeling to break someone else’s jewels! But by doing that she added a new line in my diagram of affects and emotions. Now my discomfort has spread. I like to think that, it gives it purpose. We shouldn’t just spread love, as those loose quotes tell you.

I’m back at the source with a broken machine and a broken soul, that magma inside of me. That magma I wanted to share. I’m so drained.

This is an emotional tutorial report, the other kind, not the one I’ll print at the end of the term. Or maybe I’ll add it as apendix.

My head is still heavy, stuck tears maybe? But I feel like I have to stay tough, at least for now. As another friend says, they don’t train you for this really, we artists are so fucking tough! There’s a lot of crying in grad school, she also told me.

(…)

5 hours later, I wrote a fb post:

Today I presented my ongoing research; I talked about fragility and queer clumsiness 5 minutes after my work broke, and so did I, a little. Then I mentioned intimacy, darkness, utopias and sex, and in the end the work broke again, a little bit more. I am quite tough so I did my best to deal with it. I also dealt with a monotone patriarch tutor who asks gratuitously provocative questions with a condescending cynical smile. This lead to an amazing conversation with my dear mind-alike friend, because things like that make you want to destroy and eat the world at the same time. Then later I come home and my girlfriend tells me a post she wrote on FB cinema group “shooting people” has been eliminated because she was looking for “queer producers” and many straight men complained, cus “you shouldn’t only hire people based on their sexuality because we are a totally inclusive group.” . When Lola too kindly explains, the moderator replies that “the term queer has absolutely no political affiliations whatsoever”.

I mean… you read the posts, you listen to the stories, but they keep fucking repeating themselves.

Off to a big chill now.

 

six stories from instagram

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On today’s #selfie episode “Mariana suspects she has a witch on her hands when the cheerleading squad falls victim to sudden blindness and spontaneous combustion” .
#breakfast #scifi #usagirl

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Mister Man is waiting downstairs, she’s gonna take me for a #ride in the #desert, at night 🌌⚡️

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I’m wearing #lipstick and #lesbian

#selfieswag

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We are such an #exotic bed
🌅
#tropical #threesome #twolatinasoneparrot

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I make posters of my girlfriend and hang them around the house
.
#dissidentromanticlove 🌴💕

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🔴🍈⭕️
#selfie