"time flies when you're having fun" is how the saying goes.
"fun" isn't necessarily the descriptive term to sum up last semester. there were a few "funs" sprinkled in on weekends with jonathan, dinners out with the girls, and football (both flag and tackle variations), but by no means did "fun" dominate the experiences of my last four months.
studio ruled my semester. i'll try not to reiterate how much of my social time it consumed. the semester's saying would go "time flies when your having projects without end." i've complained about it and listened to fellow majors complain about it so much that i'm sick of complaining about it. from now on, let the ongoing suffering just be understood. its a given.
but time does fly. every semester seems to go by faster than the preceding one and every time it boggles my mind that its even possible for that to happen. i guess its just part of getting older. memories stick better than in childhood, i suppose.
mentally preparing for time sprinting on by may help me deal with that phenomenon.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
its like a full time job...
i see this past summer as preparation for fall semester.
i may have only worked 4 days a week for about 8 to 9 hours everyday, but i think i become accustomed to being gone from the early morning to early evening, barely having time to pee, and working through the lunch hour. without those kind of summer hours, i think i would have broken down by now.
i now feel for becca. i always knew she worked long and hard hours in studio, but now i have first hand experience. for the 23 hours i sit in a classroom a week (and the additional 5+ hours i spend doing homework each day), i'm only getting 15 hours of credit.
what could i possibly be doing? drafting. measuring. twirling my pencil. coloring. lettering. taking pictures. burning cds.
it might not seem like much, but anyone can attest to the fact that my social hours have dwindled. to put it in perspective, i said this to anna on wednesday:
"i'm so excited, i'm almost finished! i only have like an hour and a half of stuff left to do!"
i basically spend all my time trying to get ahead, and only end up not having to spend the night before a project is due in the studio with the other girls.
but nonetheless, i'm (dare i say it?) enjoying it so far. but i'm praying to God that things slow down soon before i breakdown.
i may have only worked 4 days a week for about 8 to 9 hours everyday, but i think i become accustomed to being gone from the early morning to early evening, barely having time to pee, and working through the lunch hour. without those kind of summer hours, i think i would have broken down by now.
i now feel for becca. i always knew she worked long and hard hours in studio, but now i have first hand experience. for the 23 hours i sit in a classroom a week (and the additional 5+ hours i spend doing homework each day), i'm only getting 15 hours of credit.
what could i possibly be doing? drafting. measuring. twirling my pencil. coloring. lettering. taking pictures. burning cds.
it might not seem like much, but anyone can attest to the fact that my social hours have dwindled. to put it in perspective, i said this to anna on wednesday:
"i'm so excited, i'm almost finished! i only have like an hour and a half of stuff left to do!"
i basically spend all my time trying to get ahead, and only end up not having to spend the night before a project is due in the studio with the other girls.
but nonetheless, i'm (dare i say it?) enjoying it so far. but i'm praying to God that things slow down soon before i breakdown.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
the summer scrapbook
summer is gone.
i moved into my townhome-style apartment today with the help of my parents, roommate, devoted boyfriend, and helpful friends. after carrying two carloads and a u-hauls worth of furniture and living necessities up three flights of stairs, i think that anna and i are here to stay for the remaining years of college.
but i'll have plenty of time to discuss living situations and classes in the months to come. i intend to use the following space to serve as a narration of summer events that i've ommitted from the three wimpy posts i managed to write over the break. the majority of which to be done through pictures. lots and lots of pictures.
i moved into my townhome-style apartment today with the help of my parents, roommate, devoted boyfriend, and helpful friends. after carrying two carloads and a u-hauls worth of furniture and living necessities up three flights of stairs, i think that anna and i are here to stay for the remaining years of college.
but i'll have plenty of time to discuss living situations and classes in the months to come. i intend to use the following space to serve as a narration of summer events that i've ommitted from the three wimpy posts i managed to write over the break. the majority of which to be done through pictures. lots and lots of pictures.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
how sweet tea imprisoned me
i love me some sweet tea. on a hot, sweltering evening in july, a good glass of syrupy tea drizzled over an ample amount of ice cubes is just the trick for cooling off. especially when the black asphalt beneath you seems to be radiating as much heat as the sun had earlier in the day.
last night, we were at an after party. kaitlin has been stamping and signing and what-have-you for the past two months for a lawyer who was running for a county office. naturally, she was invited and my family and i rode on her coattails to the post-election party last night where there were barbeque wings and glasses of sweet tea aplenty.
we were standing outside of the restaurant where the party was being held and even at 8 pm, it was still hot. i remedied my sweating with a nice glass of cold ice tea. but while the rest of my family was networking and conversing with old friends and new acquaintances, the most "networking" i got to do was through the bathroom door with a few waitresses with thick southern accents and a man with a drill who was cursing up a storm.
i regret drinking that whole glass of sweet tea.
it was just supposed to be a quick bathroom run. i usually don't inform people when i make a trip to the bathroom, but mom and becca asked, so i told them.
three minutes later, i was in my first attempt to open the bathroom door. i turned the lock the other way. no good. turned it back again. still no good. i pulled a little harder. nope. neither pushing or pulling, turning or jiggling, knocking or kicking brought me any closer to escaping from my 4 foot by 4 foot cage of linoleum, porcelain, and mirror.
i was kicking myself for leaving my cell phone in the car. i stood there for a minute shaking my head at myself. unbelievable, jeannine, that you can get yourself locked in a bathroom.
there was no other way to notify anyone that i was locked in the bathroom than to make a racket by jiggling the handle and pounding on the door. can you believe that for 15 minutes, it didn't seem odd to anyone that the bathroom door was almost coming off the hinges?? i heard shouts of celebration. i figured our candidate had pulled ahead in the race.
finally, i heard a faint, muffled voice through the bathroom door: "i think someone's stuck in the bathroom."
quite embarrassed at my situation, i meekly said, "yes! i can't get the door open."
they had me turn the lock back and forth and pull. then they tried to use a nail. then a card. then a screwdriver.
"well, we'll getcha out next week, honey," she joked. not really funny, but i politely laughed.
a few more voices joined in and began commenting on the situation.
"two little girls got locked in there monday and they were crying."
"oh yes, the poor things. no one even knows how long they were in there."
"i can't believe we haven't replaced this door yet."
"we might have to kick the door in."
"you can't break down the door!"
...and so on.
then i heard a man's voice. they told him about the situation and soon he was back with an electric drill, unscrewing the door handle. thank God for power tools.
"whats going on over here?"
"someone's stuck in the bathroom!"
"i was wondering why there was a man breaking into the woman's bathroom. theres quite a crowd outside this little door."
after about 20 minutes of being locked in the bathroom, the golden handle was off the door and in my hand. i had a peek to the outside world through a three inch wide hole. but i was still stuck.
the latch that keeps the door closed wasn't budging. he had to spend another 5 minutes prying that out. finally, the door swung open and i timidly stepped out of the bathroom, my head hanging from embarrassment, and i said a quick "thank-you-very-much" before i hurried away.
but all eyes in the bar were turned toward me. people kept stopping me to ask "are you okay, sweetheart?" as i weaved around barstools, tables, and chairs to find my family.
i turned the corner and there they were.
"where have you been?" they exclaimed.
through teary eyes and a few sniffles, i told them about my experience. with a mix of chuckles and awwws, they reassured me that they had been wondering where i was. too bad no one thought of checking the bathroom.
somehow, my tragic situation circulated the party and i had random crime investigators asking me if i was okay and telling me how funny it was.
yea. it was funny. really funny
last night, we were at an after party. kaitlin has been stamping and signing and what-have-you for the past two months for a lawyer who was running for a county office. naturally, she was invited and my family and i rode on her coattails to the post-election party last night where there were barbeque wings and glasses of sweet tea aplenty.
we were standing outside of the restaurant where the party was being held and even at 8 pm, it was still hot. i remedied my sweating with a nice glass of cold ice tea. but while the rest of my family was networking and conversing with old friends and new acquaintances, the most "networking" i got to do was through the bathroom door with a few waitresses with thick southern accents and a man with a drill who was cursing up a storm.
i regret drinking that whole glass of sweet tea.
it was just supposed to be a quick bathroom run. i usually don't inform people when i make a trip to the bathroom, but mom and becca asked, so i told them.
three minutes later, i was in my first attempt to open the bathroom door. i turned the lock the other way. no good. turned it back again. still no good. i pulled a little harder. nope. neither pushing or pulling, turning or jiggling, knocking or kicking brought me any closer to escaping from my 4 foot by 4 foot cage of linoleum, porcelain, and mirror.
i was kicking myself for leaving my cell phone in the car. i stood there for a minute shaking my head at myself. unbelievable, jeannine, that you can get yourself locked in a bathroom.
there was no other way to notify anyone that i was locked in the bathroom than to make a racket by jiggling the handle and pounding on the door. can you believe that for 15 minutes, it didn't seem odd to anyone that the bathroom door was almost coming off the hinges?? i heard shouts of celebration. i figured our candidate had pulled ahead in the race.
finally, i heard a faint, muffled voice through the bathroom door: "i think someone's stuck in the bathroom."
quite embarrassed at my situation, i meekly said, "yes! i can't get the door open."
they had me turn the lock back and forth and pull. then they tried to use a nail. then a card. then a screwdriver.
"well, we'll getcha out next week, honey," she joked. not really funny, but i politely laughed.
a few more voices joined in and began commenting on the situation.
"two little girls got locked in there monday and they were crying."
"oh yes, the poor things. no one even knows how long they were in there."
"i can't believe we haven't replaced this door yet."
"we might have to kick the door in."
"you can't break down the door!"
...and so on.
then i heard a man's voice. they told him about the situation and soon he was back with an electric drill, unscrewing the door handle. thank God for power tools.
"whats going on over here?"
"someone's stuck in the bathroom!"
"i was wondering why there was a man breaking into the woman's bathroom. theres quite a crowd outside this little door."
after about 20 minutes of being locked in the bathroom, the golden handle was off the door and in my hand. i had a peek to the outside world through a three inch wide hole. but i was still stuck.
the latch that keeps the door closed wasn't budging. he had to spend another 5 minutes prying that out. finally, the door swung open and i timidly stepped out of the bathroom, my head hanging from embarrassment, and i said a quick "thank-you-very-much" before i hurried away.
but all eyes in the bar were turned toward me. people kept stopping me to ask "are you okay, sweetheart?" as i weaved around barstools, tables, and chairs to find my family.
i turned the corner and there they were.
"where have you been?" they exclaimed.
through teary eyes and a few sniffles, i told them about my experience. with a mix of chuckles and awwws, they reassured me that they had been wondering where i was. too bad no one thought of checking the bathroom.
somehow, my tragic situation circulated the party and i had random crime investigators asking me if i was okay and telling me how funny it was.
yea. it was funny. really funny
Thursday, July 06, 2006
scam stealing coke secrets fizzles
there are a number of things that are an icon of georgia. peaches, peanuts, delta and, of course, that fabulous concoction, coca-cola. devoted addicts of that sweet bubbly drink (aka, georgians and fellow southerners), affectionately dub it "coke", along with all other forms and brands of soft drinks, soda, pop, sodapop, colas, and what-have-you.
its recently hit the headlines that "the real thing's" trade secrets were offered to arch rival pepsi-co a few weeks ago. even more appalling is that the secret leak actually came from a coke executive at some level near the top.
somehow the situation involved that atlanta-based coke executive smuggling secret documents and even a sample of an uber secret new drink in the works out of the coke headquarters and sending it to the contact in new york, who sent the letter offering the secrets for some booty.
though i'm obviously a coke fan, i do have to give props to pepsi, who immediately (so they say) reported the reception of the letter at their new york plant to coca-cola. way to not get tangled up in crazy legal issues, because it was bound to come out. we all know that two can't keep a secret...and surely not three, which is how many were discovered to be involved in the secret-stealing scheme.
the fbi sting involved a few thousand dollars worth of transactions for the secret documents and a girl scout cookie box. a girl scout cookie box for goodness sake! for one, i'm not sure if the 30-year-old man dressed up like a brownie, if he had his daughter stuff the cash inside and do the dirty work, or why a cookie box would be any less suspicious. in addition to that, its like smuggling drugs inside a cute and cuddly teddy bear. it just makes the wrong even more wrong. i find myself asking this a lot: what is this world coming to? they were offering $1.5 million for the sample of the new product. only?
but all you coke lovers can rest assured tonight, the secret formula hasn't been compromised...at least for the time being. who knows, maybe the formula will be printed on the front page of ny times sunday morning paper.
well, thats my summary/interpretation...which doesn't mean its fully factual. want to read the story for yourself? check it out here.
its recently hit the headlines that "the real thing's" trade secrets were offered to arch rival pepsi-co a few weeks ago. even more appalling is that the secret leak actually came from a coke executive at some level near the top.
somehow the situation involved that atlanta-based coke executive smuggling secret documents and even a sample of an uber secret new drink in the works out of the coke headquarters and sending it to the contact in new york, who sent the letter offering the secrets for some booty.
though i'm obviously a coke fan, i do have to give props to pepsi, who immediately (so they say) reported the reception of the letter at their new york plant to coca-cola. way to not get tangled up in crazy legal issues, because it was bound to come out. we all know that two can't keep a secret...and surely not three, which is how many were discovered to be involved in the secret-stealing scheme.
the fbi sting involved a few thousand dollars worth of transactions for the secret documents and a girl scout cookie box. a girl scout cookie box for goodness sake! for one, i'm not sure if the 30-year-old man dressed up like a brownie, if he had his daughter stuff the cash inside and do the dirty work, or why a cookie box would be any less suspicious. in addition to that, its like smuggling drugs inside a cute and cuddly teddy bear. it just makes the wrong even more wrong. i find myself asking this a lot: what is this world coming to? they were offering $1.5 million for the sample of the new product. only?
but all you coke lovers can rest assured tonight, the secret formula hasn't been compromised...at least for the time being. who knows, maybe the formula will be printed on the front page of ny times sunday morning paper.
well, thats my summary/interpretation...which doesn't mean its fully factual. want to read the story for yourself? check it out here.
Monday, June 26, 2006
some discrepencies
maybe it isn't that big of a deal. so what if, after closely examining my speeding ticket from last week, there was a minor discrepancy in regards to my hair color.
"hair: brn"
but what i can't figure out is how he could have mistaken this. on my driver's liscence, my hair is clearly blonde. heck, it says i'm blonde. plus, he blinded me with his maglight for three minutes while he quizzed me on my address and whether or not i had weapons in my vehicle. did he not see for himself the true color of my hair? after all that, he didn't even record my eye color. i don't have anything against burnettes, but i just don't think brown quite does it for me.
obviously, this officer was too hasty to move onto his next victim
to record things right. heck, why not just say i'm a red head? he couldn't even get the color of the car right. perhaps i can argue my $120 ticket in court, saying that the man is blind? yes?maybe not.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
the golden ticket
so its been awhile. i realize that. but of course, there comes a day when you just need to vent about something.
summer is going just fine. i'm finding myself picking up more and more hours at work as time goes on, yet i still don't seem to be making as much as i did last summer after working for 7 weeks at camp. but it is a lot less stressful.
but my minimal hours are not what compel me to my forsaken blog-o-sphere.
i received my first golden ticket last night. no, its not the willy wonka magic chocolate factory kind of ticket. its the kind of ticket involving flashing blue lights and pulling your vehicle off to the shoulder of the road.
i naively thought the day would never come. over four years and i had a perfect driving record and virtually no run-ins with the law (except for my parking sin). i had always imagined myself as either passing out at the wheel or balling my eyes out at the sight of those blazing blues. i'm surprised at how well composed i actually was.
it was a little past 11 pm and i was driving back from jonathan's. i was making good use of my stick shift, coasting down hills and trying to conserve as much gas as possible. i was averaging something like 32 miles per gallon as i passed by publix, then the library, coasting along at a speed that i believed followed the 'ole 55 mph speed limit that stretched for 8 miles or so into the little downtown area.
well, right about then, jonathan and i were discussing how the speed limit dropped somewhere around there...but i had seen no 45 speed limit sign. and then, irony jumped out to bite me in the bumper.
it was just a shadow. no headlights were on and he was lying in wait. but i saw the shadow pull out behind me...and the outline of lights on top of it. i knew he was out to get me. then the shadow and blackness around me flickered blue...oh crap.
i quickly hoped he'd pull past me, but he slowed as i slowed. and there i was, pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, amazed that i had even known what to do in the situation.
after a minute or two, the officer came strolling up to the car.
"ma'am, do you know you were going 62 in a 45 zone?"
humorously, he asked me if i had any weapons in my car. i guess i do look a little dangerous.
so, i was going 17 over, unknowingly. i was extremely polite...but of course it didn't pay off. it doesn't matter that i have a perfect driving record, that i didn't yell at him for shining his flashlight directly in my eyes the entire time he was at the window, that i had a perfect driving record. i'm telling you, i don't get magic carpet rides. the minimal hours i'm getting is now going towards paying off a $100 plus dollar ticket.
he took about 10 minutes to process me. and get this...i didn't even cry. i'm pretty proud of that. until about 20 seconds after i pulled back onto the road and becca somehow felt the urge to call me.
summer is going just fine. i'm finding myself picking up more and more hours at work as time goes on, yet i still don't seem to be making as much as i did last summer after working for 7 weeks at camp. but it is a lot less stressful.
but my minimal hours are not what compel me to my forsaken blog-o-sphere.
i received my first golden ticket last night. no, its not the willy wonka magic chocolate factory kind of ticket. its the kind of ticket involving flashing blue lights and pulling your vehicle off to the shoulder of the road.
i naively thought the day would never come. over four years and i had a perfect driving record and virtually no run-ins with the law (except for my parking sin). i had always imagined myself as either passing out at the wheel or balling my eyes out at the sight of those blazing blues. i'm surprised at how well composed i actually was.
it was a little past 11 pm and i was driving back from jonathan's. i was making good use of my stick shift, coasting down hills and trying to conserve as much gas as possible. i was averaging something like 32 miles per gallon as i passed by publix, then the library, coasting along at a speed that i believed followed the 'ole 55 mph speed limit that stretched for 8 miles or so into the little downtown area.
well, right about then, jonathan and i were discussing how the speed limit dropped somewhere around there...but i had seen no 45 speed limit sign. and then, irony jumped out to bite me in the bumper.
it was just a shadow. no headlights were on and he was lying in wait. but i saw the shadow pull out behind me...and the outline of lights on top of it. i knew he was out to get me. then the shadow and blackness around me flickered blue...oh crap.
i quickly hoped he'd pull past me, but he slowed as i slowed. and there i was, pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, amazed that i had even known what to do in the situation.
after a minute or two, the officer came strolling up to the car.
"ma'am, do you know you were going 62 in a 45 zone?"
humorously, he asked me if i had any weapons in my car. i guess i do look a little dangerous.
so, i was going 17 over, unknowingly. i was extremely polite...but of course it didn't pay off. it doesn't matter that i have a perfect driving record, that i didn't yell at him for shining his flashlight directly in my eyes the entire time he was at the window, that i had a perfect driving record. i'm telling you, i don't get magic carpet rides. the minimal hours i'm getting is now going towards paying off a $100 plus dollar ticket.
he took about 10 minutes to process me. and get this...i didn't even cry. i'm pretty proud of that. until about 20 seconds after i pulled back onto the road and becca somehow felt the urge to call me.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
ode to the roomie, part II
today marks an even sadder day than the last ode because as i'm writing this post, the room is half empty. amy moved out today...which means she is no longer officially my roommate. but alas, i could not forget my duty as a roommate to commemorate our roomieship and lament her departure from this barren room.
please read this poem as if it were written by a fifth grader:
last year we lived a few doors apart,
you were good at science, i did well in art.
you helped me get through chemistry
because you are really smart.
remember that time (we weren't by the pool)
you fell asleep on my blanket and started to drool?
we still decided that it would be cool
to live together the next year in a place called soule.
but that place wasn't really the best, we agreed,
so we placed our names on antoher deed
to get into a dorm called reed
and from soule hall, we did concede.
you moved in first, as you did in the past
and, of course, i arrived last.
i was surprised to see that our room was so vast.
my room from last year, the new definitely surpassed.
the arrangement of our room was prime
ontop of dressers and chairs, we both climbed
and we had it decorated in hardly any time.
and the cd chandelier clunked more than chimed.
six cochroaches in our room did we sight,
which was usually late at night.
one gave you quite a fright
from the bathroom "kill it!" you did incite.
"early to bed, early to rise"
before you i had always shut my eyes.
but now first in bed you lie,
while i stay up late to talk all night.
a few times we would all go to the gym
and jump in the water to go for a swim.
we'd do laps by kicking our limbs
to excercise so we could get trim.
we traveled around in your white camrey
and occasionally go on a wal-mart shopping spree.
you always liked to play the same cds
sister hazel would blare when you turned the key.
but, sadly, one day you were delivering food
and a random woman, your bumper she pursued.
after she hit you, the truth was skewed.
it was her fault, but the blame was on you.
on wednesday nights, to megan's we'd go
to watch our most favorite tv show.
the mysteries of lost, we'd want to know
will we ever find whos friend or foe?
we went camping again (a smaller gang)
and thank goodness this time it didn't rain.
some boys tried to scare us with loud bangs
and at midnight "happy birthday" you all sang.
i almost lived with you next year.
things changed, but we'll still be near.
into your apartment, i'll often appear
so being apart won't be quite as severe.
another year has come and gone,
and it really didn't really seem that long.
leaving so soon almost seems wrong...
but by this poem, the year is prolonged.
again, i know i'm not much of a rhymer
and some of my words could be finer
but i figured this would serve as a nice reminder
that this past year, we had a great time...er.
please read this poem as if it were written by a fifth grader:
last year we lived a few doors apart,
you were good at science, i did well in art.
you helped me get through chemistry
because you are really smart.
remember that time (we weren't by the pool)
you fell asleep on my blanket and started to drool?
we still decided that it would be cool
to live together the next year in a place called soule.
but that place wasn't really the best, we agreed,
so we placed our names on antoher deed
to get into a dorm called reed
and from soule hall, we did concede.
you moved in first, as you did in the past
and, of course, i arrived last.
i was surprised to see that our room was so vast.
my room from last year, the new definitely surpassed.
the arrangement of our room was prime
ontop of dressers and chairs, we both climbed
and we had it decorated in hardly any time.
and the cd chandelier clunked more than chimed.
six cochroaches in our room did we sight,
which was usually late at night.
one gave you quite a fright
from the bathroom "kill it!" you did incite.
"early to bed, early to rise"
before you i had always shut my eyes.
but now first in bed you lie,
while i stay up late to talk all night.
a few times we would all go to the gym
and jump in the water to go for a swim.
we'd do laps by kicking our limbs
to excercise so we could get trim.
we traveled around in your white camrey
and occasionally go on a wal-mart shopping spree.
you always liked to play the same cds
sister hazel would blare when you turned the key.
but, sadly, one day you were delivering food
and a random woman, your bumper she pursued.
after she hit you, the truth was skewed.
it was her fault, but the blame was on you.
on wednesday nights, to megan's we'd go
to watch our most favorite tv show.
the mysteries of lost, we'd want to know
will we ever find whos friend or foe?
we went camping again (a smaller gang)
and thank goodness this time it didn't rain.
some boys tried to scare us with loud bangs
and at midnight "happy birthday" you all sang.
i almost lived with you next year.
things changed, but we'll still be near.
into your apartment, i'll often appear
so being apart won't be quite as severe.
another year has come and gone,
and it really didn't really seem that long.
leaving so soon almost seems wrong...
but by this poem, the year is prolonged.
again, i know i'm not much of a rhymer
and some of my words could be finer
but i figured this would serve as a nice reminder
that this past year, we had a great time...er.
Monday, May 01, 2006
glitter is the new gauche
well, schoolwork is officially over for the semester. only four exams until i can bask in all of summer's glory carefree of academia. which also means only four semesters until summer will no longer be the oasis i've always known it to be...i'll be a college gratuate working in the real world.
so maybe posting my feature story is a copout for writing an actual post, but i'm doing it anyway. (gauche is a type of paint, by the way)
Glitter is a nemesis to a mother who doesn’t literally want her home to be “sparkling” clean. Claire Joyce’s mother doesn’t like messes. If a mess is sure to be made, the activity requires strict supervision and special measures taken to contain it.
But last fall, Joyce got the glitter out without her mother’s permission. She sprinkled the sparkly substance onto the table, not taking any precautions to keep the messy material in check. Twenty years ago her mother would have been horrified.
But this dabble with glitter was not simply to make a pink, sparkly nametag for her bedroom door. Joyce was sprinkling and gluing together her final project—now on display in the Master of Fine Arts Exhibition at the Georgia Museum of Art.
The 28-year-old Midwest native developed her love for art, especially crafts, at an early age. Many children create finger paintings and crayon scribbles to put on their parents’ fridge, but their careers as artists are typically short lived. However, Joyce’s career has gone far beyond the childhood years spent beading, sewing, knotting, drawing, cross-stitching and paper snowflake snipping, leading her to the Master of Fine Arts program at the University of Georgia.
When she arrived a few years ago, Joyce’s specialty was in fabrics. However, an experimental venture outside of her typical medium changed the direction of her final exhibition project from cotton and dye to glitter and glue.
“Last semester, we were doing a show at a steakhouse and I thought, ‘How funny would it be if I did a steak in glitter?’” Joyce laughed. That was the beginning of her love affair with glitter.
And so Joyce began the experiment, inspired by the sparkle of her own creativity. She invented techniques for the new style, working in small sections at a time, delicately sprinkling glitter and using a paintbrush to apply glue in detailed areas. She hinged the 8-foot by 3-foot panels to a table so she could easily flip the artwork over and dump the excess glitter to the floor.
Like her fellow graduate students, Joyce had her own studio space where she spent days and nights, her only company being numerous canisters of glitter ordered online in bulk and her beloved iPod.
“It was a time consuming, slow process,” Joyce recalled. “I would go into my studio, put on my iPod headphones and listen to the audio book This American Life on repeat for 14 hours a day, six days a week, for four weeks.”
And she was only estimating the time it took for a single one of the three panels.
If asked how many cans of glitter comprised the entire 8-foot by 12-foot trio, the deliberation expressed on Joyce’s face would look as if the question was how many specks of glitter are there.
The sparkle from Joyce’s masterpiece, titled Quarter Life Crisis, immediately captures the eye of Georgia Museum visitors.
The finished work resembles stained glass windows of gothic cathedrals. Though they may shimmer like stained glass, these panes do not illustrate the biblical stories of the saints, but an autobiography of Joyce’s life.
Progressing from infancy to adulthood, Joyce is nude in all the three illustrations, which dominate the center of the compositions. Bordering the central images are objects and scenes from various places, ranging from crayons, Polaroid pictures and beer cans to frolicking deer and Waffle Houses.
While most of the imagery bordering the central image of each panel is pulled from Joyce’s foggy childhood memories, many observers apply their own interpretations of Joyce’s work.
“I teach a learning and retirement course on the Old Testament and I was thinking about referencing this work because it represents a wonderful kind of Eve figure of today,” viewer Sam Carleton said of the second panel, which depicts Joyce indulging in the forbidden fruit as a snake twists around her leg. “It’s a beautiful blend of the culture of today mixed with culture of the past.”
Viewers also examine the artwork as if they are reading Joyce’s personal diary and attempt to interpret the underlying message about her life.
“A security woman at the museum came up to me the other day and told me that she had figured it all out,” Joyce said. “A lot of people like to guess. But for the people who know me well, the imagery is obvious.”
Joyce will continue to create her glitter paintings unsupervised. And despite the mess that’s made, her mother is extremely proud.
a sketch of Joyce's painting
so maybe posting my feature story is a copout for writing an actual post, but i'm doing it anyway. (gauche is a type of paint, by the way)
Glitter is a nemesis to a mother who doesn’t literally want her home to be “sparkling” clean. Claire Joyce’s mother doesn’t like messes. If a mess is sure to be made, the activity requires strict supervision and special measures taken to contain it.
But last fall, Joyce got the glitter out without her mother’s permission. She sprinkled the sparkly substance onto the table, not taking any precautions to keep the messy material in check. Twenty years ago her mother would have been horrified.
But this dabble with glitter was not simply to make a pink, sparkly nametag for her bedroom door. Joyce was sprinkling and gluing together her final project—now on display in the Master of Fine Arts Exhibition at the Georgia Museum of Art.
The 28-year-old Midwest native developed her love for art, especially crafts, at an early age. Many children create finger paintings and crayon scribbles to put on their parents’ fridge, but their careers as artists are typically short lived. However, Joyce’s career has gone far beyond the childhood years spent beading, sewing, knotting, drawing, cross-stitching and paper snowflake snipping, leading her to the Master of Fine Arts program at the University of Georgia.
When she arrived a few years ago, Joyce’s specialty was in fabrics. However, an experimental venture outside of her typical medium changed the direction of her final exhibition project from cotton and dye to glitter and glue.
“Last semester, we were doing a show at a steakhouse and I thought, ‘How funny would it be if I did a steak in glitter?’” Joyce laughed. That was the beginning of her love affair with glitter.
And so Joyce began the experiment, inspired by the sparkle of her own creativity. She invented techniques for the new style, working in small sections at a time, delicately sprinkling glitter and using a paintbrush to apply glue in detailed areas. She hinged the 8-foot by 3-foot panels to a table so she could easily flip the artwork over and dump the excess glitter to the floor.
Like her fellow graduate students, Joyce had her own studio space where she spent days and nights, her only company being numerous canisters of glitter ordered online in bulk and her beloved iPod.
“It was a time consuming, slow process,” Joyce recalled. “I would go into my studio, put on my iPod headphones and listen to the audio book This American Life on repeat for 14 hours a day, six days a week, for four weeks.”
And she was only estimating the time it took for a single one of the three panels.
If asked how many cans of glitter comprised the entire 8-foot by 12-foot trio, the deliberation expressed on Joyce’s face would look as if the question was how many specks of glitter are there.
The sparkle from Joyce’s masterpiece, titled Quarter Life Crisis, immediately captures the eye of Georgia Museum visitors.
The finished work resembles stained glass windows of gothic cathedrals. Though they may shimmer like stained glass, these panes do not illustrate the biblical stories of the saints, but an autobiography of Joyce’s life.
Progressing from infancy to adulthood, Joyce is nude in all the three illustrations, which dominate the center of the compositions. Bordering the central images are objects and scenes from various places, ranging from crayons, Polaroid pictures and beer cans to frolicking deer and Waffle Houses.
While most of the imagery bordering the central image of each panel is pulled from Joyce’s foggy childhood memories, many observers apply their own interpretations of Joyce’s work.
“I teach a learning and retirement course on the Old Testament and I was thinking about referencing this work because it represents a wonderful kind of Eve figure of today,” viewer Sam Carleton said of the second panel, which depicts Joyce indulging in the forbidden fruit as a snake twists around her leg. “It’s a beautiful blend of the culture of today mixed with culture of the past.”
Viewers also examine the artwork as if they are reading Joyce’s personal diary and attempt to interpret the underlying message about her life.
“A security woman at the museum came up to me the other day and told me that she had figured it all out,” Joyce said. “A lot of people like to guess. But for the people who know me well, the imagery is obvious.”
Joyce will continue to create her glitter paintings unsupervised. And despite the mess that’s made, her mother is extremely proud.
a sketch of Joyce's painting
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
