Another new year

I have a new apartment. I have a room mate, as well as a new friend. Her dreams are to make women's clothing more spunky, fun, and unique.

I was laying down on our living room couch. This painting sort of came to me... a frozen image, jagged trees, burnt browns, and smoky greys... snow layed thick. I want to create this freezing space, that is lying dormant... I want there to be these fierce dogs protecting this space until spring comes, and it can grow again.

I want these dogs to look beautiful, and angry... as though they could be hunted too... but they will not back down, for protecting their home.

What happens whenyou leave the flock?

I was sitting in a near empty cafe. I go there about twice a week: "Table for one... coffee and a danish... thank you." The book was "Art and Fear." When I read the book at work, I hide the title with my hand, with a slight fear of being caught... because I find it incredibly hard to explain myself.

But there are questions running rampant in my head... I feel them as though they are boiling with in a small space, with no holes for the pressure escape. As though I recieved a kick in the stomach, and the injury remains. I feel this disabling emotion: a stew of guilt and failure served hot.
The questions are simple: why do students give up? why is art necessary? am I a bad person for wanting to be an artist? What if my art is no longer familar to me? How do I get rid of all these anxieties, so I can start? What if it isn't the same?

The waitress brought me the coffee. The book explained: yes, students give up because in the insitution art is made with constant feed back, the young artist is driven by naive passion with out knowin the obstacles her work will face with out the protection of academia.. a real artist rises as a result of the times, and is everyday person with a reflection of an everyday reality. The obstacles are: people don't care if an artist creates or not, art is on decadence, art is misunderstood... I generally find myself on shaky ground, trying to stabilize myself, none the less having this feeling that I constantly have to defend myself.

I'll admit I switched to an art major on a whim with out fully knowing what it truly takes to become an artist... you get out of school, and say, "I studied art." then bam, the person says, "why? where are the jobs? what were you thinking?" then I feel this critical hit to my confidence. "I'm sorry... I don't know the answer to any of these questions." Then I find myself pacing, what have I done, what have I done... while in college, my answer would have been, "because it's the right thing for me to do."

In moments where I feel the truest break down of character, where I feel as though my personal flame is about to be stamped out, I find this small confidence, "don't give it up... it's going to take time... keep searching for places and people to help support you. Hold out, start simple... my sketch book has these quiet studies... a painting is out of reach, but still within sight"

New Job

Night shift... and factory night shift..

my first week there.. I realized it is best to be separated to avoid rumors, cliques, and awkward conversations. I was warned in advanced that the factory is male dominated, the work is harder, the hours are longer, and machines are unforgiving. I realized it's been better to just keep with in myself... I am not as muscular as most of my coworkers, but I can move quickly for long periods of time which allows me to keep pace. As I work I watch the color of the sky through the opaque glass roughly two stories above me. I like the periwinkle color of the early dawn, and deep, solid, dark navy of the sky in the dead of night.

The factory is very loud. There are screams and wails of the air being removed from the packages, and escaping machines, the loud clangs of the grider, the chug of mechanical arms and elbows, and clutter bangs all around. My co workers comminuicate mostly using hand signals. Two nights ago my machine broke down completely, my trainer waved at me to follow her.

We went down these flimsy metal stars, and slammed closed this large metal sealed door, and into the basement beneath the machines... There was a long hallway and heaps of powdered sterofoam beaneath these large steal cynlinders. These long bulbs of light were held by chains from the cynder block ceiling and swayed animating the shadows.. She walked over to the cynlinder beneath the machine I was working with... it was the most cluttered with heaps of artifical snow. Warning signs were stickered all over images of severed fingers, caution sharp blades inside, danger, caution, hot... "do not touch these, but check to see if your grinder is full," my trainer said, "You can tell just by observation,".. I looked around, and I had this weird sensation that I've been here before...not here, but some where like here..

factories have always attracted me. I like machines, I like industry, I like how people transform into inefficient machines, I like the colors of smoke, I like the textures of raw materials... I like the feeling knowing that there are places to work at... at home. Industry is the only part of me that is nationalist... I like knowing where things are coming from, how things are made, and who is making them... I like working, and I like the impact of enirvoments made on people, I like the inspiration... I have dual interests as much as I like industry, I love nature.... it's just there is this complication between fragile ecosystems, technology, and the human factor

thinking things through

I've been working a lot. Things are better than they were before. I got promoted to a shift supervisor, and I've been gaining more work experience and responsibility. It's just been challenging trying to make the demands of student loans... I have this weight on my conscience that I am not ready to marry under the circumstances and debt, I will bring into the relationship. I've been thinking about joining the Navy for some help with loans, and work experience... I'm just nervous.

I've been doing volunteer work for a group called Art Smart. I had a meeting at a crowded cafe in Lancaster City with the director this morning. I explained my feelings about helping kids who are in the correction facility. I'll admit it's intimidating, but the cause is worth while. I will be planing a mural project for them coming up in March. The director shifted conversations and asked me about my work...

... ... I admited that I've been picking up pieces. That to create is harder than it was before... .. I've spent so much money towards my education, and a complete hault is in my near future. The director agreed and said,"well most fine artists don't make it.." My throat felt choked so I put down my coffee.. She continued, "however there is a wall for emerging artists, I got some connections, if you got a a cohesive body of work, and courage."

I said,"that would be really helpful."



where to start?

Where the Women are painting

I submitted this painting to a gallery at my college.. I felt so badly because I didn't have it completed in time. My boyfriend stayed with me as I franticly worked on it... I wanted to say I can't paint, I can't draw, I can't... he said, " you have a dream, you need to practice.." and I said, "you're right."

entering the Cedar Crest Woman gallery

I graduated from Cedar Crest about five months ago...
I've been back three times.. and I long to stay. Siigghh... leaving is not easy, neither is going back.

Who is the Cedar Crest Woman?
She is the woman who has been taught the importance of women's leadership. She is the woman who walks with confidence and her head held high... she loves her mind, body, and sexuality. She believes in other people... and only wants the best... for herself, her community, and the world...

That is the definition I feel I have been taught... but who am I? I left school, I work two part jobs... I've been tricked once, but I already had the sense not to take his promises seriously.. intutition has always been my best protector. It still doesn't allievate the sting of disappointment... but I made the promise to myself that I will never be desparate. So I am not put off by the situation. I wrote in an essay once, that I don't care about money, what I really want to feel is a connection to the world around me. I will always find a way to make ends meet...

So, I might just be a loser, but I don't feel that way. My head is focused on figuring this out.

I think that is who the Cedar Crest woman is... she is the woman who has the audacity to find her way, and stand up for what she believes in for better or for worse.
The painting I am working on is a woman walking in the city surrounded by people and she carries a yellow and black bag. The idea is no matter where we go, we take our eduation, and what we represent with us...

I'll post the painting when I am ready.

King Gaspar post 2,

I think this will be the image I submit tomoorow...

King Gaspar post 1

This is the image I made using photo shop of King Kaspar and the parrot... it's getting late... I am not sure if I want to try and add the crutch or not... I forgot how much I like using photo shop... I need to figure out the background.... siiigghhh... let's see where this takes me.

Sketch for Opera Lancaster Amahl

This a rough sketch on the image I want to work on in photo shop. It's king Kaspar with his parrot, presenting his box. I still need to correct the hands, add color.... and then be prepared to submit a final copy Thursday.... I will probably go out with my boyfriend and get a drink Thursday night... for better or for worse this is the start of the image... :)

Idea!

The image is clear in my head... I know it is real because I catch this spark and it ignites, because suddenly I am no longer filled with doubt... I have these rare moments of true inspiration.

Ok, the imageit is king Kaspar opening the first drawer of the box. he is wearing a beautiful gold cloak like Klint... He's suspicious, he has a grin, he's about to unveil a world, he is going to bring back a childish spirit of curiousity. This is the man we want to listen to, know, this is the man we want to move in... there is a dark floor, a space to sit in front of him, a bright parrot, Amahl;'s crutch leading to him, no Amahl because the audience is sitting in his perspective. It's like the Death of Marat, the background is abstract dark and weary. It's night, the boy is crippled, pain, and suffering exists in this world... but in the box is a hope we all want to know.... it could also be pandora's box, but lean in, experience the treasure...

Time to work.

Molly

Beginning of a a new project

Soo I am tired... but I have a project to work on... I guess working all day wasn't helpful. I am making a poster for the play Amahl and the Night Visitors. As I looked into the play I realized I've seen it before... with my grandmother... I remember when King Jasper was showing Amahl the magic stones... I remember the excitement, and the idea of pretty stones containing magical powers... I was seven...

Now I am going to be 23... and I am not sure where my life is taking to me. I went to my college yesterday. One of my professors was smoking outside of the art building. She told me she was in the middle of class, and that this was her favorite building. I said, "yea.. it was my favorite building too..."
She said, "It was your home."

... ... ... I couldn't say it still is... the hours I spent there are logged away in my head. Hours in the studio, in class, being with my classmates, talking to my janitor friends, they're all spent. But, now there is a distance. I feel older like it was all a long time ago, but it hasn't been so. I won't say I miss it, or that I wish I could stay longer... but the more my mind lingers there... the more I want to create and be the person I wanted to be during school, and maybe I am slowly getting there

Recent work

Crime Victim's Counsel Illustration

This is a drawing I did for Chester COunty's Crime Victim's Counsel. It's alright. I feel so much better posting it now. The picture is about determing the good behaviors from the bad. Thereare five bad behaviors and six good behaviors.

ok go

I realized something in the middle of the night. Every journal I have kept writes with anxiety and fear of losing what is most important to me: art.

Journals I kept during school advise to keep going with great passion and work ethnic during the times of most gloom and uncertainty. It is very easy to give up and redirect oneself. however, getting back onto the main coarse would ruin the character I was building during school. I worked in the studio to start a foundation for my life. It's no wonder the blog is attractive to me... I am writing down the journey and keeping myself updated with my disposition. It is also a way for me to try and keep connected with my classmates, but most have long left. The most important advice my senior exhibition professor gave to our class regarded posting work on the internet "the chances of people finding your work on the internet are slim, but it has to be there."

I do not advertise my blog. Although it is important to me that is here. It is here when I need to reference my personal archive. It is here when I want to show someone my work. It is here to save images when I need copies. It's here so I can practice organizing my thoughts... it's here so I see how far off coarse I am or how far I've come.

My goal is to post my three paintings in a week. They will not be done.. but they will be worked and pushed farther so I can write about the direction. I want to use this blog to discuss my influences, and I also want to write an entry about Delacroix's journal and the autobiography I read on Manet.

My drive has returned and I feel incredible.

Serious, yet...

I showed my dad the large blood blister on my index finder. He studied it and said, "I guess they didn't teach you about hard work at college." I felt fat with education... I forgot that I was the first person from the Bair family to graduate from college. that everyone before me felt this blister, and knew how to lift.

I was lifting crates of milk. My mind was keen on my sketch book in my locker. i wanted to sketch the towers of lined up cartons stacked inside cardboard boxes... it reminded me of drawing class two years ago. When my professor threw down an emptybox in the center of the room. The spot lights spilled very dark to very feint shadows from the flimsy cardboard... the girl standing next to me said, "this is stupid why draw a cardboard box?"... "you're not looking," I said.

my dad sat at the other end of the cafe table. We both finished our grave yard shifts. On the opposite wall was a print of a bicycle. My dad looked at it and said, "I like that." The drawing looked flimsy to me. The frame was drawn with out a straight forward hand, the lines meandered and pulsated around the shape of a bicycle.
The waitress said,"The artist drew it with out ever setting his eyes on the page."
A contour, continous line drawing... The art of observation.

My dad said, "Molly, draw a bicycle for me." I stirred my coffee... I felt so removed from being an artist. My head focused on my making money... my heart set on becoming worth while.. My sketch book waiting inside a locker. Two unfinished canvases on display in my studio. I sleep by them, but I haven't touched either in weeks. I glance at them before closing the door.

continuing the lesson

I push through a 52 hour work week. When I work nights my mind is numb. It's almost as though I don't recognize I am awake and time sails by. I walk two miles home in the morning and pass out in my studio. I wake up roughly five hours later and get ready for work or enjoy two afternoons a week to myself.
There is a pride in doing this. I am paying off debts and for the first time in my life I am able to afford a car. I receognize I need to look for better jobs but I am comfortable for the next few weeks.
I got to work last night and my manager was there in the back room. She asked me why I settled for this job isn't there anything better out there? she asked me what my major in school was? My confidence shrank... I explained I had an art degree with a premed concentration, and I needed more time to figure out what I can do. She scuffed at the art degree... I couldn't defend myself I learned this. People generally have their minds made up, and unless you can show them you're worth, you are unable to persuade anyone. I put Delacroix's journal on the break table and went out on to the retail floor.
I spent the night cleaning and stocking. At five thirty in the morning I went outside to sweep the parking lot. The sun was beginning rise. CVS is located in paved shopping complew beteen two main drags in Lancaster. Car burned down the highways on either side of the parking lot. The morning was hot. I heard the calls of birds as I picked up crushed cigarettes, and spilled McDonald's bags. The first night I cleaned the parking lot I thought I saw a glimpse of American society in the trash... dirty and unhealthy lots of cigarettes and fast food. However, I recognize that I am not in a position where I can make assumptions regarding American culture... Instead I accept that cleaning the parking lot is disgusting, but listening to the birds and seeing the last glympse of the moon is a very nice feeling.

first drawing,

I was sitting on top of the stairs in my house. I started sketching the stairs, stairrail, living room, closet and door.

It's an empty room with my shoes by the closet door. I guess, absent is the word. It's a nice drawing, but it's subtle references the feeling I have. I am looking downward, and reevaluating spaces I know. It's different now. The reason is I am on my own, and I want to recreate my world.
I've been walking a lot. The course I am enduring is rough. It's a little rocky, but I'll keep going. The reason is I never encountered anything that I haven't been able to move. In my own way, I am smart. My sense of humor is quick... and my drive is low, but I have a feeling that I will start to pick up the pace.
My goal is work on a painting through out this week.

This is a painting by Emily Wolfe,

Some of the artusts I have been looking at is Emily Wolfe and James Whistler. The both have a quiet observation. The colors are simple, elegant, and soft. There is a sense of containment, and feeling delicate. I want my work to reflect that because right now I am searching for spaces and new faces.

New Beginning

So I graduated college about a week and a day ago. The start is rough because I am in the midst of a search for jobs, for internships, for a reason to paint.
Here's where I am: I am currently working at HanesBrands, it's rough because I a major cut in hours. I have two interviews this week. The first interview is tomorrow working night shift for CVS.
I left Cedar Crest with two awards, honors, a resume, and a take on the world confidence... but, I am now leaving my support, and entering into a world where I have to find a new place. I feel so severed, but I am trying so hard to connect with the arts in Lancaster.

I was sitting on the bus two days ago and a woman sits beside me. She was older in her fifties but she dressed as though she was sixteen, and her long hair was bleached blonde. She told me that I drew well. I said, I practice a lot. She said this is not the town for you, it's the city you need. I told her I want to go to the city, she said be careful because you are small and the city preys on small people.


I am not that small.

Rest of senior show

Artwork from senior exhibition

This is my self portrait. It does not seem like it, but it took me a few months to complete this painting. I had a lot ot learn about composition, painting faces, and using colors I am comfortable with. I think this painting gave me a bit of reputation at school. It was posted on the Cedar Crest website. I got a lot of feed back from faculty, staff, and my class mates. This is a skeleton sketch, it's hanging behind flexi glass in the Lachaise gallery. I have five more images to post, see you soon