urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci Melissa Heer Bound to Fail, 1967 Ginerva de Benci 2006-05-24T20:09:57Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:9575 2006-05-24T20:09:57Z 2006-05-24T20:09:57Z My students are going to have an amazing art show this Friday and I would love for all of you to come for the opening party. It will include seventy individually painted canvases by students between the ages of 6 and 12, a student created hanging mobile city you can walk through, and a video where students voice their concerns on society, give their definition of art and share their hopes for the future.<br /><br />I would love for you to all come not only because I think that you would enjoy it, but also because it is a big deal for the kids to have their work in a professionally gallery setting and the more people to come and see it the more valuable they will feel. Plus, the whole point of the show is to create a venue through which youth can express their opinions, passions and concerns to the greater Twin Cities Community, which it all of you!<br /><br />Plus, I am going to be super-stressed and I would love to see the beautiful faces of my charming friends to put me at peace.<br /><br />The Show is:<br /><br />City Kids Co-op<br />SELF SPACE VOICE<br /><br />Friday, May 26th<br />6:00-9:00 p.m.<br /><br />Homewood Studios<br />2400 Plymouth Ave. North<br />Minneapolis, MN 55411<br /><br />Questions: <br />City Kids Co-op<br />Call 612.521.2100 <br /><br />Or check out the homewood website: www.homewoodstudios.com urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:9251 2006-04-03T04:47:47Z 2006-04-03T04:47:47Z I miss you all, <br /><br />so I am making my day of birth my fabulous excuse to see you<br /><br />melissa's belated birthday gathering<br /><br />seven p.m.<br />saturday april eighth<br />seward pizza luce urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:8999 2005-12-09T04:39:01Z 2005-12-09T04:40:43Z To my beloved friends:<br /><br />So, I have not taken the time to update my journal, or even look at my journal in such a long time, and so tonight I thought I should take a look at these valuable archives of my former self. I found some reoccuring themes:<br /><br />a. Apparently I am so concerned about my relationship with fashion, cosmetics, vintage hairstyles other things of a shallow nature that I mention it again and again. Even when I write about in a way that I think is being masked in my sarcasm the only thing that comes out is my giddy enthusiasm and overwhelming shame.<br /><br />b. I love reminding you all how self-deprecating I am<br /><br />c. I am very intent on casting myself as a misunderstood loner who has no one to spend holidays with.<br /><br />d. I was very unhappy about the cold weather and felt it necessary to share this with you (as if you are all exempt from the cold).<br /><br />The thing is, it is only months later I am reading this journal and I don't think that I have really "changed" as much as I have enough distance from "myself" to see through my old tricks. None of these "themes" are really true. The reality is at times I am captivated by lipstick, high society ball gowns and sparkly hand bags, but most of the time it just feels like a lot of stuff. I really don't hate myself. I actually really enjoy my own company and sometimes prefer it to anything else. I am yet to spend a holiday alone. I have many people in my life who love me, and I love all of you. And I actually really like the cold weather. Especially the snow. I love the sound of snow on tires and under my shoes, the sharp air wakes me up when I leave my house in the morning and the cold outside makes every indoor environment feel warm and cozy. <br /><br />So now you can all see right through me.<br />(like you never could before)<br /><br />I will try to be as sincere as possible, even if it is hopelessly sentimental.<br />I miss all you bitches (oh wait I never actually would call you bitches, I am just trying to be a bad-ass).<br />I miss all of you wonderful human beings<br />Especially the ones that I don't get to see any more<br />and for the ones I do see, I don't get to see you enough.<br /><br />loving you with sentimental sincerity,<br /><br />melissa rose urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:8341 2004-07-17T04:33:45Z 2004-07-17T04:45:59Z Well today was a providential day. Meg and I looked at apartments and found the search promising, yet I also heard some dissapointing employment news, that is ultimately in my best interest. Thanks to your wonderful suggestions I now have a reading list that trails behind me on the floor like the flowing literary train to the wedding dress in which I am married to words (dramatic sigh) This is appropriate considering that only words have the patience to spend a life time with me (second dramatic sigh). I tried to find each book that was suggested at the library, and although I only found a few specific referrals, going to the library at my own free will was very liberating. I started reading a book about Breton and the other Surrealist poets and Banana Yoshimoto's "Lizard". I love "Lizard"...this evening I am returning to my couch where I will be spending the rest of my friday night finishing it. I am sure that it is not one of her best written works, but it has this nostalgia inciting quality that has been exactly what I need right now. Something in it reminded me of the campus parades I went to in Iowa as a little girl, where the agriculture departments had these tents with incubators containing little baby chicks dyed all different colors. I could hold these little pink, purple, yellow and blue fuzzy baby birds in my hands and it made me so happy. Banana Yoshimoto made me think of this because one story involves an artist who makes tiny little metal pieces that are to be held in the palm of one's hand. Consequently, I decided that working at the Butler Fitness center is an ideal job because tonight I sat and read Banana Yoshimoto, with my knees to my chest, eating chocalate pumpkin bread and reliving childhood memories while rapped in a warm swim towel fresh from the dryer. Knowing this makes my life seem more promising than it was less than a full day ago. Tomorrow I begin work at the fabulous Marshall Feild's department store, where I will get to play with colors and talk to people. In this light this sounds rather promising as well. <br /><br />at least in words. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:8055 2004-07-10T05:31:59Z 2004-07-10T05:31:59Z well it is friday night and i just got home from the oak street cinema where i saw "the big sleep" with gina. it made me really happy going to see it, but i feel like the aftermath of seeing it has been sadness. something about it reminded me of a life i don't have anymore. i guess i used to have this life, and i don't have it anymore, and that makes me kind of sad. it was a really cinematic life in some ways and a sad life in that ways and other ways, but all in all the loss of it makes me sad. i think i am just not doing so hot because i am in this strange corridor-of-a-life place because all i can do is live in my old life apartment and dread about the financial logistics of my new life. soooo i don't know. to morn and celebrate today i wore my hair up in a twist with a barret that belonged to my great grandmother and i wore a blue and brown outfit which kevin says only works in germany but that doesn't make it bad. i guess he would know being born in germany and all. i liked my outfit except for the shoes because they hurt so much, but they are blue shoes and because of the whole brown shoe thing i rarely get a chance to wear them. in the movie tonight bogart says "i know, she already tried to sit in my lap when i was standing up". i love that. i also read in vogue's july issue that millicent rogers would deliberately spill icecream on her gorgeous evening dresses, just to be able to go upstairs and change into something new. i love that too. i wish i had a real book to love. as i get "older" i realize the authors i once would have found amazing i now find clever, and clever isn't a sufficient reason for love. will someone please tell me of a book i will admire. i mean admire not find clever. i need something to get me though my final week of limbo. something tightly knit, but still lovely for a lazy girl. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:7535 2004-05-16T22:05:40Z 2004-07-10T05:03:37Z SOMEONE ELSE'S BODY IS A PLACE FOR YOUR MIND TO GO.<br /><br />-Jenny Holzer "Survival" Series (1983-85). urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:7168 2004-05-06T21:33:14Z 2004-05-06T22:54:54Z So, basically I am fried. I am so burnt out, so perpetually lacking a full night's sleep.<br /><br />I am too tired to do anything. I have accepted my intrinsically shallow nature, since my intellect no longer pretends to function. It used to be that when I was bored at work I would take time to write some b.s. in my live journal, but now I prefer to go to the Christian Dior web sight and let the whimsical graphics, pastel colors, pretty people and saddle shoe wallets (oh my gawd, perfection has arrived) dance in front of my tired eyes. <br /><br />I have become increasingly fascinated by the frivolous.<br />I found my new haircut the other day-Joyce Mansour's bangy, brown bobbed perfection in Gilles Erhmann's 1958 photograph of her. So cute...I want it (and the christian dior saddle shoe wallet) to be mine. No more psycho-analytical interpretation of Erhmann's work...just...awww..hair...so sweet.<br /><br />Because I have no depth to me I will leave you with the depth of the women with the charming hair. An excerpt from her first book of poetry (Cris, 1953).<br /><br />I will fish out your empty soul<br />In the coffin where your mouldy body lies<br />I will hold your empty soul.<br />I will tear off its beating wings<br />Its coagulated dreams<br />And I will swallow it.<br /><br />...See just as cute as her hair. Charming. I love her. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:7099 2004-04-05T00:38:36Z 2004-04-05T00:47:33Z I haven't updated my journal for a while but I wanted to say thanks to everyone for being so sweet to me on my birthday. Much love to you all and the muddy pig for being so muddy and accomidating.<br /><br />Here is a basic, uneventful update:<br /><br />still have no employment, housing or health plans past May.<br /><br />still buying too many shoes when I should be saving up for the impending doom that is my future (but now have pink and red Sauconys to die for). <br /><br />still confused by all social interactions that take place in my life, especially those of the "romantic" persuasion.<br /><br />still incapable of hemming jeans, when I am inevitably short...hence the same dirty-ass, smelly jeans that I perpetually live in. <br /><br />still car-less living in a bus-less city.<br /><br />still almost getting fired for not checking the coffee schedual <br /><br />still got me some curly hair, wide hips and confused expressions.<br /><br />still hope all is well with all(of vous). urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:6310 2004-02-26T21:47:29Z 2004-02-26T21:55:58Z First of all, I was born in April. <br /><br />Second of all ever since they told me that I had <br />bi-polarborderlinepersonalitydisordera.d.h.d. at the age of thirteen, my life, although often full of responsibility and productivity, has manifested itself from the diagnosis it was once given. Here's how it goes. Ok. So I have had like noooo-one interested in me, for like evvveer. Honestly, when the phone rang I knew that is was my mother, or one of my friends wondering where I was. But. In the last week I have had an insane amount of suitors. I mean abnormal encounters. I walk into a smoke shop and get hit on, walk into the same bar I have been going to for months and this kid confesses his un-dieing love for me, people who never called start calling, my friends' friends ask me out, and various others ask for my number. Our phone rings in the middle of the night. <br /><br />Now listen. This would be fabulous if I thought that this phenomenon was reflective of some type of new found mystic beauty, or charm or something; something that I always had that viewers are just recently discovering, or something that I was recently blessed with and will have forever...but it isn't. I am the same crazy curly haired girl I have always been, same pale skin, same confusing expressions, same tendency to trip on things when I walk into a room. So I really don't think that I woke up a blond boom shell one day and watched the world come to me. It has little to do with me.<br /><br />I attribute it all to my haunting past. The diagnosis given to me in 1996 on the sixth floor of Mary Greeley Medical center in Ames Iowa has become some type of manic-depressive curse. It is so powerful that even if I am stable, emotionally consistent and responsible, life comes at me in monsoon and drought style, always flooding me with drama or imprisoning me in boredom; leaving me exhausted, wired, dumbfounded and amazed. I really can't be happy about my current state of romance because I really don't want to be in a relationship with anyone, and I don't love any of these people. I know that once spring ends the curse will fade, and they will be called back to their respective positions of disinterest. I just want a normal life, that normal none-diagnosed girls get. You know, with a few consistent admirers calling me up for the occasional movie and what not, or maybe one real lover who I don't drive crazy. But of course, this is not how it rains for me. <br /><br />My mom always said that spring was a hard time for me, and I would always get offended when she said that, like I have some type of emotional disability or something and that during storms my bones/emotions ache with the change of climate. But you know, she is probably right. Spring is hard. It always is. All I can do is get ready with the wisdom of retrospection. Summer will come, then fall, and winter...and in the cold of December I will miss spring's fever and want the craziness back. So for all that love me enough be near me, keep a good eye on me. If I start talking about doing harmful things to my hair/wardrobe or moving to far away places, sit me down and remind me what season it is. Tell me to wait just a few months and see if I feel the same way, and chances are I wont. I just need to let the spring pass through me. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:6031 2004-02-20T19:12:21Z 2004-05-07T19:09:06Z my bloody valentine Well, today I have no insights of self-deprication or charming stories of mela-drama. But, I did find it necessary to update my journal so that I can archive the last week in my life. After I realized that I lost the sylabis for two of my classes I came to the conclusion that paper is finite but the internet will last for-ev-er.<br />So. On Wednesday I celebrated Dre's birthday at the Twin Cities annual Dre-Day event. Yesterday I attempted to write an article on the art show for the Wheel which turned out pretty bad yet humourous considering that I used the word "leaf vessels" to describe Mary Roettger's sculpture, and all the editors let it go. What I really meant to say was "leaf veins". I don't think that "leaf veins" exist but I am even more certain that "leaf vessels" don't. So hopefully the article will be enjoyed by all. <br /><br />This weekend I have to work at Brewberries all saturday, so everyone come visit me and watch me fuck up your cappucino. I really don't know what I am doing. There are far too many machines at that place.<br /> <br />I suppose that is all. Oh. Wiz Kids...Does anyone know what "avoirdupois weight" is, or at least how you pronounce it? Is it french..."to have of the pea". I think that is honestly what it translates to. I like that word "avoirdupois". urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:5637 2004-02-13T19:57:18Z 2004-02-13T20:36:04Z I was on the bus today headed for Saint Thomas, preparing myself to be vibrantly alert for the upcoming lecture on the cave paintings of the Paleolithic period, when this really happy faced girl turned to me and asked me if I would like a valentine. I blinked a couple of times and stared at her dumbfounded, wondering what it would be like to be a genuinely good person like she is. <br /><br />"They are dark chocolate, I learned in my Biology of Women class that dark chocolate is really good for your heart"<br /><br />blink, blink<br /><br />"Do you want one?"<br /><br />blink<br /><br />"uhh...ok, thanks"<br /><br />I tore back my "dove treasures" wrapper and checked to see what my chocolate fortune was, hoping that it would reveal something surprisingly wonderful like "Random intelligent and attractive person has been admiring you from a far and will be anonymously sending you a charming bouquet of deep pink tulips (your favorite flower) tomorrow." Instead I uncovered the glistening tin foil to reveal its cryptic insight:<br /><br />"Happiness is appreciating the little things in life."<br /><br />The chocolate tasted painfully sweet and softly sour. Like waxy molasses. I couldn't tell if I should blame the manufacturers at the Dove corporation or myself for waking up ten minutes before the bus left, thus not allowing myself time to brush my teeth. I started thinking of how much I hate Heart day. Heart day. This is what my mom always called it. According to her I used to adore this day because I marveled at the way one could convert a cardboard kleenex box into a glittery mail drop off for chocolate, red construction paper and bumble gum. This sounds like something I would like. But today. Today, I don't like Heart day. I hate how my inevitable disappointment due to lack of received adoration is merely a manifestation of a cliche as old as barbie and hallmark and the baby sitters club, and it still makes me sad. But I can't help it, I really can't. I have to find something to do with myself tomorrow.<br /><br />Leah told me that we are going to get together and pretend like we are giddy girls from the twenties, with cute hair, red lips, choppy skirts and charming remarks... orphan girls, girl singers, flappers and suffragettes, the personification of all that we romanticize ourselves to be in avoidance of the fact that no admirers envision us in this way.<br /><br />Or I could go out with my friend kate who invited me to "Shoes", you know that one woman's one woman play. Maybe thanks to her artistic inspiration all of the lovers in the world will kiss all heart day, sucking each others lips off, eatings each others necks, and torsos, and arms... elbows, knees and legs, until there is nothing left but "Shoes"...a french professor's self involved play, by her, starring her and truly enjoyed only by her. Now that would be one of life's little surprises that I would truly enjoy.<br /><br />So tonight, tonight. Maybe tonight I will get all of the resentment out of my bones. I will dance it out at "let's get electric" and wait until tomorrow morning when lisa is taking me to get my hair cut and eyebrows waxed. I will spend the rest of the day in the library, thrilling in my my romantic rendez-vouz with Donald Preziosi author of "The Art of Art History: A Critical Anthology", delighting in how I, unlike all of you sick lovers, only need ideas to feed my desire. Ladies you may get candy, roses, candle light and ugly stuffed bears but I get Winckelman, Vasari, Whitney Davis, Amelia Jones, bell hooks, Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida. Try to make better love than that. Ha. <br /><br />Ha. <br /><br />(Everyone just sing(play) along. "Oh Melissa how insightful, Sooo jealous. Wish I was like you").<br /><br />Ha. That's right. Sorry all of you are not as fortunate as I. Heart day is mine. Mine I tell you. As you all starve for attention I will be perfectly content with my philosophy.(Somebody please send some tulips to p.o. box 513 and pretend you know nothing about it in hopes that i wont cry)<br /><br />Ha. You desperate souls.<br />Enjoy your waxy, sour chocolate and smelly flowers. <br />I've got my books. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:5564 2004-02-12T20:54:42Z 2004-05-07T15:58:46Z send me rotten apple goods...art, politics, opinions etc. mrheer@stkate.edu urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:5248 2004-02-05T03:56:58Z 2004-02-05T03:56:58Z I find it incredibly humorous and disturbing that Professor Vincent Skempt is teaching a theology class entitled "The Apocalypes" and has asked his students to find a song about the apocolypes. I find it even more humorous and disturbing that no one can think of a song outside of the obvious (R.E.M) that deals with this subject matter. So anyone, anyone, apocalypes songs? <br /><br />It is harder than you think.<br /><br />I also wanted to add, that when putting Skempt's name through spell check the word processor suggests:<br /><br />Skempt: Skimpy, Skimp, Skimped, Skimps, Sexpot, Script<br /><br />Furthermore, as I write Lisa turned to tell me that she is studying a musician named Fresco Baldi and his student's name was Johann Jacob Froburger. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:4875 2004-02-04T19:14:37Z 2004-02-04T19:14:37Z So you know how I said I needed to read a book. So I did. I wandered around our apartment a little more thinking about what keen insight I had into the world of layered apparel until I picked up Nathaniel West's "Miss Lonelyhearts" that was lying on our floor under some clothes. And although I am now in love with Nathanial West, it really was an unneeded addition to my already cynical yet quixotic world view. Like Miss Lonelyhearts I too straddle the fine line between idealism and cynicism, attempting to find meaning in art, religion, sex...habitually searching for insight, failing to find hope and tumbling toward insanity. And thanks to Nathaniel West I now know my fate... I have a vision into my own future...at the apex of my quest I am going to see a vision of a burning Christ figure, run down the stairs with arms open to the needy, full of an intense desire to save the world of hopeless souls, only to get shot by a cripple who's wife I slept with. <br /><br />Fabulous. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:4863 2004-01-31T18:54:40Z 2004-01-31T18:54:40Z Rode on a bus last night at 7:32 pm with Leah . Temp. -9 degrees. Leah had a new haircut and tights falling down bellow her knees. I had tights, knee high stockings, socks and boots. still cold. but brilliant corners was warm, and the jazz was wonderful, and we got a ride home. i need to venture out more often, especially in the cold. i came home feeling so accomplished, like i had climbed a mountain or something.<br /><br />Today, Lisa is gone and I am bored. I really need to appreciate my boredom. It will be gone soon. I have had some time to think. My mom always told me to dress in layers and I think that this is a wise piece of advise. Layers. That's the key. Can't get too cold, can't get too hot. Plus, I change my clothes like five times a day anyway. I might as well take them all with me, and utilize public bathrooms instead of destroying my closet. <br /><br />Damn, I wonder what other brilliant things I will come up with today. Jesus. These are the times I wish I had a television. I need to read a book or something, this is sad. <br /> <br /><br />...Layers. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:4486 2004-01-30T01:35:03Z 2004-01-31T18:36:39Z So I was milling around the donation box in the laundry room and came across a box of scraves...dress scarves like sixteen or something. It is like the scarf fairy recognized my cold miserable existence and blessed me with a shower of linens. I love you scarf fairy! Gina says "It is probably the nun that lives on first floor, they(the scarves) are all from the fifties". I will bring you each a scarf tomorrow. Complements of the scarf fairy/Sister Georgia. (Oh and the donation box never actually goes to donation so I am completely justified in my findings). urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:4313 2004-01-30T01:21:04Z 2004-01-30T01:21:04Z I am rotting away. I feel like rot. I am rot. I hate my Minnesota existence. Belated note to self: One should never live somewhere that one cannot live in. I should not fear leaving my home. Honestly. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:3785 2003-12-10T21:23:00Z 2003-12-12T19:32:23Z Ok, so I am stuck in front of the underground McDonalds in Dinkytown, after completely fucking up on the GRE, thinking of all of the post-structural theorists and feminist philosophers that could de-construct society's desire for the gruesome existence of standardized testing. I find this ironic considering that my brain wants to go to grad school so badly that it will write a thesis on the deceiving nature of the GRE which happens to be the entity that will prohibit my acceptance. I can't believe I paid 115 dollars to figure that out. Jesus. I am so tired. I am trying to think about what else I could do next year. I think I really need a year off. I think I will waitress and do some art. Right now that sounds so much more appealing to me than convincing a board of admissions that I am worthy of intelligent discourse. I am going to sleep before I write me next paper, my eye is twitching. Good night. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:3295 2003-12-04T22:13:39Z 2003-12-04T22:26:18Z I guess I am dancing at the vespers thing. I am supposed to wear a neutral colored shirt to the rehearsal. I think that it is concerning that I am almost finished with my art history degree, and I have no idea what a neutral colored shirt looks like. Brown perhaps? I really just want to know if we will get to wear the pretty flowing white angel skirts and shepard's sandals...if not, I refuse to take part in a fundraiser disguised as a mass for the Immaculate Conception.<br /><br />last time we had glowing lanterns<br />flowling white skirts<br />shepard's sandals<br />and incense<br />and the choir sang Cantique<br />and I loved it.<br /> <br />I hope I feel the same peace this time. I need it. <br /><br />I guess I get really sentimental and appreciative of ritual when I am tired. I think I am really tired. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:2465 2003-12-02T21:54:56Z 2003-12-02T22:06:51Z Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash "Girl from the North Country" What do I do when I am heartbroken and alone in my home town of Ames, Iowa? I watch "White Christmas" over and over again on Thanksgiving day. I still have not decided what exactly about that movie appeals to my sensibilities. I think that I just like how the movie calls back to a simpler time, when you had to sing about snow..and put on a whole broadway musical about snow with your beautiful sister and two famous broadway musicians, in order for the snow to fall. Unlike my present life in Saint Paul, where I don't even get to sing about snow, it just falls on me in October and then turns ugly and brown by Christmas time. I guess the only way I know how to battle a lonesome heart is to pretend I am Rosemary Clooney so I can have a young Bing Crosby fall in love with me and sing me songs about counting my blessing when I am feeling down, and I can do tap dances in pretty pastel blue dresses, and sit in train cars headed for Vermont singing about how "I'll wash my hair in snow" while Danny Kaye makes miniature snow scenes on the table. <br /><br />What do I do when I am heartbroken and alone in Saint Paul? I drive to Pizza Luce with my friend who is also heartbroken and we play "Sleep with, Live With or Throw off a Cliff" until we have eaten our far share of mash-potato pizza. I guess I have it pretty good. I will just have to buy myself a fluffy pastel blue dress that I can wear at our party and Lisa can be an Asian Vera-Ellen and we can sing the sister song and I will be just like Rosemary Clooney. Then, I will proceed to wash my hair in snow, and all will be well. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:1955 2003-11-18T03:53:16Z 2004-05-07T19:10:01Z La Bonne Chanson Ginerva de Benci lost her hands. Does this not bother anyone else. Leonardo was nice enough to give her a full portrait, with a frontal view of her face, iconic imagery suggestive of aspects of her personality and a pair of hands. And then some rich guy in the 16th century cuts off her hands so that she can fit into his dining room. This bothers me, it bothered me enough to make my most recent "Art and Technology" assignment about it, including a dramatic and unnecessary project proposal, which stated in detail the significance of this wrong and my own attempt to give homage to it by scanning in a picture of Ginerva de Benci and sticking a skeletal hand through her head like a morbid, revengeful crown. <br /><br />Critique Day: my professor gets to my piece and says in the most patronizing tone "Melissa way don't YOU tell us about your piece, I hear it has a title and everything". Well yes it does have a title and when did it become so ridiculous for an art student to have a overtly dramatic collage with a skeletal hand sticking out of Ginerva de Benci's head? Apparently this is not the appropriate "Art and Technology" decorum. My next project is involving guns and Coca-Cola. We will see how that goes.<br /><br />So I guess I get a little carried away.<br />I take myself a little too seriously.<br />I am not really an artist anyway.<br />I want to be.<br />But, I am not.<br />I am really just an angry(dorky) art history student. <br />But Jesus, the woman lost her hands.<br />Can we all agree that this is tragic?<br /><br /> I think I have lost my hands. I can't focus for the life of me. <br />I keep chewing on my peppermint gum and monitoring how much my ears ache. <br />And staring at things on my wall,like "Los Cigarrillos...Son Los Mejores" and the man with the tongue, apparently it is distracting.<br /><br />My live journal, being a valuable procrastination mechanism, is a detailed record of all of the times in which I am incapable of concentrating. This will hopefully be useful someday, when I am habitually productive, so that I can look back a yearn for the yester-years of non-productivity. Like when I am thirty-two. That sounds like a productive year. <br /><br />Lisa just walked in the room called me "A little monkey in a cage waiting for the right kind of stimulous" because I started singing "Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day" in unison with her...when apparently I get angry upon hearing Lisa sing "I will hooka you. Hooka you where ever you will go. Ohhh Ohhh." in reference to her beloved hooka. I thought that this should also be documented so that when I am thirty-two I can prove to Lisa that she was just as distracting as I was. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:1640 2003-11-05T23:02:39Z 2003-11-05T23:13:37Z Bach (I am really not that refined, but Lisa is) Isn't that a wonderful title for an art exhibit? I think so. I just wanted to tell all of those in the area that also appreciate the eloquent use of alliteration and an opportunity to view interesting works of art to come to the "afternoon tea and gallery talk" for "Scantily Clad: Satire, Summer and Life's Season's" this sunday. It is at three p.m. at the Catherine G. Murphy Gallery in the art building of the College of Saint Catherine. It features the work of Clara Mairs and Adolpf Dehn who both have beautiful drawings and prints from 1920-1950,dealing somewhat with issues surrounding women in art as subject/object in a Minnesota-born Regionalist sort of way. I will be there serving tea and crackers, possibly dressed up in a 40's style dress for the occasion. <br /><br />I wish that there could be more to add to my live journal than an advertisement for an afternoon tea, but really my appreciation of the elaborate title, "Scantily Clad: Satire, Summer and Life's Seasons" is really the greatest charm in my life. As many of you know, I threw up on the side of Lindale avenue the other day, and yesterday the fire department came to my apartment because of a false alarm with a burning peanut on our stove top. But other than that, I am just continuing about my life with the same over exaggerate crisis that distract me from my initial boredom. Honestly, I am in a perpetual state of discouragement due to this grad. school application process. Which is the perfect reason for me to dress up in a Julie Andrews dress and serve tea to people at the opening this Sunday. If I am rejected from every grad school, this may be my only contribution to the field of art history, besides accidentally knocking off an appendage of a jutting post-modern "painting" at an art opening in Iowa City, Iowa. With this in mind, I think I better go study for my GRE and fill out some more applications. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:1331 2003-10-31T20:12:35Z 2003-11-01T16:04:20Z Johnny Cash I felt to mean and had to erase this entry. I shouldn't be so judgemental. Ahhh. How sweet. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:1033 2003-10-30T00:54:07Z 2003-10-31T18:29:06Z Portis Head I was just waddling around my room, messing with my stuff, and I came to the conclusion that I really like the post card I have of an untitled painting by Laura Owens. In her painting there is a monkey wearing glasses, cradling her baby monkey while hanging from some type of an elaborate tree that is growing out of multi-colored quilt, suspended in the air on a moonlit night. I love it. I wish I was there. I stole the postcard from a copy of "The Believer" at a bookstore in Iowa this summer. My response: God, that seems so long ago. Recognizing how far away that day seemed to me, I decided I would try to highlight the interesting components of my life between that decent summer day in Iowa and this cold, dreary day in Saint Paul. Not only was I getting depressed realizing how few interesting things there were, but I also noticed that in the mere two journal entries I have composed, I have attempted to illustrated my life along the framework of some unnecessary thesis. Now this is really ridiculous. I think I have just been is school for so long that even when I attempt to make sense out of my mundane and incomprehensible life I find it necessary to have topic sentences and seemingly interesting themes (which ultimately are not interesting). I guess it is some type of sick comfort. But really, nothing in my life or mind is following any type of thesis or outline right now. I just realized today, sitting in the slide room, that I have sat in the same slide room, three times a week for almost four years (a pretty large portion of my life considering all of the eating,sleeping and daydreaming I do) and I still have absolutely nothing to say about my "academic journey" in my statement of purpose for graduate school. I guess I could write about how much I like Laura Owen's and her monkey and how this is among the reasons I would be completely content studying art history for the next four years. Obviously, I have a lot to say but none of it makes sense, not even to me. Ummm...so...what did I do today. I discovered I am failing "Mathematically Concepts in Contemporary Society" and proceeded to cry in my professor's office. Classy. Ummm...I made Myra a birthday card...Happy Birthday Myra. I walked around my apartment, picking things up and putting them in different places. Wow. I have absolutely nothing else to write now that my mind has drifted into the possibility of eating...sleeping...calling someone...daydreaming. <br />Ok. <br />Thrilling.<br />Delightful.<br />Next time I'm working with a thesis. Honestly. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:ginervadebenci:978 2003-10-30T00:53:20Z 2003-10-30T01:01:15Z Myra Lucas is 22. Happy Birthday Myra Lucas.