Loose lips

This cracks me up.

As far as I can tell, the misspelling was unintentional.

But it demonstrates its own point so well!

My face had said too much before our hands could even touch.

There is something oddly self-absorbed about being in school. Or maybe it's just something that comes with being an artist. We're supposed to know not only what we're making, but why. In my studio class, we're supposed to identify our obsessions. That's actually an assignment. Explore your obsessions.

Basically, as an art student, I'm studying:

1) technique

2) art history

3) why I'm nuts

...and not even in that order.

In many ways, being an artist is like constantly being in psychotherapy. Except we're both the psychiatrist and the patient. And there's no one to tell us what the prognosis is.

So one of the things we're doing in class is to collect images of things that inspire us and fuel our obsessions. It's actually a great activity for developing a clearer insight into What-We-Make, so I thought I'd share an image every once in a while.

I don't want you, but I need you.

I'm starting a body of work that uses
many small pieces to make large wall adornments.

I like the repetitive process of making multiple objects with slight variations.

It also started me thinking about how much humans like collecting things.

Why do we find many of one thing to be so much more engaging than any one piece by itself? I think we're a little greedy, but I also wonder if it's because we see an inherent resemblance to ourselves as a human species. We are essentially a collection in which each individual is varied and comes together to create something rich and diverse.

If this is true,

can a group of objects be used

to evoke a feeling of belonging?

Loneliness? Nostalgia?

Once in a blue moon, there's a blue sky.

My work from last semester, displayed for the critique.

(You can see closeups of the pieces on my website.)