As I consider Art History/Curatorial Studies, things to bear in mind: Redux is hiring for Summer 08. Need to drop off my resume over winter holidays. The High Museum in Atlanat is also looking for interns. Their website has updated information availabe in January! Smithsonian has an abundance of internships for undergraduates, the just-graduated, and graduate students. Fabulously good news! And the reach-internships are at places like Centre Georges Pompidou, Jeu de Paume, L'Orangerie, the MoMA, the Whitney, the Metropolitan Museum of Art,the Guggenheim, the New Museum of contemporary art, Fusion Art Museum, Cooper-Union Hewitt, deYoung Museum, the SoMA, and the Drawing Center (this is rotational... a plus!). Some are paid, other are unpaid/volunteer.

At the bottom of the Grand Canyon there was a helicopter launch pad, a vacant house and a lonely basketball goal. These were objective objects of a still life. To whom they belonged didn’t matter. These misfits were art factual, insightful and somewhat turned upside down by their strange appearance here. Like a purgatory for domestic disturbances- caught between a picket fence-contained life and the junkyard. Two hours ago we had begun our slow descent down the steepest staircase into one of the most elegant and exquisite archives of the Earth’s life and times. Flora and fauna long extinct envelop the walls; the very dust in the air is primordial. When you enter this place there is a sense of wonder and amazement. You have expectations for it- to surpass, to conquer, to inspire, to discover. Though the very reason for its existence is not to evoke a response from you. Here tacit eternal constants such as time and space reign supreme. It is this realization that abandons you to silent wonder. Light plays an interesting role in this place. Its source becomes your source for blisters, complaint, and exhaustion. But it also illuminates the otherwise cool mauves and violets, orchestrating a well-rehearsed tonal palette of rust reds and oranges that warm up for sunrise in a spectacular and bright ballet. It is the animator of everything. To think this all cycles back to its stellar inception as a nebulous ball of dust and gas! The debut is over sooner than it begins and by noon a new act de force takes over; nothing is exempt. The pervasiveness of the sun is a harsh reminder of the quickly forgotten truth that so many hikers and explorers shun- this place is feral and unfriendly. We are merely the guests of an opulent and inhospitable host. The house rules here were written before our time. Your predecessors- human and nonhuman- leave artifacts of their journey along the way. Sometimes you can place your very foot in their boot-tracks. Or examine the scalar detail of a snakeskin crumpled like the topographic forms that surround you. Flashfloods and stagnant air provide favorable conditions for momentary fossilization. These minute visual detours are mind-consuming and self-directed; derivatives of inward reflection and outward scope. Without conscious effort something is engendering change in subtle pathways both physical and metaphysical. The scenery is also changing. Your global viewpoint is being dwarfed and narrowed; this inversion of perspective- looking down on something versus looking up at something else- marks your progression in altitude. All around you there are bio-spheric changes that serve as a referential. Lush shifts to spare and prosperity to minimalism in the form of balsam fir and moss to Spanish bayonets and sagebrush. All of this says nothing for what incredible after images the sun burns into your memory of the place. I can transport myself there even now. I envision luminous striations of ferric rich burgundy and there is so much iron the air smells like a forge. It is in places such as these where boundaries and expectations are re-shaped and formed into an alloy of ideas that we access moments of transcendence. They are glimpses into a higher state invisible to the singular eye.

Ellsworth Kelly a la Yves-Alain Bois Red and White, 1961 was a detour from his colored panels, he chose to ignore prior color block panels Kelly uses an avoidance theory, was drawn to the self-expression of modernism,was "practicing a history of art without a name" Why would Kelly do that? Vacany of non-invention. There wasn't anything that Picasso hadn't already done except erase himself, which Kelly did exceptionally well. Sash window at the Musee de l'art Moderne A panel with a block of black and two panes of white on a gray block same dimensions as the black. Nobody every suspected the source. Collages were paintings of scraps of his own drawings that he threw onthe floor but these are still seen as abstract, not as effortless art-making. They still have the semblance of invention or "I paint, I draw, I sculpt, therefore I am." He went to a grid. A symbol of randomness, no effort at representation, every effort at NON-COMPOSITION. 1950s He returns to the US after formative years in Paris. Was at end of rope financially but upon return, felt himself a foreigner is his own country. Frustrated by being mistaken as a geometric abstract expressionist. Grids were like language.Each color or component a letter. At this point though he did not make words. This came later, during his rockers phase when he discovered curves and made 'logos', a visual word. These biomorphic shapes include Red and White, 1961. Only one sketch was made for this painting while the rest were sketched and resketched many times. Negative space and color are fighting in this series. It is a game of optical illustion- which one is winning? Rockers (1980s) were "pliage" or folding exercises. Like sandwiches. Representation of the hemispheres of the brain. Ovoids and trapezoids,not really abstractions of the natural world.Just shapes and colors. Matrix of the grid relates to this matrix of qualities that have established Kelly as a premier artist of the post-war modernist period: can all be traced to his formative years. Variety, diversity, singularity of vision and longevity. Ellsworth Kelly on color. Tells a story about colored panels (Painting for a white wall): Critic asks What color theory did you do? EK: No theory. Just a painting withcolors. Critic: Sure looks like it. Influences: Calder's mobiles, friend deKooning who said "he names the color" Method: Starts with yellow (mid of spectrum) and works to purple During VWar he made gray paintings, felt embarrassed to be painting bright colors.Later on at the Met 8 years after the war 1979 a docent said there are alot of young people interested in these. He said too late. "One centimeter of blue is not the same blue as one meter of blue." Ellsworth Kelly Social/political commentary in his paintings? Hmm, not really. Maybe. "Just continuing what I started..." Looking for his form like Picasso when he found African sculpture and this lead him to Cubism.

Dreamed of Papa last night. I had invited a friend over to play spades and when I answered the door, Papa was there. He said he could not eat anything when I offered him something to eat or drink. Then I was in a school-style cafeteria, in a cold sweat of panic looking for him. I could not find him anywhere. There was mockery from people eating their lunches whose faces were blurred like smudges of paint; I explained I had lost my grandfather. No concept of time in your dreams. Maybe 10 minutes later or a matter of seconds, I found him. He was sitting in the dark chestnut voltaire. We were at the house on 111 Lake Forest Trail and I could hear those wooden beads clinking on the harpischord hanging on the back of the door. I intra-closed my eyes and shut inside my sleeping eyes my seeing eyes saw amber and fern-green light prisms refracting on the windowsill above the sink. I remember feeling like I could walk up the stairs and retrieve the striped linen sack that held the blueprints for building cedar castles on Oriental rugs.

Einstein's autopsy revealed abnormalities in the size of his central cortex. They concluded this has an impact on genius capacity. To think beyond one realm and seamlessly coordinate information between the two lobes produces a higher plane of thought. Interesting though, he could not tie his own shoe laces. I think this is why I may be drawn to science illustration. I can't tie my shoelaces either. No, what I really mean is that I know I can do many things- and I do them well. In recognition of this ability, my mentors have over the years lived their dreams through me. I have never stepped outside of my ambitions to ask crucial questions like "Is this what me, I, myself want to do?" Because I know this is what so-and-so desires for me to do and this path would guarantee entrance to a graduate school. But I have never stopped to consider I was pursuing my ambitions for the wrong reasons (eg, glory, money). I would however like to be successful in whatever I do. Full realization of my goals will never happen though, unless I retrace these plans of action to their point of origin. The first step is deciding what I really want. PhD in Geology? in Painting? Associates Degree in Science Illustration? Medical Degree? As disconnected from reality as this may sound, I am in a unique position where the wealth of opportunities poses more ambiguities than it does afford an easy choice among equally viable options because I simply am too inclined to pursue all of them.

Indoctrination of Flight Parking lots after a steady rain Puddles of oil on blacktop pavement Birds puddling like butterflies Nutritious habit Evaporites form after the rain Renourishment, feeding Pigeons? Lowly, curious creatures Unassuming… Explore how they sense my presence Can their birdbrains detect suspense? Gunshot stimulus Feedback loop Mirrors in our existence How do we cope with fear? The spontaneity, alarm and rush of flight Why so many pioneers were drawn to it Bush plane in Alaska Elevation of the body and the soul Perspective shift signals dopamine Continuous frame camera right at their takeoff Characterize their flight pattern Is it cohesive or disconnected or fleeting? Run camera for 1 minute from their takeoff … Single frame of empty parking lot Single frame of birds in formation above buildings End destination: another parking lot, a tree, a field? Done in series: Ideally, a Soviet style concrete top floor of the parking garage scene right at sunset Sullivan’s Island (gulls instead of pigeons, good contrast) where the undertow is strong, violent waves- a dark blue or gray sky Archdale Street near the two churches or Trumbo Street alley at dusk (flashbulb) INter MEDIA RES Name of freelance illustration company Indoor Amazonia Trellis pattern of nylon fishing line to support Devils Ivy or Pathos ( a non foot-sprouting variety) Buy morel mushroom or a shittake mushroom kit and time lapse film of it growing... ::::: !!! Speed up time lapse using Movie Editor (new Leopard application). Charles Linnaeus botany sketches, naturalist sketches on parchment. Visual data mining to find a tattoo to put on my left arm.

Once upon three hundred and sixty five days ago... Loved and lost times two Moibus strips and metronomes What would Escher do? Took a... Vacation of the thinking mind, the making mind, the waking mind. Brief intermission from art,the kind that indulges itself to the organic sounds of charcoal biting paper. Journey northward, soliloquoying after aptitudes for greatness. Sabbatical from good vibrations. Had... High times and fireside laughter. Studious, bald-headed impulses. Everyday tragedies, internal civil wars, and nothing. Schematical views of action on the molecular level but moot by virtue of sterile reason. Would change... Everything and nothing. Dreams of... Professional utopia. Artistic endeavors. Taking things one step further.

News! Boyfriend. He's a graduate student, 26 years old, studying violin and classical music. Hot accent. He's from the Slovak Republic and I do'nt care about PDA. I cannot keep my hands off of him when we're together. I'm thinking Man Rays photograph of the woman violin. Job. I'm a serveuse in a French bistro. 21 hours per week. 18 hours of coursework. African Geology, Evolution, Language and Culture of France, French Grammar, Yoga, African Studies and French Cinema. New friends. Roommate change. I love Sophie!!! She actually has a personality. Old friends abroad. Luca my love is in Europe spring semester. Feeling older. Feeling more in touch with my inner self. Realizing there are more stressors. The give and take of growing older carries weight. You get more respect. You get more sources of stress. 15 pounds lighter. Yes! 113. 13 more to go. Want to look good in a little black dentelle.

Extravagance. They out-did themseves again! I got many beautiful gifts from many beautiful people- Lorcan gave me a yucca root plant. Kerranna gave me handmade soaps. Elizabeth-Anne made a pillow with the Eiffel Tower underneath it 'Ah, Paris' on the front and College of Charleston+Lauren=FUN on the back. Nana and Grandpa gave me a 50 dollar gift certificate to Urban. Nikki gave me turquoise heels and a necklace in a trinket box with feathers and ceramic beads on it. Jason and Amanda gave me a 25 dollar gift certificate to BAM. Amberjade gave me a gorgeous pair of turquoise themed earrings. Barbie Jean got me a reversible two toned earrings and an elfish teal and burnt umber scarf in faux suede. and .... a trip to Seattle, all expenses paid. Aw...

Close minded father. He does not understand anything outside his personal beliefs. He asked me what the argument on intelligent design clause meant and I told him it states there is a supreme being (not declared as God) that governs the ecological systems on earth. He responds with We all know it is God. I say yeah, that's your opinion. The meat of the argument, not necessarily my stance on the matter, rules out scientific method. It says everything you've read in your textbook about the writings of Charles Darwin is false... I think including this presupposes fact. By simply including it, it rules out any possible scientific explanation and relies on fatalism to explain phenomenon which are actually not phenomenon if we can learn to explain the universe through exploration and discovery.

So last night I met Lorcan at Waffle House around nine o'clock. He looked very posh and manicured although his hair had a somewhat greasy polish to it, I told him it looked good. He complimented my hair color, adding to the repertoire of mixed reactions. We had coffee and talked about recent happenings among friends. I think both of us are jaded about the holidays because commercialism and all of the customs of Christmas can be suffocating.For instance my mother wears her immune system down gets a minor cold because she's wrapping this gift for this person, multitasking one million things and meanwhile forgets about her own health. I always feel guilty during the holidays because the mirth and convivial magic of Christmas is at her personal expense. We drove downtown to document the lights on Main Street. The sidewalks were empty but it was a welcome emptiness that made great backdrops for shots. I felt safe and city smart as I crossed the empty two way street. Lorcan got a call from Brice saying Justin and he were fed up with Caitlin and were interested in watching American Pscyho. I'm still not absolutely positive how I feel about that film. It was psychologically exhausting.. You get so engaged in the action and the gore... How is he going to cover up the butchery? The detective ? Why doesn't he question him more thoroughly? Then you discover the action never left his mind. Die yuppie scum was just a mental fantasy. This morning Nana came over to make coookies. She smelled so wonderful and told me the story about the chocolate factory that was down the street from their house in Fontenay Rose, Paris. I love her so much. I am beginning a detoxification process. No cigarettes, no alchol, nothing artificial. I've consumed nothing nutritive for the past week and my body has hurt constantly. Job prospects are high. I got two offers! One from April Cornell on King Street and the other, as a serveuse in the new french bistro (Monsieur le boss knows a few choice words in english, Luca's little brother Adrian .. who is actually the same age as I am, is a chef there) It just opened up for business on the artsy side of town. I could work twice a week...We'll see how I handle 21 hours (18 hours of course work including yoga, geolgoy, francophoneculture, african geology, and french grammar plus 3 hours of drawing two with my favorite professor as an audit) first.

Falafel rocks.

"Political language, as used by politicians, does not venture into any of this territory since the majority of politicians, on the evidence available to us, are interested not in truth but in power and in the maintenance of that power. To maintain that power it is essential that people remain in ignorance, that they live in ignorance of the truth, even the truth of their own lives. What surrounds us therefore is a vast tapestry of lies, upon which we feed. As every single person here knows, the justification for the invasion of Iraq was that Saddam Hussein possessed a highly dangerous body of weapons of mass destruction, some of which could be fired in 45 minutes, bringing about appalling devastation. We were assured that was true. It was not true. We were told that Iraq had a relationship with Al Quaeda and shared responsibility for the atrocity in New York of September 11th 2001. We were assured that this was true. It was not true. We were told that Iraq threatened the security of the world. We were assured it was true. It was not true. The truth is something entirely different. The truth is to do with how the United States understands its role in the world and how it chooses to embody it." -Quote made by Harold Pinter from his Nobel Prize in Literature speech December 7, 2005 in Stockholm, Sweden. (www.nytimes.com "Playwright Takes a Prize and a Jab at US") Lucidity. Effort to rectify the national identity construction/ double conciousness by which politicians and the media condition the American public.

tick tock of my biological clock clang clang clang reverberating up to my ears not to worry feminist psychologists your pioneer tinkering with matches will not let go of her matchbook that could illuminate the timid shy ones she is only attracted to the beautiful names of those yet to come enthralled by the vagueness of destiny its luminosity blinking like yellow street lights simultaneity a gentle reminder of who you are and where you want to be. preface: not child bearing names fascinate me that's all. composing ether. hmm. girl--> adrienne-seurat adelaide van arsdall male-->raphael finlay-francisco van arsdall

Mid terms grades are over. I am still enrolled. No serious scars really, I think I can do better in Politics and Theater as long as I take more cohesive notes. Detoxing, beginning training for a local road race in December, and may be moving into La Maison Francaise, a language learning community. Plus it's in a historic house. I never thought I would get hit on at a school where the male/female ration is 3: 10. I was at a birthday party with Max and everybody had been drinking (most of them were from Holland and Germany or South America and were legal) and somebody turned on salsa music. I grabbed the guy nearest to me, and it was a Brazilian guy named Arthur. Later we were both in the kitchen talking about past relationships when he leaned in and tried to kissed me. I pushed him away and explained I was already in a relationship with somebody who I loved very much, that i would never want to hurt him by some infidelity issue. I don't see why people enjoy getting drunk and try to meddle in other peoples relationships. He understood but his drunkedness definitely impaired his judgement. Max and I had a very deep conversation about parents and upbringing. I hope we grow closer as friends.

I have been ultimately and royally falling in love with Charleston all over again. Why go home? I can honestly say I have had zero boredom time. I'm an early rise, I am out the door by 9. I run long distances along the border of the peninsula and begin class at midday. I forget to eat. I've lost over 10 pounds. I salsa dance every Thursday and Saturday night. I met a fabulous French guy. Think vegetarian meals, sunsets, gay bars. I'm not perfect. College is hard. I made a 67 on my homework last week. I set a goal to improve. More study time at the library. Take each stride seriously. My number one priority is school. I am involved. I went to the Shabbat Sushi dinner. I swatted flies at the Honors College Student Assoc. Cookout to raise money towards relief efforts for the victims of Katrina. I love calling my Dad at his office just to say I hope he's having a great day. Even better when they visit (and bring me a fresh supply of Silk).

On a less literary note, college seems to be a great experience. I am learning a lot. Not just the Law of Uniformitarianism or abstract theories on art but also about people. I have met many different layered people. The girls on my hallway seem approachable. I do not have a definitive posse yet. But do I even want one? It seems strange because in high school I always craved a permanent group of people to hang out with, but here I guess I realize the opportunity to make friends with people from all over is immense, so I make a special effort to seek them without feeling like I'm giving my original set of friends priority. Plus, I've reconnected with a few familiar faces. Kaera Raeburn from Girls State and I went for tea at this really chic tea bar called Teavana. Tyler Pittman, Andrew Stesincko, and Jordan Shealy invited me over. Alex and I went shopping at Fifty Two Point Five, a Papa Jazz type record, independent film, poster, pins, graphic design, spoof joke store on Wentworth St. French conversation with Professor Abdellatif Attafi is amazing. Finally I am in a class where the first weeks were NOT spend reviewing the verb avoir. He is from Morrocco, very well traveled, likes discussing stories from other cultures. I love the exposure to new cultures, something I never got in high school French class. We read a story that takes place in Martinique about a boy whose mother works in the hot, humid sugar cane marsh to pay for a book so her son can participate in school. They go to market but the book costs more than she has. She is humiliated in front of her son and everybody in the store. She continues to dream. She tells herself the book or my son will work in the sugar fields like me when he is only seven years old. So, after reading the story, our class discussed the cycle that exists between poverty and being both religious and illiterate. Did I mention this class is amazing? Geology is a lot of work, especially outside of class. I have gotten into the habit of taking my books directly to the library after my 3:15 Politics and Theater class and studying until 8 be it Geology, French, et cetera. I hope the payoff will be good grades. My objective is to keep a 3.5 on a 4.0 scale and stll be an honors kid when I graduate. Politics and Theater with Professors Sam Kattwinkel and David Hinton is a riot. This week we are studying the Futurist movement in Italy and its impact on audience engagement, the political culture of Italy... Highly specialized topics that relate to the overall general questions Is this play political? What is this play intending to cause? If anything at all? What makes a play political? I'm fulfilling a social science credit which are rarely offered in the Honors Prgm. They wanted to break away from the passé. One play opens up- a teacher about 30 reading "Dante was a great poet.." CURTAIN, the same teacher about 40 "Dante was a great poet" CURTAIN, the same teacher about 60 "Dante was a great poet"... Student asks "Why?" Teacher responds "Because it is written here. Sit down!" CURTAIN.... French conversation with Irene Critikos is unlike any other French course I've taken. We use contemporary film in class. First she turns off the sound, we use only observation such as "Ah, she's wearing a fur coat, therefore she must be rich" and from there form hypotheses about the character and her relation to the title "Le Feuite du Monsieur Monde" (The Intended Departure of Mister World) We learn vocabulary along the way. A funny instance cropped up yesterday. I asked how to say fur and she wrote fourure on the board. I had difficulty prononuncing the two distinct parts... Fou as in somebody who is crazy and rure like the word voiture. Slowly all of my classmates and I were blindly imitating the professors pronunciation in broken syllables of fou and rure. Drawing with Professor Sharon Lacey meets once a week on Wednesdays from 6:00 pm to 9:45 pm. I felt like a true artist carrying my drawing board to class. Even moreso when I set up my easel and drawing pad. I delicately touched each of the charcoal pieces, placing them on the lip of the easel. As I drew I stood listening to Yann Tiersen, which I mimicked. Professor Lacey came by and remarked I had incredible energy. I'm influenced by the accordion music, Professor. I made 3 concentrated drawings. Oh did I mention? I'm a nude model.

Today is my last night sitting on the front porch. It has been a fleeting summer day. Nothing has lasted long. Even the weather has come and gone ephemerally. The rain is a soft drizzle; steam is collecting on the sidewalks and driveway. I am thinking about myself. Who doesn't have regrets or leaves behind half-lived notions of grandeur. I wave goodbye to my sister as she walks briskly to her car, eager to return home and get out of the rain. A few solitary mosquitos buzz covertly near my ears and occassionally one bits my leg. The sound of the rain is primordial. Its scent beckons the smell of first rains. It is an earthly and richly organic smell. Everything is more fantastical when it is wet. The trees seem more green, though I know tomorrow morning they will be as green as my final evening sitting here. Sadie licks my leg and returns to her business, which is scratching behind her ear as if to say "You could be doing this for me". Her moppish Boykin Spaniel curls are so beautiful against the natural wood of the porch. Then it all stops. Elizabeth Anne has read into her instinctive hints. She kisses Sadie. Sadie rolls over, victim to ten year old cuteness. Elizabeth Anne has a recorder. She is playing nymphlike. I imaginer her as an elf in the traveling company of Tatiana. Her Shakespearean costume dwarfing her petite frame as she trumpets ahead of the fairy caravan. But this is not Stratford upon Avon. I am sitting on my porch watching the rain. I hope this moment stays with me when I am feeling lonely and the sun refuses to shine and I am away from my cozy memory of tonight.

I look into the mirror as soft eye-agitating puffs of talc whirl and fall dizzily like a little bicyclist, cowering because the guiding hand let go And I say nothing I have seen myself so many times before now but never so clearly no residue could tarnish my mind because I skinned my knees until they were raw and sped until it felt my feet would sprout wings...

Countdown to Europe: 11 days. OUIAS! JAAA! Siiiiiiiii! Could a European-wannabe possibly be more ecstatic?