For the prof

essor. and sure why not for the blog.

Working on the figure paintings was a full-on mental [and emotional] adventure. Getting the colors right.......my worst enemy....... still not done being mad at her...getting the colors right is a woman.... Then physically getting those colors onto the canvas the way I made them. Then working those colors into the painting the way I want them. Multiple times convinced myself I'm just not a "colorist" as Matisse would put it. Even that I'm not an painter. Never felt such passionate frustration towards a technique or a process.

The adrenaline of the challenge sometimes made it fun. As you infamously quoted me in class for saying "This is so hard, it's fun!" The stress when the model's time was up but I hadn't done all I wanted to do made it overwhelming. Sometimes there were good feelings, like when I had a "good color day" and made all the colors I wanted and all the colors did what I wanted them to do. I felt accomplished and proud and loved painting and the model and life in general. Whether the session with the model was good or bad would honestly affect my mood for the rest of the day.  Might have even been a session I left school in a fury all choked up with tears welling and my scarf wrapped up to my eyes attempting to hide my about-to-cry face but I think I deleted that day from happening on a count of me being a 21-year-old.

Going back and forth between the subjective and objective paintings helped me discern between what I was seeing and what I was looking at. Subjectively, I saw lime greens where skin tones should be, triangle shapes in a thigh, weight in the light of solid purples.  I let my mind do the painting.  Objectively, I had to direct my eyes and mind at the same time, so that together they could make a conscious effort to paint what was in front of me.

Going back and forth was where it got muddy. In my mind and on the palette. Setting out on the objective voyage, I had to get the whole figure on the space. And proportionately.  Taking on the subjective safari [you like that?] it didn't matter what made it onto the canvas, or how. So there was no pressure, no expected outcome.  And then from there, there was no checklist, no set order of instructions. The color, composition, brush strokes, drawings within the painting, all had to be worked into the canvas at the same time. How do you do 8 things at the same time? I don't know! I just know that I tried, and I did it, I think, or somewhat at least, and that those times when it clicked, where I thought, "Oh! Like this! This is what he means!" were heavenly, though few and far between.

You told us at the beginning of the semester that the subjective and objective meet in description.  This phrase has taken over my life since we started the figure paintings. I think about those words all the time and when I'm painting, they are my map.  I know what you mean, now, about that. And to try and explain it any further would be silly.

Just watched this

and it's awesome.

Please send your complaints to..

I wish I wasn't allergic to fruit but I definitely am.
I wish laundry was fun because it's not.
I wish my tea didn't get so cold so fast so I could drink it on my own time but it always stays hot for like 2 minutes.
I wish I could erase without getting a billion eraser crumbles in my lap but I can't it happens every single time.
I wish I could function on 2 hours of sleep every night so I could stay up and talk but I'm just not built for nocturnal..ity.
I wish I was better at change but that's nothing new.
And I wish the thought of leaving here in a month wouldn't make me cry in the shower.
But it does.

ALSKDJFS;;;;;LSKL WAIT DECEMBER BUT WE'RE NOT DONE HERE YET

Things I did on a weekend I actually stayed in Florence

-Slept in really, really late.
-Ate 4+ bowls of cereal in our sunny kitchen with the roomies. For those of you who also see nothing wrong with this (I KNOW you're out there), thank you for also seeing nothing wrong with this.
-Caught up on tried to do something related to school work.
-Got Oil Shoppe sandwiches (4th of the week) with 2 roommates and sat in the middle of the piazza while people-watching/people-laughing. Saw friends and felt cool because there's not a whole lot more to feeling like a local than saying hi to friends in the middle of the piazza.
-Took naps and asked each other how they were.
-Woke up from naps to Citizen Cope blasting in the kitchen and a roommate asking if I'd prefer a shot of Absinthe or a mixed drink of Absinthe. Note: the drink was mixed with ice. With a lemon slice in it.
-Invited/expected everyone over in hopes they'll bring something more drinkable than toxic lime green green hallucinogens.
-VIP for the very important people. Which according to Florence, is a couple of poor college girls who happen to look smashing in black.
-Secret bakery (I can't tell you what this is because it's a secret. No really.)
-Had birthday parties for classmates that started at noon don't be late I don't care if you're hungover and lasted until some time that said a.m. at the end of it.
-Watched the Fiorentina play a violent game of futbol that would never fly in America, but gets the Italians good and riled up. And when you're around all that you find your classy self shouting mean, nasty words at the other team and giving them a middle finger or two.
-Got big cheesy pizzas in big purple jerseys.
-Finally home to re-hyrdrate and begin the most productive/equally successful part of the weekend: Sunday night with the sketchbook and the promise of another night of being awake more than being asleep.

Ciao for now, hope your weekends were just as recharging and relaxing as mine. In the no-sleep kind of way, duh.

And it's understood to me we belong in freedom's way

Travel alone and you'll find that it's the least lonely you'll ever be.

I did the Florence-to-Pisa-to-London part with a friend, but after we landed, I was on my own. We originally planned to go to this Andrew Salgado exhibit together, but trying to meet up in that tube-tangled city was barely even realistic in our heads. She had a friend in Bristol. I wanted to stay in London, and kind of marveled at the idea of being on my own anyway. I've always known of friends my age doing this kind of thing (all guys) and figured why can't I? I'm a girl, but I could do it. I'm sort of known for being incredibly stupid, but I'm brave. I had never done anything like this but at least they spoke English.

Taking not much more than these facts and my passport, I went head first into the weekend and didn't look back.  

I actually made my hostel reservations on my iPhone in the Pisa airport, about 6 hours before I would check in that night. Literally googled it, closed my eyes and picked one. In Wimbledon. Maybe I'd see one of those hot tennis players. When I got off the plane and through border control, I didn't really know what to do next. Get to my hostel?  I think it's in Wimbledon, but I didn't write down the address and of course I don't have wifi anymore.  I went to the train station beneath the airport and told the lady I needed to get to Wimbledon. It was like a 30 dollar/euro/pound/who knows anymore ticket and a 2-hour ride with 2 changes. Ahhh English. Like a cool glass of water.
But wait what.
What. Did I get myself into.

There were plenty more stomach-dropping whatamIdoing moments, and even more ohmygodIlovethis ones, and I learned so, so much.

Like when 0 of 3 old man taxi drivers in Wimbledon who have lived in Wimbledon for 30 years have never heard of your hostel, you go for the young one, try not to freak out first, then go for the young taxi driver with the iPhone who can look it up for you.

I'm talking to myself here, people.

And when you get to your hostel and the owner is a handsome 30-year-old Scottish guy who gives you the tour of the place like you're the newest member of the family, give yourself a secret pat on the back for unintentionally choosing the best hostel in the world.

When you're lost on the sidewalk and a 20-something jogger comes up and asks if you're lost and need help, say yes. Especially if you can hear Drake playing loudly through his jogging earbuds. Because even though he's ditching his errands and not to mention his run just to help you find your way, in the next 4 hours you'll have seen half of Islington through the eyes of a local and make a friend you'll probably never see again.

When you start tearing up at the Andrew Salgado exhibit because it's so beautiful, it's O.K. Because the art director of the gallery will be moved by your sensitivity and introduce himself. And he's an art director and that's what you want to be, so. Wipe those eyes.

When some new friends invite you to party with some Hollister models from South Africa, say yes. And maybe say yes again, just to be sure they know that yes, yea you do want to do that. If you're wondering if they smelled like August, they do.

There were fish and chips to eat ketchup with and underground trains to master and fall leaves to crunch. Did I mention Banksy? That's one hell of a blog post in itself.

And I got to do a lot of staring subtly looking and playing my favorite game: figuring out about people. When you're by yourself so much you have to get good at staring and figuring out about people or else you'll be bored out of your mind.

So, even it's for a long weekend, go somewhere completely new by yourself. Have no plans and every intention of getting so lost you want to scream.  Let your adventure turn into an adventure. It will be one you couldn't plan if you tried. And when you're in such a hopeless mess of confusion that you're convinced you're not coming out alive, just know that it always, always works out. I don't know why. But it does. And it's beautiful.

You're the king but I'm the lionheart

Something funny happened at the zoo in Berlin. First of all, I spent about an hour standing in front of the lion couple's cage because there were just so. damn. cool. I mean they are just beautiful, really beautiful animals. I also took enough pictures of them to make me dread uploading fall break pictures and put it off until now. But this happened and it was so funny I'm glad I have the pictures. Design-wise I can't get over that they're not all the same orientation, but oh well. Check this girl out. 

Hi. Can I come up there?

__

Cheers to all the queen lions of the world! 

Who do you need? Nobody. You're lucky nobody's around

LIFE RECCOMENDATION: travel alone

WELL HI

I've been on the road, literally, for the past 10 days doing fall break stuff and if  you're wondering if it's possible to fall in love 5 times in 10 days, it is.  Here I'll show you how:

-Start driving at 10 pm in a big bus with 20 of your closest people you've never met before. Wake up  with a sore neck to sunrises in Germany. 

-While waiting for a train, allow an old man to come up to you and say in a scratchy German accent, "Only for you, only one time," and then proceed to throw a handful of paper hearts into the air above your head. 

-Walk around Berlin in the crisp early sunlight and decide no this this is your favorite city in the world.  Find yourself standing in front of a vast memorial for European Jews and let your heart drop at the power of its size. Then an adorable fall couple sharing coffees and donuts on one of the cement blocks will warm your heart back up again. 

-Get currywurst and mulled wine for lunch (sausage with curry ketchup and hot wine, kind of like apple cider, but wine) and see the Berlin wall. Go to the zoo. A beer garden. Eat more sausages. Drink more beer and when you go out to eat at a cavernous German restaurant, order pork knuckle. Seriously do it.  Don't sleep but wake up in Amsterdam. 

-Eat delicious baked goods called "happy cakes" for breakfast and walk around the city feeling like this.  Take pictures you'll only slightly remember taking.  

Laugh enough to end all wars.  

Take your heart back from Berlin and give it all to Amsterdam because you've never fallen so hard for a place in your life.

-Say good morning to Brussels! Step out of the bus and into a magestic land of castles and sexy business men in gorgeous suits. Go to take a picture of Mannekin Pis but notice the three siblings taking a picture in front of it and automatically miss your little brothers more than you ever thought you would. Take a picture of them instead. Find a chocolate named "Carolina" and smile. Buy it and eat it dramatically like your in a Dove commercial. Carb up on waffles that taste more like magic than waffles, then hit up Delirium, the bar with millions  a lot of beers and won best beer in the world in 2004. Drink a mango beer and start missing blueberry wheats at Topo. This city is so bittersweet, so enchanting, you promise it forever. 

-Feel guilty for leaving Belgium so soon after he swept you off your feet, but France shows you this sunset and before you know it, you're flirting with Paris. Champagne under the Eiffel Tower until the early morning hours with friends. That's about all it took.   

-But then. Barcelona. 

You forget everything. It's warm finally. Busy. Relaxing. Beautiful. And so much fun. 

The kind of fun where you go out at night with everyone all dressed up, dance until the beach clubs close at 6, and fall into the sand out front while you watch the sun rise. 

This is where you decide you'll stay. 

I don't know whether the 14 hour bus ride back to Florence was torture, 

or just plain hell, but I can tell you two things. 

That I can't hold a single sip of water to save my life and that after trying to sleep sitting up, I'll never complain about a twin bed again. 

Oh and one more thing. That when we finally got back to Santa Maria Novella, it didn't take long to conclude that Florence is it. The one. The best city in the world. 

The quiet walk back to the apartment through the packed-up-for-the-night- San Lorenzo market street, the feeling of arriving at our big front door that I love so much, 

seeing the other two roommates already home from their fall breaks. Yes. 

Europe I'm a let you finish but uh.. Florence takes the cake on this one.