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:

one last thing.

Joe Ostraff had this idea to get 3 different professors from 3 different schools to collect raw video footage and make 6 students from each school edit it into something. Mary Wollenzein taught me the basics of final cut and here are the results. I'm a little embarrassed about posting this, (no laughing Mike) but I've never been able to post a movie I've made before, so here goes:

which film would you prefer to see?

1.
2.Something I've been working on. typography = everything.

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.

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.