The BIG Race

I am planning an underground tortoise and hare race. It will take place in a shady warehouse where cigars will be smoked and the bouncers will be so secure in their sexuality they will have a heart that says Dad tattooed on their raging bicep (instead of Mom, even though they love their moms), but they will be so buff and scary no one will even question it. Anyway, it will be the race of our generation. To prove it, all in attendance will occupy the warehouse and blast Deadmaus5 for days and days eventually roasting the tortoise and hare on a spit for nourishment. Except it won't be the tortoise or the hare, but that weird bark substitute that vegans like. We will certify the tortoise and hare organic and fair trade... ensuring works rights. If the race goes on for more than two hours they get a 15 min break every 4 hours. We will also pay both living wages. Please place your bets. Yes, I'm talking to you, Aesop.

...

I concede.  Officially a cynic.

Desert stacks. Oil on canvas.  2011. Uban.

Wash it down with espresso...

Italian Monster Satisfying Himself with the Underwear of American Girls.  Pen, pencil, watercolor, colored pencil on paper.  2011. Uban.

I'm still looking...

Gouache on paper. 2011. Uban.

Gouache on paper. 2012. Uban.

Gouache on paper. 2012. Uban.

Related post:  Jacks and Rollerskate Girl

Hug me. Now.

I'm making color swatches.  Now, I have a binder of color swatches from magazines...  I'm planning to take a bunch of those free paint tiles from Home Depot tomorrow to add to the swatch binder.  I think I'll sit around for a few hours tomorrow and mix colors in gouache and watercolor and acrylic.  I could have made this easier on myself... and bought one of those art store books, but I think it's cheating.

Hugs.  (Me and Cait.)

Sometimes... I wish I weren't so intense.  But I need to be if I'm preparing for battle.  Senior studio next semester with Susan Moore and Donna Nelson... bring it.  I guess, I could be more intense... Van Gogh ate his yellow.  That's WAY intense.  If I ever get that hardcore, I hope I keep my ears.

I need a hug.  (This is my roomie, Sean.)

Still.  I got into senior studio... 100 majors and 20 spots.  I  got in.  I don't want anyone to regret letting me in. My friend is bringing a hot plate so we can cook dinner at Tyler.  I'm bringing my sleeping bag.  24 hour access to the building is both a gift and curse.  The insanity of the next two semesters of my life should be considered an art piece in itself.

I need a hug.  (My friends Hiroki and Cait.  Sean again.)

It's not that different from some of the other majors.  The architecture majors sleep in their studios.  They're lucky enough that their predecessors leave cots, mini-fridges, and microwaves behind.  The health professions kids go days without sleeping.  The engineering students can be seen at the Tech Center wearing the same clothes a week straight...  I want to live in a world where this level of intensity is the norm.  Once I had a professor lecture our class on the importance of changing our clothes during midterms and finals week.

Perhaps, I can make a binder for everything.  I'm thinking it would be nice to have a binder with different poses. Sitting poses.  Then a binder of home interiors.  A binder of hands.  Of eyes.

I probably have some level of OCD.

I need a hug right now.   (This is my friend Mickey on NYE...  he said his eyes were closed because he meant it.)

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