What?

I've been trying to figure out the last few days, why certain images appeal to me. Why do I find one more evocative then the other? What is the element that hooks me and draws me in? I'm not sure what it is, but usually it's because I read an emotional content into it. An emotional content that feels truly expressed in some way. Though, in truth I'm not rightly sure how to show that or to put it into words in other ways.

The reason for attempting to do this, is linked to another problem. I have not posted images of this work, but I've been working in hanging garment forms in my textiles work of late. In creating narratives between these disembodies garments that become representation of people, stories and lives. So in trying to figure out what appeals to me in an image, I'm hoping to try and better express that feeling or thought in the scenes that I create with these garment forms.

I'm also working with pairing specific garments with silhouettes on the walls. Where in this gets a little harder because you have less and more to work with. The trick now is figuring out what the relationship between the silhouette and the garment is. Does it change based on objects and arrangement? Does it always contain some of the same inherent properties? What is the story, image, or emotion that I wish to convey?

To give you some examples, here are a few images of some of the pieces that I worked on last semester. Though the locations are not exactly ideal for displaying these garments without background interference, it is what it is. :)

For some reason I'm having a hard time figuring this out. I was hoping that writing this might help but I still have no answers. Hahhaa. Alright enough wasting time on the computer. Cheers. vanishes

Orange Dots and Alien Artists

Artist's Comments
So, a while back I posted a journal entry about train tracks and why they seem to fascinate so many people. Well there are lots of train tracks around the place but I admit I've never paid them much attention. I decide every so often I'm going to take a walk along a different stretch of the tracks and see what I find. To get out of the studio and do something different yesterday I walked along a stretch of tracks near campus.

Here's one thing that jumped out at me, bright orange dots. ;)


V. These are fun! It looks like 7 or 8 different locations... Hmmm.

J. Yeah I enjoyed it. Same tracks just different spots along it. I don't know if it was someone having fun or someone marking something.

V. It would be nice to think it had something to do with Morse code for aliens or an art project by a devotee of Christo and Jeanne-Claude but it's more likely to be railway folks marking ties that need to be replaced... ?

J. *chuckles* Well it's not really on their scale at least the stuff of theirs that I know. Though that would be interesting and I suppose in some way it could be a massive scale. I think I'll vote for alien code, I like that answer. ;) Or maybe it's the squirrel's, it must be the squirrel's fault.
Yeah, I wondered about the replaced ties, though most of them didn't look any worse then any of the others at least as far as my uneducated eyes could tell.

V. Hi! My name's Crisco. I'm an installation aahrtist from Alpha Centauri. Last week I painted each railway tie with a bright orange dot from Bellingham WA to IN. I usually work bigger, but I've been a little sick. You should see what I did in 1054. Oh, wait, I guess you can see it. One of my finest "plasma balloons"...

J. LOL. That just made my morning. *giggles*
So, Crisco while you're here can I ask you a few questions?
Are you here to take over the world with art? Or is the whole alien domination and take over thing rather over done?

V. Oh, dahling, we don't just take over worlds. Our motto: "We'll annihilate anything for Art." Nothing gets your blood pumping in the morning like a supernova. And, as Joan-Clod says, "lasts longer than a box of radioactive Sharpies."

J. Hmmm... I see. Well then let me pose one of the fundamental questions to you, what is art? I've always been under the impression that supernova's and such were naturally occurring. If you consider the creation of one art; what is heart to you and your people beyond the limitations of Earth?

V. Ah, Ah. As I, Crisco, have written elsewhere in one of my many books available through Rip-Em-Right-Off-Press: Art is {all the stuff you draw/make/write/sculpt/sing/weave while you're trying to become an Artist} minus all the bits involving feces. And the latter is sometimes negotiable, as you demonstrated brilliantly: link.  For example, the Trooblinquat Bemquine tribe of Beta Centauri IV produce very interesting and colorful fecal sculpture hundreds of meters tall and it has been hoity-toity art among them for 10,000 or so Earth years. And supernovae are far from naturally occurring, Grasshopper. You really have to work at one. They take several billion Earth years to actually bloom.

J. Well, then you must've perfected the art of longevity as it seems we short lived humans have missed out on much.
(You know perhaps it's not so much about what artists make it's about the fact that they make it and they present it as art. So it comes down to the presentation such as Duchamp's Fountain. Or for example fecal sculptures; are made and presented as art and thus become art over time because they have been presented that way. We become defined by what people previously have declared as art. Lol as a side note this came up in my search for the above as a picture from Burning Man. lol or link.)

V. Yes, humans do miss out on much with your short lifespans. Someday perhaps you'll live long enough to see some of the art that other species have been making all around the galaxy for eons... :-)
(Ah, Duchamp's fountain. I never learned whether he made the fountain or just presented it. I'd have to argue, personally, that if he didn't make it, it isn't art, no matter how he presents it. In some sense it trivializes the creative act to simply take an object and present it unadorned. This separates goats from Goats dressed in tires and paint [link] a la Rauschenberg. Yes, it's also true that we become defined by what people previously have declared as art as you say. Burning Man. Ah, never been to it, but I keep hearing about it year after year...)

J. So, then you have not uncovered the secret of ever last life? You are simply blessed with long life spans?
(He simply presented it as art. I don't really care for him or the idea or the Dada movement; however, the observation I think stands. Simply in terms of what we present as art then can become viewed as art. So it's those who present things who begin to define what art is. Which doesn't persay answer the question but it is an element of some sort in the whole mess.
Hahha poor goat.
Yeah I haven't been to Burning Man though I to keep hearing about it. It would be neat to go.)

V. The secret of everlasting life? Don't die. Very simple. The trick is living through the next "big fizzle" or "big collapse" and through the "big bang" that follows it on the other side. :-)
Anyway... Dada can be fun in some ways, but it was mostly similar to what young people were doing in the 60s: doing whatever it takes to annoy the establishment. :-)

J. *chuckles* Well in terms of art, and just people in general there will always be some element of that. Annoying the establishment, doing what they think is, 'shocking', but may or may not be anything that's really new.

V. Exactly. It's mostly been done in one form or another through the ages, somewhere on Earth.

This conversation can be found here and was carried on by myself and vanilla-vanilla.

Little Robyn Hood and Pinch the Drier - End

See here for: Part One & Part Two

Now for part three - The end. This is the story of little Robyn Hood and Pinch the drier that could not get enough red socks;

However, Pinch’s joy could only stop up his ears for so long. Though he began to drool—water pool behind him on the floor—he couldn’t help but hear what the other drier’s were talking about. They were always talking, always bothering him, why couldn’t they just let him enjoy himself once and a while? So, what if he liked red socks? Missy had a thing for panties and Tac simply loved wool while but his sister DeDe couldn’t stand wool.
"She's never going to use you again after this," One of them mumbled.

"Poor girl won't have anything left to use after this," Another one said, "It'll all be lint by the time he's done with it."

"And just her and her Gran up there all by themselves in that house. She's got so much, cause they can't often afford to come in here."

"It's not right."

The gloating tempo of Pinch's motor slowed a little as he listened to the talk of the other driers. Quickly he looked away staring out the front windows of the laundrymat; nothing was going to stop him from enjoying all of the lovely red. He could taste it already, flavored nicely with detergent and a little bit of fabric softener. He was practically salivating as Robyn struggled to get the last of the wet laundry into his belly.

Reaching up she found that she couldn't reach the drier door to shut it. Jumping she still just missed. She was skinny under the over sized red coat and boots she was wearing. Pinch watched feeling worse and worse as she tried to climb up his side to reach the door. Finally she turned over the laundry basket and climbed on top of it, jumping from there as Pinch wiggled his door down low enough that she could grab it.

Robyn got the door closed but she ended up on her behind in front of the drier her feet up against the bottom of it. Pinch watched in dismay as she bit her lower lip and her eyes filled with tears but she didn't cry. Instead she rubbed them away angrily and got up, standing on tip toe to on the laundry basket to turn him on. That done she sat down in front of him and leaned back against the washer to wait.

Even with all that wonderful red inside of him, the little girl sitting in front of him ruined Pinch's appetite. In the end he couldn't eat more than one pair of red socks; though he gruffly told the other washers that he wasn't feeling good when they started teasing him as little Robyn Hood struggled out the door with her basket of dry clean laundry. Pinch almost smiled when Mrs. Wash sent her boy Jeremy out to help the girl and together the two of them walked away into the deep red glow of the evening. ~ End

Robyn Hood and Pinc the Drier Part 2

Part 1 of The Story, The story of little Robyn Hood and Pinch the drier that could not get enough red socks;

Part Two: Pinch could hardly hear anything over the rumbling laughter of all the other driers but he could see Robyn struggling to push the over sized basket of red away from him quiet clearly. She struggled and she heaved but she got nowhere. Standing up she looked at the old man who'd fallen asleep in a chair by the window once more and then towards the back where Mrs. Wash was talking on the phone--finally she looked up at Pinch once more.

"You'd better work," She muttered as she began to throw all of that mouth watering red back into Pinch's belly. The other driers grew silent at his gloating rumble; oh yes, he was going to enjoy himself this day.

Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Pinch was so elated he couldn't hear anything else the only thing that existed in his world in that moment was that wonderful pile of red he would soon destroy...

~ TBC