via luke.

please still say i'm not a stereotype.

I remember once telling a friend that I have before and most definitely still would take my eyelash curler with me backpacking.

"It's so Laura...but also kind of not so Laura."

I completely agree. I'd like to think that the seeming dichotomy of those two items describes something about myself far beyond the mere fact that they happen to be two things I enjoy.

There's a strange part of me that enjoys the fact that my best friend and boyfriend both love Glen Beck when I can hardly bear to stand in the room with a television broadcasting his scathing voice blasting.

I guess, like anyone else, I love feeling like an exception to the rules of cultural dictates.

Last weekend, I accompanied my Glen-Beck-fan-meat-loving-MFA boyfriend on the most art-drenched ventures ever (I still had to wear my jumpsuit and sing D'angelo to myself the whole time):

First, a Friday night show at the CUAC.
Then trailer tacos afterward.
Then a Saturday night collage party at Jenny's.Jared.Jenny.Annie.Me.Last night we made cards at the letterpress lab.
Kenji.
Paris & Miguel.

productivity.

It probably seems like I haven't been doing anything creative lately because I typically post photos of the stuff I've made, but it's not true.

I was SO busy making stuff that I didn't even have time to post it. So here's the stuff I did during spring term at BYU.

1. Project for my packaging design class. This is essentially what I spent the entire semester on. We had to choose a product to redesign. I chose Annie's line of natural foods. My teacher said that whoever was presently doing the design work for them should be castrated.

Before:

After:

2. My corporate branding class. I designed a logo, along with a letterhead, envelope, and business card for an imaginary algae bio-fuel company. We also had to package something to give as a gift for an imaginary consumer or supporter of our product. I figured the gift packaging was the most interesting item to choose from. Here is my lemon basil rice hull herb garden:

3. And last, but not at all least, my bronze cell phone, where my blackberry and banana boyfriend charm will be memorialized forever. I accidentally signed up for .5 credit hours of an independent sculpture class. They happened to be casting bronze. I knew exactly what I wanted to make:

i'm western & i like it.

This was in an art show on BYU campus last month. I wanted to post a photo of it earlier, but lost my digital camera. Joe Ostraff took one and posted it on facebook and I discovered it today.
The title of the entry is the title of the piece. The parameters of the project were that it had to fold up to be completely flat and incorporate a map of Escalante.

liverpool exchange.

I went camping this last weekend with a group from Liverpool that came to BYU for a book arts exchange. I was asked to write my thoughts about our camping trip together to post on their blog (I will post that link when I get it):

I overheard a conversation as I sat sketching in the cold air at the base of Calf Creek Falls.

"This sort of stuff; realistic sketches; they're mostly just for fun. They help me clear my head...I like to do more conceptual pieces."

Caroline, from Liverpool, just asked my professor, Joe Ostraff about his artwork. I found myself wanting to blurt out my own responses in place of his own modesty:

"The fact that you are here is proof of Joe's artwork!" (I said it out loud only the friend seated beside me.)

I can't think of a better way to put it. I consider Joe to be more an organizer of people than a painter. His projects mostly involve placing people in situations where they can share their own sories and listen to those of others. I esteem his art with the highest respect.(If only he had a website I could link you to here; I regret that he doesn't have one.)

I believe that the best art is educational, helps you question your own beliefs and way of of life, leads you to consider the beliefs and lives of others, and/or helps you further appreciate the beauty of the most basic things around you.

I've experienced all of this during the Liverpool exchange. The redrock cliffs, my ease with breathing at high altitudes, my body's natural adjustment to the desert heat, the religion I practice on a daily basis, and the accent with which I speak my native language all began to feel exotic in the company of my British camping companions.

Having never traveled to England, it's been educational to see others celebrate their own places of origin and to discuss and imagine their own trajectories. Exploring both our similarities and differences help me to see outside myself and remember that millions of others share this world in their own, very real experiences.

my sketch:

clothes.

(a model wearing my wig, boots, and a dress I designed.)My mother always let me get away with wearing whatever I wanted.
There were of course the wigs, particularly the black, pulp-fiction-style one I wore everyday during the last 3 months of high school. There were my velvety bell-bottoms, the fur coats, and the bright pink $6 second-hand dress I wore to prom. There were my initial experimental sewing disasters; things so ugly I should've never walked out the door.
But if my mom were here, reading this post over my shoulder as I typed, she would say:

"But you always seemed to be expressing yourself. If you would've been trying to dress immodestly or fit in with a certain crowd, I would've worried."

Ah, the numerous blessings of a culturally unconventional mother. (I can't imagine the repercussions on my life if I'd been born to someone concerned with maintaining and upholding status-quo.)

I've developed a habit of dressing meticulously. I dress according to weather, mood, event, who I'll be seeing that day, and how I feel around them. I typically change something about what I'm wearing every morning at least once as I give it more thought.
It's about more than appearing to be "cool" or even presentable. It's become a way of navigating through life, an outward identity to which I've given a lot of thought and effort; a mix of aesthetic design, utility, and expression.

Maybe it's my immersion into the BYU art department, but I've been feeling somewhat exposed in terms of my dressing habits in front of all these people who pay attention to visual detail as much as I do. Not a day goes by that someone doesn't comment on something I'm wearing. And it's not always something like, "I love your scarf." These people are perceptive. They read me. I feel like they know why I chose the black leg warmers or the yellow shoes. Everyone wanted to know the "real" reason I shaved my head when I did it.

It's not like I'm going to change; I don't even know if I'm capable of changing. But it admittedly throws one more factor in the equation when I'm dressing myself in the mornings.

thirft.

My mother is absolutely straight-faced convinced that thrift store shopping runs in our genes. My great aunts, Tommie and Golden were thrift shoppers before her, and she's done her best to pass the tradition down.
Of course, as a kid, I hated it. Kindergarten was brutal enough with the portable IV and uncontrollable bladder, let alone the second-hand clothes.

But growing up in a home where the established mindset was to appreciate the design, quality, color, or texture of something that was discarded by others may have made all the difference in my life.

When I wanted to paint at 8, my mother found me a painting set at the DI with a well used wooden easel and lots of brushes (I still have this.) When I wanted to play the flute at 11, she bought me a $70 one from a pawn shop (I still have this too.) When I wanted to sew, she bought me a$15 Bernina sewing machine (the one I still use.) To this day, my mom still finds and buys second-hand items I might find useful. (The latest purchase was a pack of two paintbrushes for $.50 waiting for me in my bedroom when I returned from school.)

Jr High was embarrassing because there's no time in life when name brand products feel so important; but by the time I became a junior in high school, I had it down. My favorite shirt was a lovely, swamp green 100% cotton weave shirt with yellow beading around the neckline
(as pictured above.)
With thrift shopping as my only real clothing resource, I taught myself about innovation and style. I learned to evaluate "good" design outside the realms of cultural popularity.

I'm not sure I would've learned this any other way.

My friend Jared's art, composed of second-hand objects:

who does she think she is?

I will never forget when I announced to my former mother-in-law that I was going to start working at the temple.
"I think it's great, but can you really do it all? I think you've got to give something else up."
She was almost right. My schedule was fully loaded. I was working full-time in the garment manufacturing plant, volunteering teaching NAMI classes once a week, teaching in Relief Society, taking a class at BYU, and struggling for survival in a demanding and unhealthy marriage.
I'm not sure if I ever said it out loud to anyone, but this repeated silently in my head all of the time:
I am absolutely convinced that I can do everything.

And I was right. I accomplished and balanced that whole list with great success. Taking care of myself catalyzed the courage to leave and insist on divorce. It was like catching a glimpse of my true identity made me see how necessary is was to get myself back.

I've been a little weird lately, just the past couple of weeks. Lonely, self-conscious; lacking energy to accomplish my many obligations.

Tonight in the seminar class that I TA for, we watched a documentary called "Who Does She Think She Is?" It's about women artists who attempt to do it all: marriage, mothering, art. Somehow it struck such a chord with me that I had to hold back tears. I was reminded of my propensity to give myself up in order to please others and how I must fight it.

It's inspired me to make this public manifesto: I am not holding back. I am going to be the type of women I think I should and can be. And I am still absolutely convinced that I can do everything.

It's vague enough that nobody will know what that really means excepting for myself, but that doesn't matter. It's got to be public lest I forget.

The documentary also reminded me of how elusive my dreams of romance can be. There is a Mormon woman highlighted in the film who maintains her marriage, but the majority of the others are/get divorced.

My brother read this poem aloud to my family the first time we gathered to see his new child. He wrote it for his wife while she was in labor. I can't think of a better way to describe what am looking for in a marriage other than to just post it:

Summation

When, I, as a child, to earth did come

The number to which I belonged, was One

--One King of The Mountain, alone I would be

--One winner of all things I wanted for me

--One boy to be cared for—my needs to sustain

--One boy to be heard—all my joy and my pain

And what’er the problems of others might be

The real ones counting—they added to me

For when weighing the listings of tasks to be done

Important ones seemingly upheld my ONE

And all was quite perfect, for shouldn’t it be

That that which was worthwhile supported my Me?

And life, I had figured, was fantastic and fun

As long as it nurtured the concept of One

And then came the day that I flew into you

My One bursting into a beautiful Two

For two on life’s lakes far outshines the one

Bearing twice the joy with a bigger sun

And ideas of One: so soon surpassed

By the wholeness of us two, at last

And blessed with your love I’ve grown stone sure

That I’ll return to One no more

For like a weak broth has One become

Next the banquet of Two—its joy and its sun

--The best part of me I’ve now offered to you

As I’ve happily rambled this world of Two

For even in moments when wand’ring apart

I now beat for Two, within my heart

And my anthem become something much richer and true

By embracing the treasure of living for Two

And to this moment we’ve come at last

When our love of two has been surpassed

Like a conqu’ring sea against the shore

Our family’s love now beats for more

So to us, my love, no wonder it be

That the marvel of Two now blossoms to Three

And like the castle on bulwarks stands

The pow’r of three it takes command

O’er an accounting of life’s most important of parts

And affixes them, soundly, within our hearts

No longer partakers alone will we be

But Creators and Stewards to care for our Three

And I wonder—though trav’ling lands mystic and tall

If this won’t be our greatest adventure of all?

--One to out-do the luster of life’s former shines?

--One to forge a foundation outlasting mere time?

Yes, a symphony much more complete will life be

In tending our priceless garden of Three

And so now, with hands held, and hearts free to soar

We shall nurture our Three, God’s entrustment of More

And to you—my love—all respect do I give

The purpose and reason I now choose to live

For life’s greatest treasures I attribute to you

My perfect, miraculous treasure of Two

For what’er life’s torrents might possibly be

With you at my side, we’ll now revel in Three.

ghosts.

In the class where we took trips to NYC and California, we also did a collaborative painting project.

The rule was this: We could paint anything we wanted, but my teacher, Joe Ostraff (who is so wonderful) could paint over it, scrape or sand it off, and ultimately have full creative control.

All of them are to be shown in galleries and Joe will split the profits between all of us after taking out the cost of the materials.

I started out trepidaciously and played it safe. Nothing bold; every stroke could be painted over very easily.

A couple of weeks ago, Joe told us each to choose a painting and finish it. He was still going to have ultimate control, but he wanted us to get one as close as possible to what we thought "finished" was.

Story crux, mine made the cut, and here it is. It looks better now that it's sealed with beeswax; maybe I'll put a new image up sometime.

My graphic design teacher said I should include it in my design portfolio.

Explanation: I was thinking about how soldiers spend an enormous portion of their lives training how to not get killed. There must be a huge sense of invincibility associated with that.

i miss the beach.

Sketching in California:
Thanks to JJ for the pic (which is way better than my sketch.)

first attempt at web.

The assignment is to re-design the Visual Arts Program website. I didn't design the sign that says "DEPT. OF VISUAL ARTS" or the little "back" button on the right-hand side. They are icons that the VA program uses all the time and prints on t-shirts and tote bags and stuff. In all practicality, I think their website should utilize them too.
I've also got to give credit to the website luke helped create, muxtape.com where you'll see some obvious inspiration.
The real VA website is here.
This is just the first draft. I might change everything.

the harris fine arts center.

I cannot stand the sexism of this building.
The floor where I reside for at least 8 hrs. everyday has one men's bathroom. The closest women's bathroom is down 2 flights of stairs where there are 4 tiny stalls that are usually a little untidy from overuse. Right next to that bathroom, across from the drinking fountain, lies another men's bathroom.

The reason this astounds me is because %70 of the Visual Arts department is composed of females. Usually you have to wait in line, navigate your way through large portfolios perched against the wall, and be careful not to bump the girls lined up in front of the mirror fixing their makeup in order to use the facilities at all.

Every once and a while, you'll see a male enter or exit the bathroom next door.

It just seems ironic that I'm supposed to learn about effective design here all day long. I always think about it as I'm making the trip downstairs to the bathroom.

daddy.

I love my dad so much. I hope you can get a sense of how meek and hard-working he is from this picture.
I took it for a portrait assignment in my photo class.

a little awkward.

I presented the original drawing of this to my graphic design teacher and he fell in love with it. It's an event poster that will be 16"x 22". I tried to re-draw it, but it just wasn't the same. So, I guess my ex-husband gets to be a part of my graphic design portfolio. Oh well...

going etsy.

I just started my very own Etsy shop. If there's anything you've ever wanted to buy from my blog, just let me know. If you ever have suggestions of things you think I should sell on Etsy, I'm totally open to suggestions.

permanent eraser.

This next week will mark the end of a crucial era: I quit my job working at the garment factory and will fully immerse myself in the BYU visual arts department.

My art teacher/ TA boss, Joe Ostraff, said he bow-hunted. When I expressed some surprise, he explained that he felt everyone who eats meat should be capable of killing and gutting animals so they can obtain a full awareness of what they are doing and assume some responsibility for it.

I completely agree with this, although I'd like to add that I feel the same way about manufacturing. I think every consumer should work in a manufacturing plant for just one day to appreciate what it means to be provided with cheap goods. It is back-breaking work, even when the circumstances are regulated and the pay is fair.

And even then, I will miss it.
Not the back-breaking labor-- although it allowed me the opportunity to prove to myself that I am a hard worker-- I will miss the company of my heroic and humble co-workers. The majority of women there are immigrants; strong women who support their families. They never had the opportunity for education because they were busy raising their children. These women are grateful, kind, and sincere despite the monotony if their lives. I will miss their influence.

I also regret leaving behind my reputation. I think more than anyone, these women know that I am tougher than nails and respect me accordingly. They've experienced my grit, endurance, and audacity in both physical and emotional turmoil for over 3 years. They've allowed me to cry on their shoulders and been quick to cheer me on in even my smallest triumphs. In some ways, I feel like I'm starting all over again.

On my plane ride to New York, I left my sketchbook in the seat pocket in front of me. My stomach felt sick when I realized it yesterday. This particular sketchbook contains every journal entry I ever wrote while I was married to the present. It includes every sketch I've ever posted on this blog. I've expressed on more than one occasion that if my house were burning down, I'd grab my sketchbooks and leave. They are a record of everything.

But in considering the loss of this particular sketchbook, maybe I can let it go. I can't think of anything that would would make me immediately more depressed than reading those entries from when I was married. I've only read them twice and they markedly altered my mood for the entire day.

I am a strong advocate of coming to terms with truth and the importance of acknowledging past events, but maybe something beyond my regular state of consciousness wanted me to leave that sketchbook that seat pocket. Maybe I've come to terms enough.

I unwrapped a new sketchbook today. One that I bought a long time ago, but had been saving. It's beautiful with thick, creamy paper and a shiny leather cover.

I can't wait to see what will fill its pages.

techniques.

Panning. High key.
Silhouette. Bulb exposure.
Major thanks to Tom (Miller.)

longing.

Just
finished
this.

It's
the
moon
and
venus.

not all that disappointed.

Remember this post? Or this one?
Yeah, I auditioned for Bravo's replacement of "Project Runway" and got really far. They flew me out to LA. I signed a contract. I ate a $25 sandwich through room service on their tab.
I've been dying to blog about it for the last 3 months, but was supposed to keep it a secret. My final interview in LA happened about a month ago. They said I'd be informed of the final decision in a couple of days. Then they said I'd hear in a week, then in 2 weeks.

Someone from the production studio finally called yesterday:

"Sorry, but you weren't selected. Laura, we loved you and pushed so hard for you, but the network made the final decision. Sorry.
But we'll be thinking of you when season 2 comes up."

Maybe they tell everyone that?
Of course I've speculated all of these reasons why it took so long to receive my answer. Like, what if one of the network producers hates all Mormons after Prop 8? I don't know, maybe they're convinced that goodie-goodie girls like me don't make interesting television.

Either way, I'm totally okay with it. Not getting on means:

I get to keep my scholarship.

I don't have to withdraw from my classes (and then re-take them later.)

I get to start a new TA position at BYU where I work with visiting artists and take them to galleries.

I get to quit my job.

I don't have to worry about getting in trouble with BYU's honor code in regard to housing. (There was talk of possible mixed gender housing on the show.)

I don't have to go without communication with family and friends (and Josh) for 6 wks. (They make it a rule on all reality shows that you can't.)

I'm not gonna pretend like it wasn't a really exciting opportunity, but my life is plenty exciting without it. I still think I might be the luckiest girl on the planet.

wall space.

This hangs above the computer in my bedroom.