Smarts

I've been scurrying around finishing all of the logistics and hoop-jumping for teaching at the University this fall. I've been trained on the Smart room & Blackboard. I've gotten my Griz card and keys to my office and Resource Room. I've signed up for and gotten my half-dozen passwords to get in and out of this mini academic universe.  I've signed a gazillion forms, confirmed my own references and updated my professional stuff.  I've ordered the textbooks.  I've met with the two Art History Professors that have taught this course in the past, for their advice and encouragement. I've tried to devour the required text as thoroughly and quickly as possible. I've measured all the ways I can think of in advance to make the course engaging, dynamic and successful for the students and me. I've shaped my plan for the course and left room for flexibility that I imagine I will want/need. I calculated, debated and finally polished off my grading system. (Thanks B for your help there.) Finally, I am about to post my Syllabus.

This week I have department meetings and my first class meets on Wednesday. For three hours. We meet once each week for three hours. And it will be intense - it's Contemporary Art Criticism for crying out loud!  A 300 level course. This will demand some chops on my part. I realized that I have never taught a three hour class that wasn't studio driven. Eek!  Why did I agree to this? 

Since I had been swinging between excitement and total melt down, last night I met with the Chair (who got me into this whole mess in the first place).  He answered my questions and gave suggestions, then quickly got down to business suggesting other courses that are keen to my own interests and research for me to develop. Now. And to teach it this winter or next Spring.In addition to this one. Gulp. 

I think the world of this guy, so there is no greater compliment or person for it to come from on this matter. Wow.  Talk about an academic sweeping you off your feet.  I have no idea how to answer - if I want to get so consumed with teaching.  But I appreciate the seduction and am relishing the flattery.

My reply to him, "Can I just get through Wednesday?"

Kriley

Unexpected sad news: one of my UM graduate school professors is gone.  The Memorial was yesterday.  Each of the presenters shared great, insightful stories that made everyone laugh, as well as cry.  And a few commented on the critique he would give if he walked in on the scene of all of us... "get up there and say what you have to say then get out."  I was thinking similarly. That he would ask probing and personal questions, listen thoughtfully, maybe ask some more questions, then tell each of us to get back to work.

Among many thoughtful notes that people made about him, for those who were available to it, was his ability to spin your fears into excitement and enthusiasm.  I felt that was very true, especially for some of my colleagues.  But what I was struck by the most from people's stories, was his generosity of time.  For many, it was clear, he had simply made himself available. I have no idea how he managed so much time, literally, but apparently this was the m.o. of his career. And that feeling and display of sincere interest in me and my creative development was absolutely true. 

I met Kriley and studied with him as he neared retirement. I respected his knowledge, vision and leadership. He treated me with the respect and consideration of a colleague and artist. I was not his protege and we did not share the same goals, but I would fight for him if need be and I trusted that he would fight for me. He did good and he was good. 

Evolution

Thanks to TP for posting this video link on her blog.  (click on my post title, Evolution, to see it.) 

When I grow up, I want to be just like TP, so I copy a lot of what she does.  She was my primary inspiration for starting a blog.

And, I was just thinking that I needed a category on beauty on my blog.  

So, Voila!

Please Vote For Me

A film by Weijun Chen

I don't have time to talk about it right now, but I recommend this movie.  

The Trucks

I am a fan of The Trucks. I think that I heard them on the local college radio station awhile back. Or through an online music source. If I make a mix, they have to be on it. If I want to cheer up a friend, I make them listen to The Trucks.  I listen to them every day.

These four young women are all kinds of sassy. To me, they are Fem-rock/Girl-power and I love them. They also wear goofy spandex unitard suits with sequin trim, but I didn't know that until I saw them last weekend.  Even with all of their attitude, you can feel their love for their audience. Plus, as B says, they also sell their own merch, which is good, and they are sparkly when they do it. I had already ordered one of their t-shirts online, but it didn't get here in time for the show... so I bought a mix CD and had them sign it. 

Anyway, they did not disappoint me. They camped, vamped and riled the crowd - girls and boys alike. (I wasn't sure if I was just feeling a chick thing over them, or if the vibe crossed gender.) They incited a pogo-ing mosh pit surrounded by fist-waving women and smiling boys.  Recs: March 1st, 3AM & Shattered.

They came to Missoula for Total Fest VII.  Total Fest is put on by Wantage, a record label based here in Missoula with bands from around the country.  The FEst takes place at The Badlander. During Total Fest, 3 stages play bands in rotation, with each band playing a 30 minute set. For the audience it is like a mini music buffet. 2 bands are always playing at once, plus a fourth 'extra' band plays in the lounge area where different bands and labels have tables of t-shirts, CDs, stickers, etc. If the band upstairs doesn't turn you on, check out downstairs, or take a break and wait about 20 minutes for the next turn over.

Maybe it was just how we timed it, but we also caught some good 2 piece bands and wonder if the two-piece band (drums/guitar) is a trend:

Birthday Suits

Two Japanese guys drove down from Minneapolis and apparently burned through a set of tires and barely made it. They are intense, uber-energy punk. I was mesmerized by the lead. They created the biggest rowdiest frenzy of testosterone that I saw there, but in a really great way.  We also bought one of their funny t-shirts with a panda design.

The Limbs

Okay, it is a stretch (pun intended) to call this a 2-piece band.  It is one guy. He plays drums and guitar at the same time and sings.  If I only heard him and didn't SEE him, I don't know what I would be saying here, but this guy is an amazing and brilliant thing.  He's not just making noise, either. Each foot hammers a different sized drum while he strums chords on the guitar, singing and smacks the cymbals with the end of the guitar.  Wow.

Vera

Another 2-piece band that I admire that was part of Total Fest, that I did not catch this past weekend, is called Vera. Vera is based in Missoula, is a 2 woman band that are smart and funny with great energy.  I think they are new, so I'll be eager to see them grow, record CDs, get a website and so on.  I hope to post more on them in the future.

Another word about this music scene. I feel a shift in what I see with live music since the 80s. Particularly rock. Events like these were complete madness and hideous displays of drug and drunkenness where bullies prevailed. It was dog-eat-dog. Especially for a girl, I think. And the better the band, the worse people behaved.  As if they felt permission from all of the energy.  What I saw at Total Fest though, was great. I think punk is back in the best sense of the word. Young men seem a lot less angry (or I am more objective) as they jump and collide they also hold each other up, laugh and hug each other a lot. I don't know how to explain it, but I like what I saw.  

And as far as events go, I am super critical of organized events since I have done a fair bit of event planning. The bands did an excellent job moving in (and off) in a timely fashion, keeping things rolling and revealing, I think, a lot of respect for one another.  Usually events with multiple 'shows' fall behind quickly either from disorganization or the pride and egos of presenters who just hate to leave the stage.  I didn't notice this here, if it happened. I also noticed bands helping out other bands that maybe didn't have a relationship before this event, sharing drum kits, helping clear the stage, etc. I saw a lot of that. 

Plus there were water coolers with ice-water that were kept full. This was important to me since it feels lame to wait in a long beer line for an ice water. I tip for it, but still. So the bar or the organizers cared about keeping everyone hydrated. How granola is that? (THANK YOU!) 

Wait. They didn't stop there. They also set up a buffet so people would eat. I didn't see excessive drunkenness or rudeness or trashiness. I guess that I have mostly been to these kinds of events in big cities, but really, not even a folk-festival is as civilized as this.  The average age was probably 25, so maybe kids are growing up with more manners.  I don't know.  

But for $15 per person, we showed up at 9:00 PM for an event that was a few hours into its second night and we saw eight bands and left by 11:30. Yeah, you can't beat that with a big stick or even a chain-saw.

My only complaint was figuring out the schedule of the line-up before that night, so I would know WHEN to catch The Trucks, which was all that I cared about at that time.  Now that I have been, I would go at the start. In a heartbeat.

Healing whatever ails you

with water and really good friends.

Break out my new suit at Flathead Lake.

Wear fabulous hats on our boat ride.

Until it starts to rain.

Lazy around the rest of the afternoon.

Then, head to Hot Springs.

Stay at Alameda's Motel with vintage stove and fridge. Soak at Leroy's tubs just up the hill. Dine at Symes with live music and dancing.

Don't miss the Huckleberry Festival!

Make friends with traveling craft vendors.

Travis Bean Guitars blow your mind

Afraid of the dark

At 3:30 AM last night, I heard a hideous hacking and retching outside. I got up and looked out my bathroom window into my side yard and watched a figure creeping around in the dark.

The sounds were big and deep - the size of a 350 pound man with harry arms and back. It was too dark to really see. Playing it safe, I dialed 911.  While the phone was ringing, I checked my back door that is harder to close since I painted it a month ago. While answering the 911 operator's questions, almost whispering mind you, I watched as the person lurched around the yard in different directions. They slipped into the darkest spot of my yard next to the lilac bushes.  Then they leaned on the 4 foot chain link fence into the neighbor's yard as if they were going to climb over. It took a few attempts. In the process of heaving themselves up, they busted up the willow fencing that I had wired to the chain link, smashing it down to twigs.  

As the person sat straddling the top of the chain link they were barely into the moonlight for me to see. They slumped forward on the fence with a leg on each side (which had to be seriously uncomfortable), swaying and clinging. I realized it was a woman.  Feeling safer somehow, I told 911, "Oh, it looks like it's just a drunk woman." As if that were okay.

Eventually she made it over, then over the next chain link fence to get out of the neighbor's yard and stumbled across front yards before I saw her disappear into a back yard at the end of the block. Once she was more out in the light, I could tell, even from behind, that she was young. Probably college age.

I said good night to 911 and went back to bed. I wondered what this girl's story was. I hoped for mundane things for her. I didn't get any sleep. I got up this morning glad not to be her. I keep picturing the last that I saw of her, probably tan from summer, in shorts and a tank top, trying to walk, constantly pulling her long hair to the side and off her neck like a habit.

Treadmill

How do we know when it is right to tell our brains to shut up? 

WHen I get on a stationary bike, a treadmill, elliptical (an absolutely bazaar new invention to me), or any contraption of the like, a mutiny happens in my head.  A battle ensues over what my body is doing but also about whatever crap has been rattling around in my emotional mineshaft. 

What if our support system - our friends, therapists and family - tell us what they think we want to hear? Half of the time, I hope that is what they are doing. Or telling us what they want for us? Maybe that isn't so bad.  I suppose the professionals are the most neutral, but still, what if their guidance is misdirected? I mean, after all, don't we lead our own stories? Or at least slant the perception of it? Trust issues anyone? And what about societal and cultural standards? How well are they matched to shape the individual experience? It is a real trick to see and feel your life for yourself and be objective about it simultaneously. Psych 101 for the rest of our freaking lives.

The artist, Skip Schuckman, uses some of his own invented language to organize and diffuse the mutiny of the mind, as well as physical creative acts. At the moment, I am most into his words.

emotional velcro: the greed and laziness that makes us stick to our ideas about ourselves.

protocolic: the discomfort that ensues from excessive politeness.

bulldozer consistency: the holding pattern within which many people live, even if it does not provide gladness or satisfaction.

I have never met Skip. I have only read about his work. I've never seen a single piece of his work in person, that I can remember.  His work is mostly private landworks and not really on display like conventional painting and sculpture. 

I imagine that the experience his patrons have with him is the real magic, more than the objet d'art.

I want to talk to Skip. I wonder what kind of guidance he would give.  Would he just reinforce the mutiny? Make a new one for me? Even without talking directly to him, he has crept his way into my head.

The fitness center plays an excellent selection of motivating music and I put my discussion with Skip on hold. Eventually, I buy into the whole scene and I am hopping around yelling, "Hit me with your best shot!"  

The mutiny subsides and I think, "yeah, this is alright. I can do this. This is good, even." I feel a change. I am less sarcastic. I choose to make fewer jokes (even if I think of them) or point out ironies (of which I am completely surrounded and feel obligated to point out now). I am almost nice. When I do crunches, instead of resisting, I throw in a couple more than what the trainer commands. I am beyond rolling with it. I am into it. I start to believe that I fit in and I belong here. I start to forget Skip.

"I Love Rock & Roll" kicks on. I sing. I dance. I feel the groove. I declare, "I love Joan Jett! She rocks!"

And my perky little blond barely-twenty-something trainer asks me, 

"Who is Joan Jett?"

Fair