Journal

I can’t keep a diary to save my life.

I think it may have something to do with the fact that if I am happy, I like to share the happiness with others, and if I am not, I try to ignore the fact. Boring day? Why bother writing about it? Great day? I try to enjoy it as much as possible, not to duck away from the festivities to write about it.

You all know this. I hardly ever blog.

However, I am fully aware of the usefulness of a touchstone, something that will remind me, something that will bring the memories flooding back, so I am desperately trying to keep a journal of this trip. Since I fail miserably at diaries, I am further trying to make it an art journal. Note the 'trying,' because although it has lasted much longer than any of my poor abandoned diaries, I still struggle to remember to add to it, and struggle with how. I think I just need practice, because I do like it.

This is my favorite spread so far.

To the left is a record of a very nice day that I spent just wandering around, the first day I visited the Piazza di Spagna, only a few days after touchdown. I think that the colors pretty accurately represent my feelings. The butterfly drawing as a still-life of the earrings that I was wearing, with the observation “I feel beautiful here,” which means quite a bit, actually.

To the right is a page that I painted to commemorate our first visit to the beach. Now, I would like to think that I would be one of the last people to deny the power of words, but I just don’t have the right ones to describe that day. The warmth of the sun and the sand, and the cool, careless power of the water, and the easy company of some great people that were only just getting to know each other…

-Maria

Winston

Well, I am duly disappointed in myself for neglecting to shower this blog with brilliance, but several occasions, plans and activities in my real life have pushed documenting them to the background. One of these distractions is my new friend, Wilson, who is currently living with me.

I know he is a bit lacking in certain areas, but he listens more than he speaks, which is a fine quality in anyone.

(I do have to admit that it is a little embarrassing how well he fits my running shorts. )

Anyway, I do not know if you can tell from the picture, but he has a very strange texture that I found impossible to work with, so, naturally, I covered him in toilet paper.

This surprisingly effective paper-mache technique has given him a little bit of class, but I must confess myself not entirely sure of what is going to happen to him next. I have a few ideas, but none of them are perfect... I will, of course, keep you "posted."

~Maria

Art?

I never like my own artwork.

This kind of declaration tends to send my supportive family members into convulsions, but though I am subsequently passionately assured that someone else enjoys it, I am unmoved. You can find someone in the world who will admit to enjoying anything. That does not make it art.

However, I have experienced an epiphany! An "ahHA" moment! A mystical floating lightbulb!

I suddenly realized that I had never stopped and asked myself why I actually enjoy art, what kind of art I like best, or what I am trying to accomplish. How can you acheive something if you don't know what you are striving for? (It is technically possible, but the odds are against it.) I can point out certain qualities that particularly appeal to me in the art I see, but they are sometimes mutually exclusive, and the other questions are unanswered.

This, of course, led to an extremely confusing and somewhat passionate philosophical discussion that spread from the breakfast table to the living room hell bent, at least on my part, on figuring out if art was objective (your perceptions do not matter: it either is or is not art) or subjective (does not exist in the world, but in your mind: if you think it is art, it is). I retreated unsatisfied, and it is still bugging me.

Sorry that this is not a particularly inspired post, but I thought I should say something. Finals are next week, so once I am out of school I will be able to establish a regular schedule to impart my genius to the world. Prepare yourself.