( Day 10: Favorite classic book )
And now for something completely different: I had a weird experience the other day. I had Netflix'd A Dangerous Method, even though Keira Knightly annoys the crap out of me, and the whole time I was watching, I had the unshakeable conviction that I've seen this before, and Ralph Fiennes is supposed to be playing Jung. Credits say it was based on a play called The Talking Cure. I went through some old travel journals, and sure enough, I saw The Talking Cure at the National Theatre in London on January 2, 2003. Google confirmed it starred Ralph Fiennes. Then I remembered -- the terrible seats, because the thing had been sold out before it even opened; the three-story set that took up the entire proscenium, floor to ceiling; being really uncomfortable during the rough sex scenes because I'd gone to see it with a slightly older male friend.
What disturbs me about it is that I didn't remember the play for certain until I found the ticket. I thought maybe I'd imagined the whole thing. And if I hadn't seen the movie the other day, I couldn't have told you anything about the plot. I was excited that I managed to see the play, and according to the journal, I really enjoyed it. I don't know; I suppose the nine-year time lapse makes it forgiveable, but I've always had a really good memory, and it freaks me out when I can't remember things I think I should. I mean, I'm not 100%, but I'm pretty sure I saw Ralph Fiennes' naked ass (or, as we were in London, arse) that day, and that is not something that should be forgotten. I'm too young to worry about my mind going, but I do, even if it's probably not warranted.
Incidentally, that's the same London trip in which I met Gillian Anderson as well as Dames Judi Dench and Maggie Smith. The latter called me "daft." In an affectionate way, of course (long story involving a friend bribing me to ambush her at the stage door). Whatever, Professor McGonagall called me daft! I'm practically a Gryffindor! ::throws confetti::
( Mediocrity sports a duck tail )
Sadly, next week will be my last drawing class, as the week after that I will be out of town to see my sister graduate. Which made me realize that many of the students I taught during my very brief career as a freshman comp instructor will (hopefully) be graduating in the next few weeks as well. Dear god, I am at the point in my life where four years feels like a blink. ::weeps into my gnarled old hands::
( This way to the masterpiece. )
All this and my Draw Something pictures still look like they're done by a five year old with motor control problems. It is embarrassing. Is there some kind of stylus for the iPhone?
( But by god, I gave him shoulders this time! )
The school's "Annual Juried Student Exhibition" is in June, and I'm allowed to enter up to two pieces. Once I'm done with this class, I may put it to a popular vote to see which ones I should enter. (Hint: not this one)
( Not that the teapot wasn't attractive in its own way )
Edit: Hey, I was runner-up for a thing and no one told me!
So I've got that going for me, which is nice...
( Is it weird that I'm posting three pictures of the same stranger on my blog? )
( Prepare to be whelmed )
On a completely different note, I don't think this is a spoiler for any particular episode of Project Runway, but doesn't it always seem like if one of the contestants makes something absolutely heinous, something any normal person would look at and go "Sweet Peruvian corncakes, that was designed by a colorblind five-year-old with fine motor control problems," that contestant is never the one kicked off? He/she is usually in the second-to-last place, but it seems like if you go all-out, balls-to-the-wall fugly, you don't get the boot. Remember that guy who made the bikini out of neon pink string and metal washers? He made it through. Seems to me a good strategy if you're absolutely stuck is to just start glue-gunning random shit together and "stick by your design" so the person who "played it safe" will go home.
Also, if Mondo doesn't win this time, I'm gonna set something on fire. Preferably Isaac Mizrahi. I hate that guy.
( Hello nice lady )
The teacher is always getting on my case (in his totally laid-back way) for moving on to the details too soon and not paying enough attention to the shadows and the light, or some damn thing. He mentioned highlights in the hair around her face, which kind of seemed like a detail to me. And he does not like the way I draw eyeballs, or that I draw eyeballs at all. "You don't draw eyes and nostrils and ears -- you draw shadow shapes against the light. It's not features, it's tone against tone." Okay, fine, it's not my best work, but after a while she needs a frickin' eyeball. That is my totally pedestrian take on art: eyeballs are necessary. And that ear is glorious; I don't give a fuck what anyone says.
( Another portrait )
I'd been holding off on doing the year-end fic meme because I'd hoped to post something else before the end of the year... but that's looking less and less likely. Le sigh. I haven't so much been "writing" as "not writing" lately. Hopefully I'll get my mojo back soon, because I do miss it. Drawing teapots and sad people just doesn't compare.
( My first portrait )
Anyhoo, supposedly we'll be getting another live model next week, which will be our last week of class. After that... well, you may have to look elsewhere for your art fix unless I can set up somewhere that a) the dogs can't get to and b) I can get charcoal dust everywhere without damaging anything. I know, very sad, but I may take Portrait Drawing next, so don't despair!
( Teapot and apples, I'm gonna draw the shit out of you )