Cowboy Boots (part 1)

Images of the work and final product of small scale cardboard cowboy boots. The cardboard is from a Captain Crunch cereal box. The boots are approximately 2×1x3 inches… for now.

the workspace

waiting for the glue to dry

next to the giant…

big hand, little boots

angle view

finished model

“Starbucks After Dark” by Atuanya Priester and Charlotte Dean

What I Did Today

“Shannon”

“Shannon2″

First Wood Carving

first print

red, yellow, yellow

acetone experiment1

acetone experiment2

Helping The Russians

Due to a recent discrepancy between myself and the Board of Psychology in the United States over a book I wrote called “If You Think You’re Fucked Up, Check Out My Patients!” I have decided to give myself a nice, long vacation in Russia. I am practicing psychology here now, where there is no such thing as doctor/ patient confidentiality. It has taken me awhile to acquire patients. Most people here either don’t speak English or if they do, they don’t seem to think they need my help. I have had the good fortune of running into a woman named Anoushka at a welfare center here in Moscow. She invited me to stay with her and her husband Dimitri in exchange for my services.

Anoushka and Dimitri have been in a long distance relationship for years. Not the romantic kind of long distance relationship where lovers live far apart from each other, keep each other’s dirty clothes under their pillows, have skype sex, and try their hardest to make things work. The other kind. The kind where two people live under one roof, sleep inches away from each other, yet could not be farther apart. Anoushka and Dimitri stopped trying to make things work a long time ago. Neither of them could tell you exactly when things began to go wrong, but they could each easily tell you who is to blame.

Anoushka is slightly obese and bald on the right side of her head. She blames both her obesity and baldness on stress from living in a crappy relationship for so long. Anoushka feels that no one else will have her, and that she is stuck with Dimitri for the rest of her life. She is bitter about this, and treats him like shit. Then she feels guilty about it and eats. I asked Anoushka what she wanted most out of life and she replied: “I want for Dimitri die so I can sleep in middle of bed.”

Dimitri’s situation is similar. He is blind in one eye and has the shakes. For years he had provided for Anoushka and himself working on an assembly line at the Russian Mattel factory dressing Barbie dolls. One day, the conveyer belt went haywire and a screw got loose and flew into Dimitri’s eye. Since then, he and Anoushka have been living on disability. Since Anoushka does not work, they are together all day every day. Dimitri says that he can only tolerate Anoushka when he is drunk. So Dimitri drinks all day every day. That is how he got the shakes.

Anoushka eats and Dimitri drinks and things are not getting better. They have no children or pets and there are still mashed potatoes on the carpet from dinner last Thursday. They have been together for seventeen years, but they haven’t had a real conversation in about eight years. They haven’t had sex in over ten. Anoushka says that Dimitri won’t have sex with her because she is fat and bald. Dimitri agrees. I understand where he is coming from.

After listening to them complain about each other for three weeks, I decided they both needed to get laid. I suggested they watch some pornography to inspire them in the bedroom. They are open to my advice and attempted to have sex last night, but I had to ask them to stop. It was very uncomfortable for me because their apartment is only one room. I am sleeping on the floor next to their bed. Last night Anoushka rolled over in her sleep and almost fell on top of me. Maybe they should just get a divorce.

Holy Printmaking

Today I had my first class in printmaking and I had what I can only describe to you as an epiphany: I was born to make prints. It is the perfect combination of everything I love about every art form I love. We draw, we carve into wood, we paint the wood with big rubber rolling pins, then we run it through the giant metal printing press onto beautiful paper. Then, we do it again. We can use the wood carving over and over and over (pretty much forever), and with any color imaginable. We can mix and layer colors to make our own rich combinations. We can fuck everything up and use too much paint and still create something amazing.
I love the attention to detail in the original wood carvings mixed with the trial by error method of adding color. I love the smell of the thick gooey paint we use, and the smell of the chemicals we use to clean it. I love the wood, the paper, the metal. I want to live in the print lab. Really, it makes me happy just to be in there. The room is huge and well lit. Two of the walls are just windows with a fantastic view of the city. There are three big printing machines, and a beautiful japanese paper making machine. There are big wooden tables everywhere covered in acrylic. Everything is big and heavy and indestructible. While the work being created is so delicate, subtle, and precise.
My teacher is John P. Overton, the same guy I have for my Experimental Storytelling class. He is just great. He loves what he does and he loves art. We looked at a bunch of slides of Japanese prints from the 1800’s. They were so beautiful. I saw way too much today. It is becoming a blur- albeit a fantastic one- in my mind. I am sure I will have to do everything a bunch of times just to be mediocre -and I can’t wait. There is another girl in my class that is almost as excited as I am. Her name is Taylor. We stayed after class today hounding John with questions. We quickly learned that the best way to form a question to him is: What happens if…? He wont just answer you, he will always show you. My teacher encourages us to experiment and fuck up. Honestly, how much better can it get?

Day 2

I woke up at 7 am and took a hot shower. I decided I wanted to feel good today, so I wore my cowboy boots. I walked to school and had coffee and homemade oatmeal with brown sugar for breakfast. I arrived early to my 8 am life drawing class. For four hours, I sat on a stool and drew a naked man with a mustache. I learned about proportion and how to fit the human figure on a page. I usually get to the knees and run out of room on the page, but not today. My teacher said I was doing well. I loved the class.
After that, I had an hour lunch break before my next class. I ate a chIcken salad and drank more coffee. I went outside and it was sunny! Real sunlight here in Seattle is scarce. It was actually warm. My next class was in experimental storytelling. My teacher knew everyone in the classroom except for me. When he took role, he told us that most of us were juniors or seniors. Then he looked at me and said “Well, everyone but you. I’ve seen your work; I’ve been to your website.” I was surprised. He then told us we were going to have to do presentations for the class on contemporary narrative artists and then he looked at me and said “maybe you’d like to do a presentation of your own work.” Now I was just plain shocked.
We talked about the course and the kind of work we would be doing. All of the content is self-directed. We can use any materials we want for our projects and we are starting them right away. As a class, we all went down to the library to look at slides of the work of some narrative artists. In the elevator my teacher told me that his class was too full, and a few days ago he had decided to drop someone — and that person was me. Then he said he talked to my advisor, looked at my work, and decided to let me into the class. Um… pinch me?
After class, it was much colder outside. I decided to hurry to the art store to pick up some supplies before it started to rain. I walked the 1/2 mile uphill to the store in my cowboy boots fast. I bought a cutting mat, a big metal ruler, two art supply boxes, a sketch book, charcoal, erasers, and a giant pad of newsprint paper that I could not even fit into the shopping cart. I then walked all the way back to my dorm carrying a huge plastic bag filled with all that heavy crap. I practically ran the whole way, but I made it without getting stuck in the rain. Now I am going to go eat dinner. I think I might have just earned myself another pizza.

Day 1

I had my first class today here at Cornish. It was at 1pm in room 605 of the main art building. I arrived at noon so I could eat lunch in the cafe downstairs and then make my way up to class early. When I got to the hallway outside the room, a few students told me that the door was locked. More students began to gather in the hallway outside. Finally at 1:02, the teacher showed up and opened the door for us. We all found seats and the teacher took roll. My name was not on his list. I sat and listened to his introduction for awhile, not wanting to interrupt. I quietly checked my schedule that said Tuesday, 1pm foundation art with Kristen Ramirez. This old man did not look like a Kristen. Or a Ramirez. Fifteen minutes later I decided I was definitely not in room 605. It turned out I was in room 607; the classroom for design students. When I finally made it to room 605, I was 20 minutes late.
The class was interesting for the most part. I say for the most part because it was four hours long. After the third hour, I stopped caring about art. I was exhausted. I felt old. I am eight years older than most of the people in my class. I have decided that eight years is a lot. After class, I went back down to the cafe to eat dinner. I ate a whole pizza by myself. I deserved it. Then I walked back over to my dorm to lay down. The dorm I am in is an old motel. It is pretty nice as far as dorms go, but I can tell it was a crappy motel. We have magnetized key cards that allow us to enter the dorm buildings and different ones that open the doors to our rooms. The magnets are very sensitive and when I carry both of my cards next to each other, they become demagnetized and stop working. Then I have to go to the main dorm building so they can reprogram them. This has already happened to me twice and I just moved in.
I have two classes tomorrow. They are each four hours long. The first one is at 8 am. I don’t know why I tell people I am an artist. I think I would much rather be a princess.

Bonito Guts Pickled in Salt

It took us forever just to find the place. It was midnight, and according to the gps on my dying iphone, we had reached our destination.  But the restaurant was nowhere in sight. I was pulling into a strip mall to turn around, when Amy cried out “Hey that says Raku! There it is!” We had heard that the place was small, but this was tiny. There was maybe enough room in the place for twenty people; very simple, nothing fancy. We sat down and ordered some hot tea, and a nice Japanese lady brought us the menus. The first thing on the menu that caught my attention was an item called: Seafood with Bonito Guts Pickled in Salt. Then I saw something called: Simmered Meat Intestine in Simple Soup. Hmm. Luckily, I wasn’t really hungry. I had eaten a big waffle a few hours earlier. I decided on something simple; seaweed soup and noodles with veggies. Amy got the tofu version of a caprese salad, and a bowl of rice with salmon roe on top. Amy’s salad came first. The tofu, tomato and basil were placed neatly on the plate, completely covered by a fourth ingredient that looked suspiciously like a bunch of worms. We sat and stared at it for awhile. Then we took pictures. Then we asked the waitress what it was. She told us they were little sardines. Amy sighed in relief.
My seaweed soup was next to arrive. Two pieces of very thick seaweed were tied in knots, sitting in a small bowl of broth. It was good. So was Amy’s salad, and the rest of the food we ordered. We enjoyed our meal, but the truth was, we had really gone to Raku for the dessert. Our mouths were watering for some of their green tea creme brulee. It was good. Really good. Now we were totally stuffed. We both had to go to the bathroom and then we were going to leave. Amy went to the bathroom first, and came back smiling. There was a stepping-stone-set-in-astroturf walkway leading up to the bathroom. The inside was a sanctuary. Sort of. There was a spray painted cement tree on one of the walls and surround sound bird chirping noise. It sounds awful, but it was great. That bathroom made my whole day. Now I was ready to go and write my story for the next morning. I left the bathroom with a huge grin on my face. When I got back to the table, Amy was talking to some guy.
His name was Jin, and he was a sous chef at a upscale restaurant in Vegas. He asked us what we had ordered, and when we answered, he made a stink face, and came and sat at our table. The waitress came over, and Jin ordered about eight different dishes. Some of the things he asked for weren’t even on the menu. We were definitely not going to eat any more food. I had to go write my blog. We had already eaten dinner. And dessert. We were just curious…
Jin told us that last year, Raku had been nominated for the James Beard award for best new restaurant in the world. The owner/ main chef had built it himself. His home made tofu was world famous, and chefs from all over would come to Raku to eat and to learn from him. He showed us the green tea salt that had been sitting at our table the whole time we were there, and the home made soy sauce. We sat with our mouths open as dish after amazing dish was brought to our table. I ate pork cheek, fried tofu, noodles, chicken sausage on a stick, chicken soup, and salmon with rice. I was amazed at how much room I had in my stomach. I could have kept eating. We were the last customers there. Raku normally closes at three in the morning. We didn’t leave until four. Amy and I were in a daze the rest of the way back to our hotel. I know we made it to our room, and into our beds, and I know we both kept saying “wow.” I don’t remember much after that.

The After Christmas Party

My aunt, my cousin, my dad and I were all piled up in my aunt’s mini van, on our way to my grandma’s annual Christmas party in Chicago. The roads were covered in sleet and snow. We were about 100 miles outside of St. Louis, when we slid across the highway and crashed into the metal divider. My cousin Joanna and I were asleep. She woke up to my dad yelling “hold on kids!” and I woke up to her screaming and shaking me. We both saw lots of snow and metal.
I did not scream. I just kept wondering if this was it. Was I going to die in the back of a mini van with these people? That did not seem like a possibility for me. I was much more afraid of being maimed or stuck in a cold and uncomfortable situation with not enough food. We got lucky.When we hit the divider with the back of the car, it pushed us back out onto the road. We were all very happy not to have been stuck in a ditch. Thanks to my aunt’s skillful driving, we did not die or become paralyzed or deformed at all. We drove slowly to the next exit and got off the highway.
We parked in a Denny’s parking lot and got out to look at the van. A big chunk was missing from the back. We all knew we had just barely escaped death, yet we did not realize the full gravity of the situation until we went inside of Denny’s. It was 8am on a Sunday and it was empty. That was not a good sign. Sunday is Denny’s big day. My dad said all of the regulars must have died on their way over. We decided not to get back on the road and go to Chicago.
Sitting at Denny’s, our hearts still beating fast from all the excitement, I realized how much I love being in crisis situations. It is like sprinting without actually having to run. There is a lot of adrenaline involved, followed by a long period of sitting around eating and talking about what just happened. Yesterday, we told the story of our accident to anyone who came near us. Lots of french toast, pancakes and eggs were eaten. Then we checked into a hotel and slept all afternoon. When we woke up, the sun was shining and the roads were clear. We drove back to my aunt’s house in St. Louis, cuddled under blankets on the couch, ordered gourmet pizza and played cards. I thought it was a pretty great day.

Christmas Letter

Dear God and Santa,
Please please please do NOT give my sister Margaret anything for Christmas. She is a real jerk. She will probably tell you that I was bad (naughty) and not her, but that is a LIE. Margaret used to play with me all the time, but ever since she got Elliot as a boyfriend she is so mean to me. All they do is laugh at me and I don’t know why. Yesterday they were teasing me calling me “Butt Hole Nicole” and Margaret said she was going to draw some butt holes on my Twilight folder. I said “give it back it’s mine I bought it with my allowance,” but she wouldn’t. I got really mad and I accidentally hit her in the face with Elliot’s iphone. Then the iphone flew out of my hand and hit the wall. It wouldn’t turn back on and Margaret was screaming at me that I was stupid and in big trouble. I said sorry, but she didn’t care. She said that mom would tell Santa not to give me anything for Christmas. I was not worried because I knew it was all Margaret’s fault, but then mom got home from work and Margaret told on me. Mom said “Nicole no hitting! Go to bed with no supper.” And that really sucked because I set the table and it was spaghetti night and spaghetti is my favorite. So Santa, if my mom did tell you not to give me any presents please don’t listen. God, will you please tell Santa that my mom always takes Margaret’s side? Also, I think Margaret has enough stuff. She doesn’t need any gifts. If you are going to give her something, please let it be something crappy like a book. Just dont give her more presents than me ok? That is what happened last year and I had to break one of her presents so it was fair. Also, please don’t forget to give me all of the stuff I want that I wrote about in my other letter. Amen.

Thanks, Nicole

P.S.You know how I wanted a lunch box that had Edward from Twilight on it? Well now I saw New Moon and I am team Jacob. Is it too late to change that?