Army Men from the Black Lagoon

Dollar Store Project.. Round Two
Army Men from the Black Lagoon!


After buying 200 plastic army men from Dollar Tree, I began to ponder consumerism and how early it begins. From the ages 3-8, I took ballet twice a week at a studio in Winona, MN. As soon as class had finished, I used to beg (literally, beg) to go to McDonald's; I hated their food, but I absolutely HAD to have the new happy meal toy. My parents weren't fans of McDonald's, so they always said "no" ...lucky for me, I was part of a carpool--and none of the other parents had any problem with McDonald's (score).

My week would revolve around that toy, and the next week, I'd get a new toy to add to the collection.. after a few months, I'd managed to stockpile an impressive amount of Happy Meal toys. Then, slowly, I stopped caring about ones from a few months back -- this trend continued for years. When I was...errr 8? years old? maybe? I became fully caught-up in the dawning of the age of the Gigga-pet. I HAD TO HAVE ONE. My parents said no... I begged for months, eventually they surprised me with one. A week after having been gifted my Gigga-pet, I wanted to smash it into little pieces.. it was obnoxious and it was driving me complETEly crazy with its constant beeping and the little pixelated puppy who was begging to be fed and have its poo shoveled. BUT, I kept it, and kept putting up with it and occasionally playing with it. WHY? Because it was the thing to do. You couldn't be one of the popular girls without them (mind you, I'm 8 at this point.. in 2nd grade.. and yes, there was already a crowd of popular girls).

At 8 years old, my Gigga-pet owned me. This is my first memory of the realization of my own materialism. It would be years before I began to really ponder the notion of consumerism and its effects on society--especially on children.

So--what happened to all of those Happy Meal toys? All of my brother's 2million LEGO's? Barbie dolls? ..okay, in all fairness, my Barbie dolls are packed safely in a cool dry place because I really do want to keep them forever. BUT - what about my Barbie dreamhouse? And my Moon Shoes? And my skip-it? Hula-hoop? Gel pens? Pre-teen magazines? ANDDD let's not forget.. my KEYCHAINS (oh, the keychains..)??

I wish I could tell you what happened to all of the junk that I let own me, one item at a time throughout my entire childhood, but unfortunately - I cannot. It was likely donated to Goodwill or handed down to my cousins' children who most likely threw it all away.

Getting to my point - These worthless items were what built my identity as a child. My identity was built on materialism and always wanting "more more more." And guess what? Not much has changed... except that now I don't want a new Barbie, I want a new 60" LCD LED 3D TV. More and more I find myself being owned by my possessions - they keep me tied down. AND THAT SUCKS. A house full of furniture, a car that needs gas, clothes that go out of style, and more toiletries, cosmetics & beauty products than I care to admit -- it's all a burden. If I wanted to pack up and move to Timbuktu, I'd be like a fly trying to get out of a spider's web, because I would never be able to part with all of my "stuff;" it would wind up in storage, or in my brother's living room, or my parents' basement.

Still haven't made my point. Trying.
What I was getting at with this sculpture was that consumerism and materialism are prominent - especially when it comes to children. These army men symbolized that for me, and that symbolism took the form of a sculpture of a scary-looking hand. A hand that can and will come out of nowhere and snatch you, and pull you into the black lagoon.

See you there.

Oh.. and a friend of mine recommended this video. Check it out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GorqroigqM

Responses to Blue

Blue Movie Response Writing Assignment


1. Name and describe a key scene in the film that you feel successfully integrated the formal quality of the color blue with the multiple symbolic meanings that blue can be embody.

The scene in which the main character hangs the blue crystal chandelier in her new flat in Paris. This was obviously a significant object to her and held a great deal of meaning, embodying her pain and mourning from the loss of her family. That chandelier was the only item that she carried with her--which I thought was symbolic in that she will always carry at least the memory of loss, pain, suffering, and depression. Immediately after entering her new flat for the first time, she hangs the chandelier in a prominent place--just as her family, and now--her lack thereof, holds a prominent place in her heart.


2. What does blue mean to you? Do they parallel what you think the director was
focused on? How are your thoughts different?

Blue is a color I associate with a number of meanings. Dark, dreary blues I associate with depression, sadness, loss, mourning & pain. At the other end of the spectrum, lighter blues, ie. aqua, remind me of water--not a raging sea, but a tropical oasis. I once painted my bedroom in a calming blue and being surrounded by the color was always soothing to me. The director seemed to focus on the darker, more dreary blue mood--which I think was very effective in helping the viewer to sympathize with the main character’s dark story. This isn’t my favorite way to think of the color blue, then again, I don’t know anyone who would want to ponder the tragic loss of one’s family and crippling depression that might follow...a dark, violent blue does the trick.

3. For the main character, personal loss has a weight that is constant. What do you think the director is suggesting as a way to overcome the pain of such loss? What confrontations seem necessary for the character to have to move on ?

I think that the director is suggesting that to overcome loss, one must make amends with the past, grieve, finish unfinished business, then move on and accept that which one cannot change. In order for the main character to move forward, she had to finish her unfinished business with her husband in the form of the completion of his musical score, confront her husband’s mistress & child, she had to accept that her family’s home would always hold haunting memories of her once happy life--and so she needed to move on, move away and move forward.

Reflection on Artist's Lecture: Siebren Versteeg

Without knowing anything from which to form a baseline opinion on Siebren Versteeg, his lecture gave me some interesting insight to his artistic processes and the “why and how” about some of his specific works. In his rather lengthy introduction, Versteeg discussed his relationship with his father, and cited his father’s art-making as a major influence in his life. After observing and/or working with his father on such works as Calder’s Chicago and Louise Bourgeois’s I do, I undo, I re-do, Siebren desired to make an artwork that was more human-scaled, ephemoral, and temporal. His interest grew in studio art, music and video art while living in Chicago, and with the onset of the digital media age, Versteeg taught himself the workings of digital video and then computer programming. To Siebren, video still felt incredibly manipulative and his interest moved from digital video to the architecture by which electronic information was delivered and began to program non-linear pieces.

As explained during the lecture, many of his works are real-time progressions—meaning that the program runs, as he called it, “dangerous, dangerous code” to make a picture and make a succession of images—running at random. Several of his works he discussed and was finally able to show, despite technical difficulties, were works of this nature and included Inauguration, 100 explosions, and Rocket. A few of his works that really piqued my interest were CC, New York Windows, and Tryptic.

CC, although it was not shown in real-time, captured the artist’s quirky sense of humor and pleasant demeanor. The work broadcasts short loops of newscasters, overlaying closed captions pulled in real-time from online internet diaries. The humor of it overtook me, and I had the feeling I would find myself having sat in front of the work for hours doing nothing but giggling.

New York Windows reminded me of my beloved iPhone, and left me so utterly impressed that I called several of my fellow “iPhon-ers” following the lecture to share with them how brilliant Siebren Versteeg is. New York Windows captures, as the artist put it, “the beautiful and non-hierarchical chaos of the streets of New York City.” This 50-inch plasma screen operates as an interactive work, enabling the viewers to touch the plasma screen’s surface and move the images on the screen—much like an iPhone. The screen allows the viewer to view only a screen-sized section of a 40’x40’ collage of continuously regenerating images, pulled in real-time from the internet.

Tryptic functions similarly to New York Windows in the sense that it pulls images from the internet in real-time onto three LCD screens hung vertically on a wall. These three LCD screens, however, are attached to a program that continuously searches flickr.com for the term “tryptic,” pulling the images onto the screen, and cycling through them—one image per screen at a time. This piece, like CC, captured the artist’s playful and humorous side.

When an audience member asked, “What’s next?” Siebren replied with, “Ummmmm, uhhhhhh, mmmmmm…. Things. I’m trying to develop ‘this’ stuff more. Maybe looking at art and painting and mimicking it with code…I’d like to make my code make a painting.” After hearing him speak and explain several of his notable works, I certainly cannot wait to see what he comes up with next, and I have no doubt that I will be following his blossoming career for years to come!

Reflection on Artist's Lecture: Teresita Fernandez

To me, personally, a work of art makes my wheels spin when I am granted a peek into the artist’s views, motivations and thought processes. During Teresita Fernandez’s lecture, the audience in the lecture hall was privileged enough to be given an opportunity to learn what inspired Ms. Fernandez to create her works, some of which are currently on exhibit at USF’s Contemporary Art Museum.

My personal favorite work discussed during Ms. Fernandez’s lecture was an untitled work created in 1996, inspired by a modernistic Parisian home. See Blog Assignment 1 for an image. In the architectural design of the home, the second floor was a swimming pool and the first floor consisted of narrow hallways surrounding the swimming pool. The wall shared by the hallway and the pool had windows to view into and out of the water, and the wall opposite the pool was fully mirrored. Teresita was fascinated with this design, and the voyeuristic tendencies it encouraged, the desire to see and be seen, the potential that existed in window for a swimmer to look through the glass and see their reflection in the mirror—or for someone to look through the glass and see the swimmer. My fascination with voyeurism drew me to the design of her untitled work, in which she modeled the first floor of the modernistic Parisian home and recreated this potential for the viewer to see and be seen, to be watched unknowingly, or to watch others without their knowledge.

Another work I enjoyed was her installation in Seattle, framing the downtown skyline. When Ms. Fernandez first described this work, I was unimpressed, but my view quickly changed when I learned that she was inspired by the emotional skies of French paintings such as Delecroix’s Raft of the Medusa, and even by the skies in the backgrounds of Japanese anime. I began to respect her as an artist who begins with an intriguing idea and researches until she understands, then is able to create and capture the idea with form. The Seattle installation was multifaceted, beautiful, and complimented the vista, morphing with the skies, seasons, and each hour of each day.

The final work which caught my attention was Teresita Fernandez’s rainbow work in which she created thousands of tiny high-polished glass cubes with one colored side and affixed them to the wall. I feel that she truly succeeded in capturing the essence of a rainbow, the natural phenomena that produce rainbows, as well as a rainbow’s ephemeral nature. Her use of thousands of colors, mixed and blended and the use of glass, reflection and light were very effective.

After hearing Ms. Fernandez’s thoughts on her work and learning about the processes in which she creates art, I cannot wait to get back to the Contemporary Art Museum to view some of her works again. As a well-spoken and well-educated artist, her presentation style and down-to-earth attitude made it easy for me to follow her lecture and in turn, made her art much more meaningful to me. It was most definitely a privilege to hear her speak in person.

Under the Stairs and Under the Sea?

At first, I was rather apprehensive about the project at hand. Having a few bags of blue plastic tableware to work with--I wasn't sure that I was about to create, or in which direction I would take the project. My initial reaction was to create something representational, I'll do little mussels, and maybe some fish, I thought. The mussels worked out, and I decided to nix the fish--and go for some underwater "plant life," that didn't have any detailed representational value, but would rather have an assumed representation when placed together with the other works. It was a medium I'd never worked with, but it was interesting for me to observe my own comfort zone growing with the plastic tableware as I worked over the allotted two class periods.

When we began to put the work together, my concerns grew with the overall form, thinking that it looked a bit too much like a diorama for a science fair project. Once we began placing everything together, though, the work took its own form--and with an added lighting source, individual pieces began to complement each other in what came out to be a pretty decent seascape. After its completion, it was fun for me to see how all of the household odds-and-ends no longer were household odds-and-ends, but had become media that effectively portrayed our theme.

I was disappointed that our work had to be taken down before others were given time to view and react to it. Mostly my disappointment stemmed from the fact that we weren't given an opportunity to observe reactions of those not privy to our class's assignment and the process by which we had created it. I think the project would have been more effective if we had more time for others to view it, and more time to play with its overall form. Considering the time frame, our materials, etc., I think it turned out pretty well.

Family Heirlooms Project: Interview with Relative & Finished Sculpture

My parents live in WI, so unfortunately I couldn't sit down with them to discuss the project--so here's a rundown of our phone conversation:

I spoke with my dad, 62, about to retire, about the project--reading him the project description. His response: "Woah, good luck." When I explained further that I was going to need his help, he was a bit more open. We talked for about three hours, starting with the beginning: my grandparents, working up to his meeting with my mother, my brother, then me, our growing up, and what it's like now that we're gone.

I never knew my father's father, and my father's mother passed away when I was 18. My dad has always told me stories about his growing up in a family, dirt poor--but richer than anyone with love. He told me how my grandmother worked at in his school kitchen, and my grandfather at an auto repair shop, and how his parents saved every penny they had to put indoor plumbing in his house around the time he turned 17. Every year, the one time they didn't scrimp on anything was Christmas. His father took out a loan just before Christmas, and they had a lavish Christmas feast, and presents galore--and for the remainder of the year, his father paid back his debt in order to qualify for another loan for the Christmas to follow. My grandparents' only hope was for their children to have an education, and have a better life than they'd given them--that they'd never have to struggle. My father's older siblings were loaned the family savings to pay for their college, and each had to pay it back before the next could start college.

My father worked his way through his undergraduate degree, got accepted to Washington University in St. Louis, and worked his way through dental school. I learned, for the first time during this conversation that he didn't walk at his dental school graduation. His father had just passed away, and he couldn't afford to go home for his services, and the dean's secretary pulled some strings to have his diploma mailed to Wisconsin--so he packed all of his belongings into his beat-up van, and drove home to grieve with his family. He bought out a dental practice in the small town where I grew up, and where he has been practicing for the past 30+ years.

He met my mother at a Christmas party, and they hit it off--started dating, and proceeded to date for 8-9 years before my mom sold her house and moved into my dad's farm house on the 300 acres he'd bought in the country. My brother and I were both accidents--my brother's story slightly funnier than mine, and a running family joke (long story--if you'd like the details, I'd be happy to share). My parents had a shot-gun wedding with immediate family only, and two years later, I came along and our family moved into the small town where my dad's practice was located.

When I was born, my mother quit her job as the head accountant for a Co-op to stay at home and raise my brother and me. We had a charmed childhood, and grew up in a little house built in the 1920's--the smell of which, I could still recognize--but would never be able to describe. It had god-awful multicolor shag carpeting throughout the downstairs, and tan shag carpeting upstairs. The exterior was teal and peach stucco (barf), and looked like a perfect little dollhouse. I remember the crystal doorknobs, and my dad described to me his memory of the first time he witnessed my little hands reach up and grab a doorknob--still not tall enough to turn it. I remember the heeeaaaavy wooden front door, and the clear plastic with a pattern covering the window of the bathroom. My parents had the master bedroom, and my brother's bedroom was down the hall. Reluctant to leave either of us upstairs or downstairs alone, my mother set up my nursery in the wide hallway outside their bedroom--which became "Anna's Hall Room" until I was eight and my parents moved me into the master and took the downstairs bedroom.

My father's most fond memories were, of course, Christmastime. All I remember was presents... presents filling the entire living room. It would take HOURS for us to unwrap them, and I couldn't tell you one of the I received in that living room--OTHER than these three: My moon-shoes, My cassette player with my cassettes (Bob Marley, Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, and the Grateful Dead......really Dad? What kind of music is this for a kindergartener?), and my light-up sneakers. I was sooo livid at my parents for not letting me have them for the first day of school, and apparently I told them every day (with my speech impediment and inability to say my R's), so for Christmas, they got them. That was the Christmas my brother broke my leg. :) My light-up sneakers and the shag carpeting wasn't the best combination, I guess. I loved to twirl, and my brother loved to twirl me, and mid-twirl.. ssnnnnnap! My leg fractured all the way from my ankle to my knee... I guess I screamed bloody murder, but I don't remember any of it---just the new sneakers.

I remember learning to ride my bike in the driveway with my brother, on the cracked and broken-up old asphalt. I remember when my mom decided to go back to college to finish her accounting degree--but only because she no longer came to volunteer in my classroom at school. I have no recollection of the sleepless nights she spent studying and working on projects and papers--just so she could stop by my class for a few hours on some afternoons. Frankly, I don't even remember the times she came to my classroom--just when she wasn't there.

Mom tore out the carpeting one year when dad was fishing in Alaska, and refinished the beautiful oak floors that were hiding underneath. Not one time did I walk into that house expecting to see the wood floors... for at least 6 years. My dad was livid (another thing I don't remember)--apparently wood floors were impractical?

I remember what it was like before my parents were people, too. When they were mom and dad, their jobs were to be mom and dad, and their entire lives revolved around their two children--our little league games, dance recitals, and piano lessons. I'm not sure when it was that I realized that my parents were people, but whenever it was--it's when we started getting along. I talk to them nearly every day, care about their well-being, their opinions, their ideas, their beliefs. They respect my decisions, my opinions, and my beliefs, and still worry about me as if I were 4 years old with a fractured leg and new sneakers.

I could go on and on and on about the things we talked about, the funny stories of the stupid things I did when I was little--the lessons I learned, and how my parents somehow managed to instill in me the morals and values that still guide my life. Each day, I see more of them in me--in the way that I think, the way that I treat others, the way I worry, and in my whacky sensibility that never makes sense to anyone but me.

My dad's memory is a thousand times clearer than mine, but the few things I remember clearly he completely agrees with me on. I don't actually remember many of the things I thought I did, but only remember the events through the home videos my parents were constantly making of their "two little munchkins." And when it comes down to it, the things I do remember were seen from a child's eyes, versus--my dad saw them through a father's eyes. In that sense, our memories of the same event are nothing alike.

I described my formal plans for the project, and my dad was thrilled with the materials I was using. He gave me some schpeal about if he was doing this project he'd probably go dig up a tree and cut off its roots and use that--but that's my dad. He's "Mr. Hunter-Gatherer," and although he raised me to be at home with the outdoors and in nature, and although I can split wood and classify weeds, mushrooms, and trees, shoot a bow, shoot clay-pigeons, and know--in-theory--how to build a log cabin........there's no way I'm diggin' up a tree. When I asked him, my father told me he had no idea what he would have done if he had been assigned such a project. He has a difficult time expressing himself in a lot of ways, and he said he would have been stumped.

That's about it, if you'd like more of the conversation details, I'd be happy to share them whenever!

NOTE - 9/26/2011 - Here are a few pictures of how my final project turned out:

Leris Reading

1. "It was the very secrecy of our meetings that was most clearly marked by the sacred."
   Leris means that sacred is different to each individual. Sacred most certainly does not only apply to religions, beliefs, morals, etc. For Leris, his playtime in the family bathroom with his siblings was sacred for him, the secrecy was something special...something unusual, something that he held dear. In his own words, it was something that"awoke in him the mixture of fear and attachment, that ambiguous attitude cause by the approach of something simultaneously attractive and dangerous, prestigious and outdcast--that combination of respect, desire and terror that we all take as a psychological sign of the sacred" (The Sacred in Everyday Life, p. 24).
2. To be honest, I can't put my finger on quite what he is describing when he talks about this ill-defined space. I'm imagining sketchy people lurking between buildings, or a bad park in a bad neighborhood. Yes, I had a few of such landmarks, but not many growing up. There was an area of town, however, where I was not allowed to go unless I was with my parents--a few blocks where the majority of the tenants of the apartment buildings were drug users or criminals. Back then, I just knew it as the place I stayed away from...never really asking questions. As I got older, I tested my boundaries, but it remained uncomfortable for me to be near the area. Now, I when I visit home, I see why my mother kept me away from there growing up--but I've come to realize that the people that live there and lurk there aren't nearly as bad as people seem to think. They're only bad for a small midwestern town.
3. "Rebecca" took on a biblical meaning for Leris. When he hears "Rebecca" he automatically thinks of a goddess-like woman, bronze, clothed in a tunic and veil. The way the word rolls off the tongue when spoken make him feel like it was split between something sweet and spicy, and something hard and unyielding.
4. Yes, I think they would both agree that self-reflection and confrontation is worth it. I, personally, think it's worth it. I had always taken a little time here and there to do some self-reflection, but it wasn't until late June of this year that I sat down and seriously reflected on who I am, what makes me who I am, what I'm doing now, and where I want to go with my life. After some serious contemplation and reflection, I've established a firmer grasp on who I am, and why--and what I need to do to accomplish my goals in life. Deeper self-reflection and the confrontation of the battles I've chosen not to pick with myself, however, is something I'm still trying to tackle. Knowing that I will have to completely break myself down to build myself back up again scares the bejesus out of me, although I know after-the-fact, it would be entirely worth it.