iPortrait

iPortraits. Neat idea I had durring a photography assignment. 

This photo was taken using only the light from my iPod.

My original photo.

And then the process began. 

I used a projector to trace the highlights onto the paper, make sure it was proportioned correctly and all.

I know what you're thinking. "Alayna, isn't using a projector cheating?"

Well, this is what my teacher said when I asked him the same thing.

  "It isn't cheating because there are no rules. You just do what you have to do to get the job done."

Well that's... inspiring.

Anyway, on we go.

Black chalk pastel on black paper. 

Red and black

This isn't fair. The face looks a lot better than this in person, I  swear.  The pictures never end up  looking quite like they should.

Um... white on the polo shirt. And the buttons. In case you couldn't see the differences from the previous picture. 

This is a lot more what it looks like in the original photo, maybe because I  used the flash. But it  lies to you, because it isn't really that bright in the middle.

Actually the same day, just without the flash (I think).

Just a bit of erasing to do. The thing in the corner is an artists arm rest (technical term unknown),  it prevents  smudging the drawing while you are working on it.

The whole thing. Done. I'm a show off now, and like to put my initials really big  in the corner. It's my artist's signature. 

Again, the flash lies to you... and makes it look better.

Boring words

Just so you know, I kept my resolution and I've been writing. This week I wrote some scholarship essays. They are very boring. I am not going to include them. But just know that I've done them and will continue to do them.
I have a lot of other stuff blog about, and I'll catch up on that sooner or later.

Color Run!

I've always wanted to do this.
So I did.... I volunteered.
It's a little bit (very) different.
But here it is.

I was with the NHS/Key Club Bonanza volunteer team.
Some people started out like this

In a word? White.

And ended up... colored.


Whereas WE started.... yellow (ironic...because we're from Bonanza)

We had to get there at 6:30 to help set up. Divyed up into colors (I was pushing for orange of course, but we didn't actually get to choose), put up signs and flags, the big arch thing, laid out plastic to protect... some of the street, opened the barrels of powder paint, put it into ketchup/mustard things, and waited.
And then... we went to work.

We were on the 3rd K or the run (whatever that means).

This is what it looked like once things got started. Powder paint creates a toxic haze and... you just keep throwing it.

They passed out face-masks and gloves. We thought we were too cool for the masks... until the thing started. Then they were on/off... trying to find a good way to breathe. But there was no escaping the yellow. In your mouth, up your nose, hair, eyelashes, lips, ear canal... it was EVERYWHERE.

I was surprised by how many pregnant ladies and stroller-toting parents there were (one dad had a thick plastic covering over the stroller to protect the kid. Father of the year). This run attracts people of all types. There were racers running in the middle of the road who (how dare they) kept their shirts perfectly white the throughout the entire race because they were too darn fast and to darn far away for you to nab them in time. There were the racers who would literally stop in front of you until you spattered them sufficiently. There were racers who would thank you for squirting them, and others that would ask you to squirt a certain part ("Can you get my headband?"). And of course there were some who would try to sneak handfuls of paint or even rip the bottle out of your hand and run off with it (Ya, that happened to me. I ran after him for a minute... but there you go.). 

And then there were the REAL freaks. Running in a wedding dress/tux or toga, filming with an iPhone or camera (usually in a ziplock bag, or something). My personal favorite was a guy with a go-pro camera at the end of a long stick that he held behind him, running along asking people to squirt or hug him (yes, I did).

We had to be super spirited too. Sometimes it was a chore, shouting through the dust when you've been standing there for the past 3 hours doing the same thing over and over again. But most of the time it was fun.

And in the end... we had to sweep the street. We thought it was a cruel joke.  It turns out we just had to get enough of it off so that the sweepers could come through.

This is what yellow looks like.

Taking the yellow off of the streets... and pumping it into the air. Makes perfect sense.
As we were walking back to the car, we saw some of the other volunteers. It was pretty obvious which stations they had come from. The smurfs/cookie monsters were from the blue station. Oompa Loompas/Jersey Shore tans were from the orange station.


And here we are. Just ... YELLOW.
The best "minions" a girl could ask for.


*I stole a lot of these pictures from Facebook. I don't think they'll notice or care. 

Abandoned.

There is no feasible limit to the wondrous things you are likely to find in an art room. 

I love art rooms. There are so many hidden treasures: props, supplies, remnants from moments past, mystery rooms, posters, pictures, and equipment. 

People migrate through art rooms. No one lingers long within those walls, the haven for creativity. Students stay for a year, a teacher... maybe a few more. But eventually, everyone leaves. Someone else comes in, is overwhelmed by the "stuff" that populates the room and is hidden away in the cabinets and closets, and tries to make sense of the chaos.

But no one quite manages.

And that is the beauty of the art room. 

No matter who is "in charge" or what students are in the class, the art room is all its own. People come and re-arrange things, bring in something new, and add their artistic fingerprints to the ancient room. New fingerprints never completely erase the older ones. The older fingerprints fade, but are always present in this room, where nothing is lost.  

The art room is a place where anyone can feel comfortable, because all kinds of people have wandered through and left something behind. 

I love the art room.

But one thing has always made me sad.

Unfinished and abandoned art.

I've had 4 different art classes at Bonanza, each one in a different room with a different teacher (I'm somewhat of an "art teacher black widow.") Each teacher managed things differently. Sometimes we had portfolios, sometimes we had cubbies, other times, the teacher indiscriminately used the trash can to file art more... permanently. (No. I don't think I'll ever really get over that, Ms. Welsing.)

Sometimes things are left behind, and the only choice is to throw it away. 

Earlier this week, I was in one of the back rooms, when I discovered some cubbies. They weren't really hidden, just... no one had bothered them for a LONG time.

So I looked inside.

There were some blank boards and canvasses, some where barely started, some were almost finished, some were completely finished paintings.

That's what makes me sad. Art is beautiful, and great and all, but it means so much more to the artist than it ever will to the casual observer. A painting is made up of moments dedicated by the artist to its completion. Something inspired and motivated that person to create. Leaving all of that behind is one of the greatest daily tragedies I can think of.

 I don't know if I am making any sense. 

A picture is worth a thousand words, but it's so much more than that. I think it's a part of your soul. To abandon that, at ANY stage... is just sad and wrong.

Anyway. Maybe this will help you see. 

These are some of the things I found. That painting of the mountain? It's in Ireland, painted from a photo taken by Mrs. Moore 3 years ago. How do I know? I did a painting from the same photo. It looks different, and I always wondered what this one would look like, if it were finished. But it never will be. The tiger? Could have been entered into the Bengal contest. Probably would have placed. The reddish picture in the foreground? As far as I can tell, it's a picture of a ginger girl and a giraffe. It looks good so far... but this is as far as it will ever get. The greatest tragedy? Not ONE of these paintings is signed. No name, no date.... nothing. Just abandoned.

And then there are these paintings. They are beautiful. They are finished. They are signed.
And they were abandoned.

 I would love to claim these. I would love to take them and frame them and show them off... put them somewhere special. But even more than that, I would love to find Hanna Korn and give them back to her.

Why would someone leave these behind?


I have never not finished a painting/drawing/whatever. I never end up liking it as much when it's done as I did when it was a work in progress. But I always finish. And I always keep it, or give it to someone REALLY special. (Except when my teacher "filed it away" for me... in the trash.)

It's a noble thing to start something... but it's useless if you don't finish it, and tragic if you don't do anything with it.
And I guess that in life, "it" can be anything.
If that makes any sense.
Ok, I'm done.

This kind of reminds me of a post I did awhile ago...lost-and-stolen-items
OH! I just found out how to do a link! How exciting! Maybe this post had a point after all.

Self Portraits of the past

I remember freaking out about having to do a self portrait this year. I did a rather fantastic blog post about it. (Learn To Look)

As much as I love this picture, I took a few liberties. I styled my hair as it naturally fell... but in a way that totally hid my ears. Ears are ugly and hard to draw. So I covered them. 

This is the resulting picture. 

I remember freaking out when I had to do a self portrait in Sophomore year. I must have mixed the skin tone 5 or 6 different times. I completely re-painted the nose 4 times. When I finally hit the right color for my skin, I finished it within 20 minutes. I didn't put nostrils in, because I was afraid to mess with my perfect skin color. And then it was done. 

This is the resulting painting.

 Here  is what I DON'T remember. A fourth grade self-portrait done in watercolor. It's messy, childish, streaked, blotted, and all of the pencil lines are still showing. 

And I love it.

 I found it when I was digging through Elementary School stuff. This is the only picture in which I was brave enough to show my ears. Probably because I didn't know enough to care that they wouldn't come out quite right. I drew my nostrils. 

I wish I was as brave as my 9-year-old-self used to be. 

Nice little trip down memory lane.

Un-Valentines

I love holidays. ALL of them. Valentines day isn't excluded. People expect things, people feel lonely, but it's still a great holiday. Celebrate the love you feel. For family, friends, pets... yourself. Take it how you get it. Give what you can, don't expect anything in return.
Blah blah blah.
Ok. With that in mind, read this as a bit of fun. 

The Reluctant Lover:

"Roses have thorns,

Fairy-tales aren't true,

Prince Charming ran off,

 So I settled for you."

The Average Pet:

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I pooed in the lawn,

And left it for you."

The Hater:

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

If I had amnesia, 

I'd forget you."

The Perfect Girlfriend:
"The temple is white,

The Gospel is true,
If you go on a mission, 
I'll wait for you."

The Practical Girlfriend:
"Those two years were long,
I was lonely and blue, 
I found an RM,
And he's replaced you."

*The Loner:
"Roses are red,
I have a phone,
Nobody texts me.
Forever alone."

The Stalker:
"I saw you this morning,
And last night too.
If you'd be my Valentine,
I'd stop stalking you."
 
From the Friend-Zone
"I'm the one that you talk to.
The shoulder when you cry.
I know that I love you,
And my heart doesn't lie.  
I'm more than your friend,
And I wish you could see.
  We'd make a great couple.
Take a chance on me?"

*I didn't actually write this one. But the other ones are mine.   

  

Words that are Mine

I apologize for my .... well, the tone of my last post. I could delete it. But I'm not going to. Even if it stinks, remembering times when I was really down will only make the happy time more precious.
It's ok to be sad, but for the betterment of myself and what I am trying to say, I'll try to stick to this one piece of advice from now on. "Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility."-William Wordsworth
And sure. Not everything is is poetry, but I think it's applicable to a lot of other stuff too.

Anyway. I think I'll post some of the little stuff I've come up with throughout the week. Words of a poetic nature. Words of wisdom. Words of emotion. They come in many forms. But words are important. So here are some of mine.

"Silly girl, dreams don't come true,

Wake up, and smell the roses.

Foolish child, the world's more fair

Than anyone supposes."

"When there is entirely too much to do within an incredibly small window of time, the tendency is to do nothing useful at all. And that is that."

1/26/2013

"Point me in the right direction

Show me a different way to go

Give me only soft correction

Only this way will I grow."

1/29/2013

Dial one.

Gosh. I'm a complete idiot.
And I'm totally going to fail in the real world.
I can't drive, call long distance, problem solve, or find things that I used to keep really good track of. I have  a complete lack of focus, and I'm on a fast track to nowhere. I've had all the right opportunities. The only problem now, is me.
And it's just hard.