Student Spring Show

Two pieces got accepted :)
This one, a mezzotint.

And then the first one below.
Reception's Friday at 6.

New Work.

Etchings and a monotype.

h-e-l-l-o

Good morning to you.
My computer has been M.I.A. for the past couple weeks. Had a failed logic board and display, to those of you that knows what that means. I think I liked its absence more than I thought I would. Don't get me wrong, I love my computer, I have a gross attachment to this thing. But I'm going to attempt to not allow my life to be consumed with the digital world anymore. Besides this blog, maybe. And youtube.

What has happened recently sans computer?
Joined a gym and have started going to yoga regularly.
Found a new addiction to ginger candy.
Auditioned for a play at school, surprisingly got called back and then got a role.
Wore shorts outside. Warned the public to put their sunglasses on.
Attempted to watch Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? then turned it off because it annoyed the fuck out of me.
Wanted Joan Crawford's character to just throw herself down the stairs.
Started reading before bed.
Ate all my food.
Bought tickets for San Francisco, a virgin to Virgin Airlines.

I'll be there tomorrow this time.

Perhaps hello to the beginnings of the new chapter in my life.

meyow.

Drive-By Press

Today Drive-By Press lectured in my printmaking class. Beyond epic. Wanted to go home and start working almost instantaneously. Realized how much the printmaking world is a social, communal kind of thing. Freaked me out because I'm usually the loner working neurotically by myself in my room at the last minute.
I want to do this. I'm gonna do this. Clean my shit up, have a working space, and get to it. Work hard, be kind, be genuine.
Also meet a nice, handsome, creative midwestern man with a wicked sense of humor and a mustache.
Also, be metal. Like Dennis McNett. Inspirationally-intimidatingly-badass work.



Also, do my global studies homework. I guess. Meh.

mo' money

mo' problems.

Last Calvin and Hobbes.

Woke up this morning with an incredible feeling of sickness. Felt like I was drowning in my own spit, gross, I know. On top of that I had heartburn like a motha' and couldn't believe how much I'd kill for some pepto bismol. What a stupid name. Then I got to thinking about all of the medicines I don't have that my mom definitely would have. How does she always have everything? It must be a mom thing. Then I thought I should call my mom to see how she's doing. I haven't. I will.
Back to original topic. Eyes were/are swollen. Skin's greasy as fuck. Everyone else is asleep, and I would love to be. So what the fuck is my problem?
You are hungover, Jessica. And way to jump the fuck around with narrative perspective.
Tequila's a brutal thing. Totally fucks up my ability to dominate in Mario Party. Still think I was dealt a shitty/rigged controller.
Whatever. I always end up walking like, 10 miles without even knowing it when I'm in Isla Vista. The world is a blur at night, and all the half-naked girls in heels and drunken dub-step loving neanderthals come out to play. Guilty pleasure: I like dub-step. Maybe I'm too harsh. But when it's fucking anything below 60 degrees outside, I'm going to need a sweater. Whiskey-induced-warmth or not. Fuck I need some cough syrup.
Anyways, add to my hangover the feeling of running a marathon. All exercise benefits from stumbling around for a couple hours are cancelled out by the spicy spinach pizza, Morningstar buffalo wings and Pringles that I engorged myself upon before sleeping. No wonder I have indigestion.

Last night was fun. A total blur. I'll miss John and Becky when they're back in SF. As for right now, I just want to sleep.


Cool picture of the Rockefeller Center on December 5, 1933? Why, yes. Yes it is.

Like that strumming.

In a bluesy kind of mood. Thanks, Matthew.

Chopin.

Reminds me of sitting in the backseat of my dad's Lexus as a child. He treasured that car. Kept it immaculate. Always smelled like new, clean leather.

Chopin will always remind me of Burlingame and autumn in Northern California. I feel safe when I hear this song, and when I close my eyes I'm lost in memory.

Malibu and coke

fresh pan-seared fish.

the single life.

valentines grinch.

Happy Vday from the valentines grinch, herself. I woke up at 4 pm and perhaps it's a mixed blessing to have slept through the entire day. Word of advice, never take cough syrup with codeine at 7 am.

Headache. Went to El Pollo Loco yesterday and ordered a side of "Fresh Vegetables." Watched the guy throw a plastic bag of broccoli into the microwave. Smelled horrific and was exiled to the balcony to eat. Sorry for wanting to feel healthy, guys.

The light still feels like it's sunrise, only now it's sunset. Sunsets are exponentially more depressing than sunrises.

Soon I'll finally pull myself from this wonderful nest of blankets and then proceed to throw some clothes on. Maybe eat a burrito. Drive down state and buy myself a fancy bra. Perhaps tea. Some chocolate?

I'll tell myself that I won't look at the couples because I assume they'll either make me bitter or shitty feeling. But perhaps I'll get lucky and be indifferent. That's probably what will happen.

Still headache. These microfiber sheets are better than any valentine.

Fuck it. I'm not going back to bed.

I'm just going to lounge.

This morning I had an epic conversation with Kyle Economou that made me feel a little better. He introduced me to the most peaceful looking picture in the world. I want to be here, with my pet wolf, and I shall name him Kiba. Then we shall watch the sun simply light up the winter mist as the day proceeds cooly, calmly and crisply. It will just be the two of us, and that will be fine.

Tiny spheres of glass like constellations on the
Shoreline
Under my feet
Under my nails
Swept up in the tide, swirling into mud
Sucking me under and holding
Me steadily
Until I break away.
Shifting beneath my soles
Strange sense of comfort
False sense of calm
Fleeting state of tranquility
Filled with the dark, pooling ink
Reflecting the night sky
Hiding a universe below.

No Hot Water.

Alright, men, you're fine with this. But I, however, am not. I do not want to boil water in preparation for cleansing myself as if I were on the god damn prairie. It is cold and wet outside, and all I want is a fucking hot shower.

And the last time I checked the guys shower floor in IV was black.............fml.

Content.

As in, I'm feeling good. Too good. Too satisfied when I go to sleep at night and too OK with the fact that I'm waking up in the morning. I'm absolutely mortified for this feeling to go away. And that sucks that I can't just enjoy the feeling good; that I'm already dreading the shit, again.

I feel strong and attractive and could honestly give a shit about shit when I step out into the world. I tell my over-active over-analytical brain to shut up when it goes into overdrive.

I fucking will not and cannot allow myself to sabotage myself. Next year I'll be in a completely new environment surrounded by people I do not know. Make the most of the time you got now, Jessica. Make the most of every fucking day.

rainy morning movies.

In other news, I hope my midterm isn't today.

Damon Albarn

I like you.

I want to go on a backpacking trip across Europe. Fall asleep on trains in Rome and wake up in amsterdam. Have nothing but the clothes and toothbrush in my pack and meet all the different people I can. End in Paris. Get lost. Get found.

The bro who cried wolf.

Girl behind me stop eating and having a whispery whiney voice. Someone's a bit anxious.

Food.

Overwhelming urge to eat everything. Thought how wonderful a burrito would be during Art History today. Then I thought about the idea of hunger/desire, realized that I wasn't hungry at all, and then further realized I was just as down for sex. Sex and food go hand in hand, I suppose. What am I, 400 lbs? How am I not.

And the picture of the cat makes me not hungry whatsoever, which is why it is posted above.

iPhone.

This is what heartbreak, pain, and shame looks like. I've kept this shit immaculate since I was so happily given it for Christmas. It was like receiving a puppy that could hook up to the internet and autotune my voice. And now it has been scarred and tainted due to my own stupid need to jump at unnecessary times with an uncased iPhone.
Ahhhhhhhh hearing that glass break and that dull thud when it hit the concrete was seriously one of the most hideous things I've experienced in 2010. I felt like such a chump. It hasn't even been in my possession for a month, yet, and already I'm looking up repairing options.

Never get an iPhone. Or invest in a thick bulky case instantaneously. Actually, yeah, never get an iPhone. I'm carrying this shit around in a wood block from now on.



Hideous. These are actually pretty nice, though.

M83+-+Graveyard+Girl

M83 - Graveyard Girl
Uploaded by MuteRecords. - See the latest featured music videos.

Just take the plunge.

Oh the wonderful world of dating.

It seems to be that everyone who's in a relationship misses being single, and everyone single misses having someone to love. Perhaps the general consensus is that we're destined to be unsatisfied either way. Always striving for something more. To feel whole.
And there's some people that get truly lucky and find someone that can be their best friend as well as their lover. Lucky, lucky bastards.
I'm in a perpetual state of being single. Sometimes I reach a point where I wonder if I should just settle. And then almost instantaneously I get the urge to slap myself, because why should I settle? I'm in no rush.
It's been so long since I've been excited over seeing another person that I'm starting to wonder if I ever felt excited about anyone at all.

I want to go far away and leave behind most of my possessions and have some south american shaman throw some magic sand on me. Or something.
Have some crazy revelation.
Because parts of me question all of this material bullshit that I treasure so much. I'm striving to have nice "things" for the future.
But what are things? Is it wrong to want an iphone because I can have the T-Pain autotune app? It must be wrong to have such a strange attachment to these bizarre human artifacts that hold no weight when we're gone.
Suppose I have a family in the future who gets a hold of these items and treasures them because I'm their ancestor. What about when they're gone? What about when we're all gone?

But who gives a shit? Who am I trying to satisfy?

dream runner.

I’m probably the least athletic, most out of shape person I know. My blog is called 15-minute mile because I’ve never been fast or agile; I’ve always been the asthmatic kid. But I used to have dreams where I was running.
I wasn’t being chased, or anything. I wasn’t fearful. But there was an overwhelming urge to run, and it was amazing how fast I went.
It was through the school and town. My friends would sometimes fly by as my legs propelled me forward. I could jump long and far without missing a stride. There was never a misstep; it was as if I knew exactly how the world was laid out before ever even seeing it. I was so fast. I never felt so exhilarated.
I never lost a breath. I never broke a sweat.
Running was as simple breathing. I felt free and beautiful and strong. I felt like it was what I was meant to do. It was so instinctual, almost primal. I’ll never forget the dream-sensation of my legs moving, each muscle snapping back and forth, fibers firing.

Perhaps if I think hard enough, I’ll dream this dream again.

Druken stupid santa barbara birthday parties.

Fun for two hours. Then you know tomorrow morning's gonna suck.

Winter Session.

It's like, 70 degrees in southern california in the beginning of January. I am not a fan. Just take 10 degrees off and I will be perfect. That way I can cocoon myself in huge sweaters always and forever.

It's surprising how clear my head's been these days. I just feel light, and worthwhile. In the back of my mind I'm remembering that I have to submit my College of Creative Studies portfolio by monday...ok fuck i'm not feeling that light anymore. Not going to be able to get my transcripts in time, anyways. Oh well, sorry UCSB, I guess we just weren't meant for each other.

I'm surprised, well, not that surprised, by how much I'm taking away from this Renaissance Art History class. Not surprised because I'm being taught by McCaffrey, and he always manages to speak so eloquently about these things. What could be the driest of subjects ends up being bizarre, twisted and enlightening. Dead Christ for example. Mantegna completely warps perspective in a way the average viewer would not first realize. And yet, the already gross image becomes peculiar as you notice how huge the head is in comparison to the body for this specific pose/point-of-view. Alright who gives a shit.



Interesting enough.

I'm realizing that as much as I tell myself I hate math, I am forever, unwittingly intertwined with it and my art. There is something so oddly, obsessively satisfying about lines and geometric forms. It's like it releases this pent up anxiety that I always have congealing right at the top of my spine. Telephone calls usually mean that any piece of paper in front of me is going to have tons of bars and doodles by the time I hang up. Weird sentence.

Melt Banana. I want a drink. Kombucha maybe? I hope this shit isn't messing me up.

Gonna start posting artwork.

Want to make more images like these in the upcoming semester. Monoprint figure study.


and

<3

2010

A space odyssey, waddap.

Um, I'm not looking forward to this 3 hour, 3 day a week, 5 week winter session Art History class. A girl gets restless. A girl needs to stretch her legs and walk.

This year has had a strange beginning. I feel like so much has happened already within the week. I won't name the details because some things just need to stay within the mind.

I've lost 23 lbs since June. And the wonderful thing is, I'm not a coke-head and I still eat macaroni and cheese on occasion. Need to learn how to exercise though. I cringe to think how I'd do running the Valencia High School mile now.

Belle and Sebastian, you so good.

new hair color/cut.

that is all.