Unmasking and Retrospection

To those hardcore readers of my blog, I thank you for your dedication. I wish to quash the rumors with this post, for they are not rumors, they are true.

First off, this is indeed my last post. As the pilot semester for Fine Arts 100 draws to a close, so too must this blog. Tears are not necessary, but they are of course appreciated.

Secondly, it appears I have said too much in my last post, revealing that I was in the group that created the "Tree of Life" for last night's gala. To protect the innocent members of team "Sunflower Galaxy," it is time for me to unmask myself.

I, Totally Not Ryan Krasman, am in fact Ryan Krasman. Ah, but isn't it always the one you least suspect.

Truth be told, I've been gradually unmasking myself for a while now. As the posts piled up, I have found myself, subconsciously of course, revealing more and more about my inner self. Of course, I never dropped the wit and sarcasm I habitually lace my posts with, but if it brought you even one chuckle, I'm sure you didn't mind.

Now, as this class ends, I leave you with two things.

First off, my retrospective on this class. I can honestly say that this class was one of the strangest experiences of my life. I never, for a minute, knew what was going to happen in a lecture or a tutorial. I looked at the beginning of our group project and did not suspect how it would turn out. I looked at my blog, empty except for one post, and didn't know what would come out next.

But the creativity kept flowing. This course encouraged my creativity like very little before has done, and whatever my feelings about specific lectures that may have fallen flat, or tutorials that could sometimes feel like timesinks, I owe this class that much in gratitude.

Overall, this class felt very much like what it is: a first draft. Sure, you need to substitute "you're" for "your" in a few places, and some of the sentences run on to nothing, but the thought is there - the heart, the idea, the originality is all there for the class to see. I wish only the best for this most creative of endeavors.

And second (but not least), a retrospective poem; the poem I wrote, in my head, on the way home from the first tutorial. I wrote a lot of poetry for this blog, not all of it good, but I assure you this poem is the best of the lot. It has a true sentiment behind it, a wit that I pride myself on, and a sexist line that could get me in a lot of trouble (I will state right now, the offending line is only used to make the character look ridiculous). Poetry was my break from the box; not something I've often done before, and something I may do in the future. I owe that to this class. Therefore, I leave you with "An Old Poet to his Pupil".

AN OLD POET TO HIS PUPIL

“Rhyme is poetry, they're together,
It has been such, it shall be ever,
Poetry, rhyme, they're together,
Don't forget this, never ever.

All of poetry shall be rhymed,
It has been such since beginning times,
Poetry is nothing without rhyme,
And words that sound at convenient times,
It is only beautiful and sublime,
If it carries with it rhyme.

A knight rides horses clothed in leather,
It has been such, it will be ever,
Man cannot predict the weather,
It has been so, this changes never,
Women fail at each endeavour,
And this will stay the same forever,
Rhyme and poetry go together,
Don't forget this, never ever.”

“But, Master,” the pupil asks, “What of the new poetry?”
“New poetry?” the master snaps.

“Yes, Master, the poetry of a new age.
Liberated from rhyme and structure.
For, rhyme and structure are the obstacles of beauty,
Not the marks of it. Beautiful words,
Ideas that contradict, yet confirm.
Challenge, and champion.
Words that burrow between the ears of the human, into the mind,
Then sharply descend, plummeting, striking the heart,
With a fierce, resonating blow.
Then spreading to the eyes,
Once closed, now open. Seeing green where before there was red,
And, most importantly, beauty where once there was grey.
What of that poetry, Master?”

“That poetry does not exist!
Poetry only can consist
Of rhyme and rhythm, not of this!
Sit down, boy, and do desist.

How shall you have the independent mind that you have sought,
If you ramble off of time and forget what I have taught?

Poetry, rhyme, they're together,
DON'T FORGET THIS, never ever.”

Gala

During some of my posts, it may have become clear to my readers that I have, at best, an ambiguous outlook on this class. While I believe it has been created and run with the best of intentions, I have found some of the lecture topics, and their relevance to the average creative individual, to be somewhat hit-or-miss.

The gala was a different story.

Arriving early, 5:30 to my usual 6:30, I saw several projects set up already. It soon became clear to me that nobody was phoning this one in, so to speak. The days of high schoolers and their devil-may-care attitude towards school was over. Every project had a unique premise and clearly took a good chunk of time to create.

As the night went on, video performances mixed with creative mingling. My group had an opportunity to carry out a discussion on our project with all four of the members of the "teaching team," as well as a long conversation with Brian Hendricks, who attended as well. I found this conversation to be the best part of the course - period - to date. It almost seemed like the teaching team didn't anticipate the quality level they were met with in this project. There was nothing but rants and raves for our project, a "Tree of Life," so to speak. Whether or not this carries over to the marking stage remains to be seen.

Even as I sat to the side of the room, alone with my thoughts, I couldn't help but smile. Choruses of singing came from the centre of the room, artistic discussion found its way to all corners, and people circulated, genuinely having a good time.

I applaud the rousing success of this gala; I will discuss it more during my second post today. But, for now, I leave you with my newest poem, written about last night's grand event.

THE ARTIST'S PLACE

For a night,
chemistry and physics are forgotten,
and fear of grades are thrown
from the windows.

For a night,
there is no competition,
no need for a winner
among artists,

For a night,
it is no mere place;
it is the artist`s place.

To belong to them
for as long as their works stay intact
in memory or in form.

To belong to them
for as long as academia falls behind the arts
as often as we all can get away with it.

To belong to them
for as long as they remember the night
when art ran wild.

Introspection on Introversion

I'm growing weary of these two week breaks between classes. Partially, because I can't bear to go without this class for so much as a week, but also because I have to write about the same thing twice. However, it gets more tedious: the subject from our last lecture is actually one I've covered twice. So, here we go. Last kick at the subconscious can.

This is my self-referencing, sometimes contradictory and somewhat haphazard introspection on introversion.

As I mentioned between quips in my most previous post, I have been classified both by myself and by the infallible Jungian personality test as an introvert. I was told this means that I draw energy from solitude and lose energy sometimes in large groups. I would simply state that I prefer to be alone sometimes.

It can feel like most other people have a social leg-up on me at times. There are times where I don't feel like part of a group. I don't like groups, anyways; I prefer to be either alone or on a one-to-one basis with someone I can understand and who understands me.

What this has to do with my creativity I don't understand. Often, I act in direct opposition to the stereotypical introvert: I can be rather loud, and I am by no means shy around people I know; I also enjoy performing (anything!) more than almost anything else. Perhaps the guy who thinks up stereotypes screwed up his definition of "introvert"; maybe he doesn't understand what it means, and maybe I don't either.

Hmmm. It would seem that by using an introspection as your creative act you run the risk of revealing too much. I shall skip to a summarizing, as I feel I've made my point before:

I'm back to square one. What's an introvert?

Personality Test: Unlock a Better You!

Tired of not knowing who you REALLY are?

Are you searching for a quiz to help you find out?

Eager to be lumped in a box?

Well then, this personality test is for you! While not necessary superior to the more famous Jungian test, this test is most assuredly not inferior... for how can anything be inferior to a worthless item?

Is all of this buildup getting you anxious? Well, wait no more! It's time to begin!

QUESTION 1

You find yourself in a room with a lion, a banana, and a recording of all of the songs from Rent. What do you do?

A) Eat the banana.

B) Feed the banana to the lion.

C) Eat the lion.

D) Scream in the presence of a Rent CD; beg for the lion to devour you.

QUESTION 2

You are falling out of an airplane. What do you do?

A) Write a poem.

B) Write a song.

C) Paint a picture.

D) Die on impact with the ground.

QUESTION 3

You meet an attractive member of the opposite sex. What do you do?

A) Write her a poem.

B) Write her a song.

C) Paint her a picture.

D) Die on impact with the ground.

QUESTION 4

I fought the law...

A) But the law won.

B) I MISS MY BABY!!!

C) Why would you do a thing like that?

D) You sure did.

QUESTION 5

Boo!

A) Funny.

B) AHHHHH!!!

C) You're a real jerk, you know that?

D) Die on impact with the ground.

All right! Pencils down everybody!

Oh right... virtual test. Well, step away from the keyboard and mosey over to the mouse, it's time to add your scores!

If you scored mostly A:

You are a human being! You enjoy breathing, eating, drinking, and occasionally having fun!

If you scored mostly B:

You are a homo sapien! Whether or not you believe we descended from monkeys is up to you!

If you scored mostly C:

You are a bipedal mammal of some kind! Probably a human though, if you can understand this.

If you scored mostly D:

You are all of the above! The best of all three worlds, rolled into one!

--------------------------------

The above test was, of course, meant as a parody. But, whatever result you got on my test, ask yourself: is it really that worthless compared to the Jungian test?

The Jungian test told us whether or not we were introverts or extroverts, but really, I don't think people need help figuring that one out. Explain to someone what an introvert is and an extrovert is; they'll tell you which one they are, and they'll be right. I'm an introvert; though I am not shy amongst my friends (I am quite the opposite), I can be downright antisocial amongst those I don't know. I have issues with meeting new people and can't always focus in a group; when I'm alone, I get things done. I knew that going into the test and no matter what the test said, I wouldn't have been swayed. (To the credit of the test, it agreed with me.)

The other stuff is a little more abstract. For example, I'm not entirely sure I understood the perception versus sensate option. For one thing, wouldn't you use those two things in different situations? There may not be a clue from your senses about how someone is feeling, but you can usually perceive it if you try. Of course, perception is no good for deciding if something is poison or not; usually your senses will help you read the bottle, or at least taste the bleach.

Also, does it not seem that my not knowing what these qualities even mean could impede their helping me? I mean, if this is supposed to be a test to show me my "true personality", I think the results should be a little less abstract.

But overall, my biggest issue with this test is being lumped into a box. Sometimes it is necessary, but an evaluation of someone's personality is not one of those times. We don't benefit from this evaluation; no one does. It is too inaccurate, tainted by the questionable honesty of an average human being, and more importantly, dismissed by the true individuality of any given human.

So, to contradict my statement at the beginning of this blog, maybe my test really is superior; I gave you a canvas from which to work, the result of your quiz being a human being, as individual and unique as any other.

Brian Hendricks: The Lecture

First of all, to explain the title: This was the best speech we've had, inspiration-wise. I can expect it will be the best one. Perhaps it went off in a few more directions then we were accustomed to, but that's what made it special. It didn't come off as rehearsed, or planned. There were no visual aids. All it was was pure inspiration. It was one person talking about what inspires his creativity, what HE considers to be creative, and just showing us what we can do.

It was simple. There were no lectures about creativity as viewed from a subject standpoint - just personal views on creativity. I have to say, it was absolutely engaging, and it fit perfectly into what I thought this class would be like after the first class.

However, this kind of a lecture poses a problem for me, creative act-wise. This is a difficult lecture to have to tie into a creative act.

The more I thought about this, though, I realized that I could attach ANYTHING to this particular lecture as a creative act. This was the first lecture that really inspired you to break boundaries in your creativity. Therefore, I present you with my unrelated, but related, creative act. And no, I will not do this more than once, because I expect this to be the only lecture of this type.

INSPIRATION

He went for a walk,

He hit with his feet,

A big speckled rock

That he kicked up the street.

He got so inspired,

But hard as he tried,

Out went the fire,

The moment had died.

He looked at the clouds,

And traced their fat shapes,

A pig and a cow,

A crow and an ape.

He got so inspired,

But hard as he tried,

Out went the fire,

The moment had died.

He sat in his bed,

Apprising the day,

Mundane and no different

Except in one way.

He made no great art

From internal fire,

But was it enough

Just to be inspired?

Sigmund Freud and his Technicolor Dreamcoat

Sigmund Freud. A name that has become synonymous with psychology and well known even to the everyday person. If you know anything more than his name, then you certainly know that he was obsessed with sex, or so it would seem.

He linked almost everything to sex. He claimed that "sexual desire is at the core of human emotion." Whether or not this is true, we can only guess. But what seems altogether more likely is that it was false; perhaps this was just how he saw himself, the person that he best understood, and he projected this onto others as well. Perhaps it was only Freud who was all about sex.

Anyhow, this week's lecture was definitely interesting; perhaps more so than some of the earlier ones. The name of Freud is well known, and Jung is familiar, but the name of Adler is a more abstract one. It is interesting that the three most famous psychiatrists/psychologists of this era came from the same place and the same group, rather than developing ideas independent of each other. While their ideas turned out differently, they all seemed to start from the same point.

For my creative act, I have applied my limited knowledge of the Bible to my more extensive knowledge of Google search, and, with my newfound information, created a short narrative where the Pharaoh has his dreams interpreted, not by Joseph, but by Sigmund Freud.

That night, the Pharaoh had a dream; a dream of seven lean cows that rose from the river and devoured seven fat cows. He dreamt also of seven withered ears of grain that devoured seven fat ears of corn. The Pharaoh asked his wise men to interpret the dream, but none could; but the Pharaoh heard had heard of a common man, named Freud, who called himself a Psychiatrist. Pharaoh sent for Freud and asked him to interpret the dream.

Freud told the Pharaoh that his dreams were signs of sexual repression; the corn represented the penis, being the same shape, and the varying sizes and thicknesses of the corncobs symbolized his own feelings of sexual inadequacy.

Freud also told the Pharaoh that the dreams of the cattle signified the strength of his id; it was a part of his unconscious mind that was running wild. He was having a difficult time repressing his urges to mindlessly slaughter cattle as an extension of his id.

Freud was thrown off of the pyramids. Pharaoh sent for Joseph.

Colorfield Microsoft Painting

Greetings to the readers of my blog; all two or three of you. Perhaps I should begin to advertise this blog as a blog of higher learning, so as to attract more visitors. But no matter, on to more important things. High art was never for the masses, anyways.

In accordance with our lecture by Dr. Catherine Harding, I today present to you my masterpiece /weekly creative act, in the field of "color field art". Perhaps my piece is more literal than my predecessors, but I see it as an evolution. But enough of the disclaimers.

Of course, in its current form, it is difficult to see all of its intricacies, but I shall explain them as best I can. This is my magnum opus "Life: A Trilogy with an Epilogue". It represents the three main stages of life, in addition to the short stage known as old age but here referred to as the Epilogue.

The first stage contains the green innocence and wide open mind of a child, the second the futile rebellion and new permanent tendencies of the teenagers, and the third represents the grey, narrow rut of middle age. The Epilogue is both grey and green, as the elderly try to reconnect with their childhoods despite their aged bodies. This area is also speckled with death, the small black dots, which are finally realized at the far right of the piece, solidifying into one black line.

As you can see, this "painting" is rife with meaning. During the planning stage, it took me at least an hour to conceive of completely. The execution of this masterpiece, however, took less than ten minutes. Had I the time and resources, I would have actually painted it, and even with my limited skill it would take mere hours to paint.

Is it the thought that makes the art? Dr. Harding would tell us so. But I would contest that, without the appropriate technical ability to match the underlying thought, it is not art, or at the very least, not high art. The paintings of the colorfield masters were less than impressing to me; the idea was there, and the emotion, but the technical ability seemed lacking. I am not one to say what is or isn't skill in painting, but I can tell you that, given fingerpaints in the correct colors, a toddler could make a work of the same quality, as long as the thought has already been provided by an adult. Any work can be made to mean anything by an observer, so what is the value of the thought anyways?

In closing, I would like to say that, while technical ability is not as important to visual art as the thought behind it, it is, nonetheless, important. This just may be my final visitation to the world of visual art; I hope you view my final work as the last gift of a master.

Lecture Response

[NOTE - NOVEMBER 24 - THIS IS NOT ONE OF THE SEVEN ENTRIES I'VE SUBMITTED FOR MARKS. THEY CAN BE FOUND ABOVE THIS POST]

For a nice change, today's creative act will be a response to our first three lectures.

After hearing lectures from several of our guest speakers, I must say that I am not always agreeing with the words from the podium. I suppose my disagreement is good; it shows that I am thinking for myself, which, after all, is the point of this course. But some of what is being said comes across as weird to me, and I'm not sure if it is because I'm enlightened, or rather, because I'm closed-minded.

For example, when discussing the value of art, we first must decide: what is art? Well, as any layman who has ventured into a MoMA can attest, modern art is weird for weird's sake. It causes you to think, all right, but for all of the wrong reasons. For an example, let us use a work exhibited in the Georges Pompidou Centre for modern art in Paris as an example (see picture).

We see that the work consists of nothing except for three panels, covered completely in white. The artist says that this is a statement of nothingness. I say that it is weird for weird's sake.

What makes this piece special? Is it technical accomplishment? Of course not; any house painter could create such a "work of art." Some would say that its value lies in the originality of its concept; as if an artist leaving a canvas blank was something new.

Does this piece have any value? Perhaps it separates the merely curious from the hardcore artistic, because surely anybody who is on the fence regarding the value of modern art would be pushed onto the side of detractor by this piece.

What traditionally made art valuable was beauty of craftsmanship and the technical ability of the artist. And though it is true that the rigidness of medieval and Renaissance art was its drawback, the works are still popular today because of the ability of the artist.

Look at the picture again. Is it art if anyone could paint it? You could paint it, given three buckets of paint, three panels and three hours.

No, I don't consider myself closed-minded. I just believe that art, especially as far as paintings go, has gone too far in its quest for the weird. That goes for poets who write purposely nonsensical randomness and musicians who hammer on clashing semitones and call it high art. The best kind of art is original AND technical; otherwise, who's to say what's a masterpiece?

PS. Computer problems pushed this entry back a day. Consider this week 3's post.

Technical Difficulties

[NOTE - NOVEMBER 24 - THIS IS NOT ONE OF THE SEVEN ENTRIES I'VE SUBMITTED FOR MARKS. THEY CAN BE FOUND ABOVE THIS POST]

Well, this is going to be a marvelous post for week 2. I guess some explanations are in order. First of all, I would absolutely love to post the song that I wrote for this week's blog, but the program I wrote it with is having difficulty exporting. So, while I can't show you the song, I can discuss it.

Some background first: I am actually a musician; I learned piano first, then the trumpet, and most recently, the drums. I have been in a few bands over the years and I am currently, the drummer for a rock trio.

This song I wrote will be for our second album, our first having already been recorded. We play primarily comedy songs, but I'm having a difficult time writing lyrics for this song. In the future, I will post the lyrics to this song, but I haven't even decided if they should be comedic or not at this point.

Well, I committed a musical act of creativity this week, but was unable to summon the evidence for the purposes of this blog. I will attempt to remedy this problem in the days to come, but I just wanted to get a post up before the week is up.

Thanks for reading!

First Post on the New Blog

[NOTE - NOVEMBER 24 - THIS IS NOT ONE OF THE SEVEN ENTRIES I'VE SUBMITTED FOR MARKS. THEY CAN BE FOUND ABOVE THIS POST]

Wow... all of this intimidating empty space. This is something I'm supposed to be happy about, I guess. I'm a creative person now, or so I've been told. Thereby and therefore, I present to you what I suppose is my first creative act. It is, in fact, a poem that I wrote... while taking a DIFFERENT ROUTE BACK TO MY DORM. Yeah, take that. I just killed two birds with one stone. So I guess I don't have to write another entry next week, huh? Man, that was easy.

And now, for the poem. I'm going to explain a little bit so that I don't get hate mail from women... women being who poetry is supposed to impress, after all. You see, there is a rather sexist line in this poem, but let me assure you, that is not my view. It is the view of the character who is, in fact, supposed to be shown as old-fashioned and misguided in the context of this poem. So, with that legalese out of the way, and no women coming to knock down my door and lynch me, I present my first poem in forever, "An Old Poet to his Pupil".

“Rhyme is poetry, they're together,

It has been such, it shall be ever,

Poetry, rhyme, they're together,

Don't forget this, never ever.

All of poetry shall be rhymed,

It has been such since beginning times,

Poetry is nothing without rhyme,

And words that sound at convenient times,

It is only beautiful and sublime,

If it carries with it rhyme.

A knight rides horses clothed in leather,

It has been such, it will be ever,

Man cannot predict the weather,

It has been so, this changes never,

Women fail at each endeavour,

And this will stay the same forever,

Rhyme and poetry go together,

Don't forget this, never ever.”

“But, Master,” the pupil asks, “What of the new poetry?”

“New poetry?” the master snaps.

“Yes, Master, the poetry of a new age.

Liberated from rhyme and structure.

For, rhyme and structure are the obstacles of beauty,

Not the marks of it. Beautiful words,

Ideas that contradict, yet confirm.

Challenge, and champion.

Words that burrow between the ears of the human, into the mind,

Then sharply descend, plummeting, striking the heart,

With a fierce, resonating blow.

Then spreading to the eyes,

Once closed, now open. Seeing green where before there was red,

And, most importantly, beauty where once there was grey.

What of that poetry, Master?”

“That poetry does not exist!

Poetry only can consist

Of rhyme and rhythm, not of this!

Sit down, boy, and do desist.

How shall you have the independent mind that you have sought,

If you ramble off of time and forget what I have taught?

Poetry, rhyme, they're together,

DON'T FORGET THIS, never ever.”