To describe my life, and where I see myself, in the next five years is not an easy task, but by focusing on what I want to accomplish, I can get a better view of the things I’d like to see happen. Ultimately, I want to realize what I feel as my calling of bringing all forms of my art to all. My portfolio will not be limited to my current offerings of dry-media drawings, experimental sound pieces, and a short selection of videos. I plan to add paintings and new drawings employing my favorite medium from my youth, markers. In regards to my audio art, things will take a more musical turn: I will play, sing, and record musical pieces that will have experimental and traditional flavors. My video repertoire will get a boost from my anticipated animated features. As of now, I don’t have any plans for making more live-action experimental pieces but may do so should ideas and resources be available. Which brings me to another aspect of this five-year vision: It’s great to have the finished products, but what will I do to actually get to their completion?

Since I will be graduating with a B.F.A. in Intermedia in spring of 2017, one thing I’ll surely be doing until then is using my time in school to take classes intended to further and hone my creative skills. At the same time, outside of school, I plan to take advantage of opportunities such as jobs and internships that place me in circles within the art world, where I can broaden my network, gain more resources, and build exposure. By also showcasing my current work in various spaces not only here online but also in real-world places such as galleries and art festivals, I will be giving people a feel for the work I already do while I get ready to roll out my newer material.

Is this all doable in five years? I think it’s possible, although we all know that life can present setbacks and advancements that can’t always be predicted. Even with this in mind, I believe it makes sense to say “YES” to every opportunity that allows me to go places with my art, make connections with people, and learn new things. Because to fulfill my purpose is living the life I am to live. So as these next few years unfold, stay tuned!

With its distinct departure from traditional aesthetic expectations, conceptual art can come across as a revolutionary, and even bewildering, approach to the artistic presentation of ideas. In classicism, painstaking attention is given to achieve perfection in the beauty and form of the subjects depicted. However, in the conceptual approach, it is not so much the perfected presentation that is important as much as the ideas behind the piece: the emphasis lies at the concept rather than the object(s) and/or figure(s). While traditional art may be nice to look at or engage in, conceptual art delves deeper to make you think more about what you’re looking at or interacting with.

So how and why did conceptual art come about? Yesterday I had a conversation about this topic with a colleague and long-time friend of mine, fine artist Christine Gin. While we both have created pieces that deal with ideas of the real and unreal, Christie specializes in more traditional approaches to art while I more often work in conceptual modes. To establish an understanding of the rise of conceptual art from the traditions of classical art, we began by talking about the aesthetic values upheld back in the days of the Renaissance. These values were actually revived from the era of ancient Greek and Roman art, but would at this point be coupled with inspirations from new scientific studies of the human form as well as botany, fueling the popularity of natural elements in art. As distant lands were explored, this aesthetic would spread the world over along with appreciation for it. But a few centuries later, many people’s lives changed as the Industrial Revolution kicked into gear and introduced people to machines, automation, and new technologies that moved affected civilizations away from natural settings and ideas. I also brought up the possibility that there were some practicing artists who may have simply felt it was time for new ideologies to come in to progress art into the future. And with all this change simultaneously happening at the turn of the 20th century, conceptual art was born. From then on, the norm-challenging and even controversial works of conceptual artists such as Marcel Duchamp, John Cage, Piero Manzoni, and Yoko Ono among others have called into question the general public’s notions of what good art is and how it should be presented.

After this, Christie and I moved on to the concern of what major trend would follow next after conceptualism. Considering the ubiquity of digital technologies, as smartphones, tablets, Internet with social media outlets, I think that this would help in not only continuing the popularity of computer-related art, but would also be part of a bridge to a new movement that could involve more futuristic technology or may even revolt against technology altogether, as society becomes weary of having relied on it for so long, and returns to nature.

Yes you heard right! On the heels of the release of The Chimes, I’ve just finished filming a new, yet-to-be-titled experimental art video and I am in the process of putting the finishing touches on it before officially posting it.

The topic of this two-channel video deals with ideas of time and aging, showing scenes representing views of old age and young age. The story centers on the contemplative perspectives of a young person whose recent experiences of crippling situations make that person feel old. This concept will be visually presented with old and young subjects, both live and inanimate, juxtaposed in various situations to project a metaphorical presentation of a young person feeling misplaced in time.

Once this piece is done, I’ll post an update, and the finished work will be available for you to experience via the Videos portal on my Portfolio page.

While our world’s population grows and more things are manufactured and consumed by us, recycling is a great topic to discuss via public art as communities everywhere are searching for ways to reduce landfill clutter. Yet in order for the message of these works to be effective, the focus should be made clear. One local public art project, though having some interesting pieces, didn’t quite come through to me concerning where the significance truly lies.

The Phoenix North Transfer Station Project, commissioned by the city of Phoenix, features photographic works by artist Paho Mann which use objects that were collected throughout the city as residential solid waste and dropped off at a North Phoenix transfer facility, and now await to be sent to a recycling facility. Mann creates a variety of visual item arrangements ranging from poignant (children’s drawings and homework) to abstract (layers of metal colors) to simply color-coded (purple plastics), but the point of these displays seems unclear: Are we looking at things to be surely used again, or are we examining the sentimental value of the discarded items themselves, regardless of whether they end up transformed into new consumables or dumped in the trash heap?

When I consider that the project is intended to bring attention to the idea of recycling, and then look at pictures of items carefully posed but not demonstrating any action or role related to this idea, I assume that I’m looking at examples of trash that once had meaning and purpose but have no indication that they will be used for any further cause.

If Mann could do something in the project’s works to push further the idea of recycling, I would suggest arranging the items into new forms – perhaps the kids’ art and homework find their way onto a living community canvas as a receptacle for all kids’ contributions? Or the color-coded items become a new generation of useful products for diverse needs, in colors all across the spectrum? I think that artistically making a case for the benefits of recycling would certainly bring a positive and engaging awareness to the public and give the art pieces themselves a firm grounding for what they stand for.

As I grew up watching what was to me the fun, magical, and at times limitless worlds of Disney, Hanna-Barbera, Warner Brothers, and the like, I developed a fascination for animation and always wanted to learn how to do it to eventually create my own animated shows and movies starring original characters which my synesthesia has supplied.

I first dabbled in animation, particularly of the 3-D sort, with my video A Wander in the Desert Turns to Wonder, but the techniques and purposes behind that piece placed more emphasis on the programming aspect of the software it was created with, Alice. Now, I’d like to take a step back and study 2-D animation, the kind of animation I was interested in the first place. And this school semester, I got to personally meet one new person who just might connect me to the next step in working with this art form, and whom I sense will thus influence my work: Meredith Drum.

Meredith is an ASU professor who teaches classes in 2-D and 3-D animation as well as intermedia practices, and has also created animated works herself among other forms of experimental approaches to old and new media. As I was rather nervously preparing all the elements of my portfolio for review by ASU’s School of Art Intermedia Program, she worked with me in making sure I met the requirements. I greatly appreciated the time she took in looking at and discussing my work thoroughly, and gave me a lot of positive feedback. Although I am not taking a class with her right now, I will in the fall for 2-D computer animation. I am looking forward to seeing what new animating skills I will learn and possibly apply to my own upcoming work!

As we advance in life experiences, we come to learn the importance of first impressions. Generally, it takes a will to take the risk of putting yourself out there to make the smart moves and the mistakes needed to teach the lessons vital to improvement. One situation that taught me some valuable pointers was my first job interview. Naivety along with a lack of concern for how I presented myself churned out what I would remember as my worst interview ever on record—though I’m rather glad the worst was my first.

One day when I was 16, my parents presented me with a job application for a position as a teller at a bank that was located within a grocery store close to our house. They explained to me how they felt that my getting an entry-level job in the arena of finance would set me up for great money-making opportunities in the future. But however beneficial this sounded, being more art-oriented, I wasn’t particularly excited about pursuing a job in which I had to handle other people’s money and sell them on offers, schemes, and other whatnot that the business had to offer. Yet on closer examination of the job application, I noticed that my parents had already filled it out for me. They really wanted me to get this job. And while I wasn’t enthused, I thought I’d humor them by agreeing to submit the application and going in for an interview.

My interview was set for 11:15 a.m. on a November morning. I wore a red, collared, button-down short-sleeved shirt and if I recall correctly, black slacks. As my dad drove me there, I felt my palms sweating profusely and was mentally getting very anxious. When I went inside the store to the bank area and into interview room, I was warmly greeted by two interviewers, a young man and a slightly older woman. As we shook hands, I nervously smiled and chuckled and then took a seat in front of them.

Looking at this instance now, I remember how it felt as though the two had asked me many questions, and being as unprepared as I was for them, there were at least two points at which I had no answers. Seeing that I obviously lacked experience in working at a bank, I was asked if I had participated in any groups, whether at school, or church, or anywhere else in the community, in which I used sales tactics such as distributing flyers, selling goods at bake sales, or the like. I told them that I had assisted a table at my church for recruiting new members for the girls’ youth group I was a part of. Then they asked me to be more specific of my duties, and indicate to what extent I was “selling” my cause to those that stopped by my table. I just knew that I casually discussed what our group was about to anyone that was interested, and showed them our flyers and registration forms. I wasn’t sure if this counted as “selling”, so being too nervous to think of any other way to describe what I did, I stumbled and said, “I don’t know.”

The interviewers paused for a second and looked slightly perplexed, but then continued on with their questions. The woman, who I understood held a higher job position than the man, appeared especially curious about me throughout the whole interview, looking straight into my eyes, slightly smiling with her mouth open, and tilting her head toward my direction. The process got to a point where I became very (and probably noticeably) uncomfortable, and after a series of uncertain, murmured responses, she asked something along the lines of, “So what do you think you can bring to our organization?” Exhausted from all the questioning, I gave up thinking and just said, “I don’t know.”

Stunned, she paused then quietly replied, “You don’t know?” I don’t remember what I said after that, but as the interview had pretty much died down at this point, the interviewers concluded it by politely thanking me for my time and letting me know that I would be called if I get the position. Can you guess what happened?

While I was actually relieved that I was passed over for a job I didn’t really want anyway, this experience taught me the following invaluable lessons that would help me in future interviews and in job-searching. I hope they can be of help to anyone else looking to hone interviewing skills:

1)    This probably goes without saying, but for the record, don’t wait for your parents to fill out an application for you. If you have something you’re passionate about, or at the very least, know of some jobs you’re willing to do until you reach your big break, go for them as soon as possible. This is the first step in taking control of your future.

2)    Be prepared! While looking spiffy and giving hearty handshakes can help establish an ideal, professional first impression, these efforts are only at the surface of showing people who you are. What about the questions they may/will ask you? How will you respond? What do you know about the organization, and where do you think you will fit in? Anticipating what interviewers may ask and how they may respond gives you the opportunity to fill in with your knowledge and capabilities, and come out strong by communicating what you have to offer to further the company’s goals and add to your experience. 

3)    Once you get to be interviewed, don’t respond with “I don’t know.” If you really don’t know about a specific detail an interviewer brings up, you could ask him/her to repeat the question to buy some time to formulate a response or you can find something comparative that you do know about or have experience in. In a later interview for a position in the field of education, I was asked about my familiarity with administering an assessment that was specific to the institution and separate from assessments based on state standards. Honestly, I wasn’t familiar with the school’s in-house assessment at all, and had up to this point only administered assessments standardized by the state. So I said, “I’m not familiar with (the named school’s) assessment, but I am familiar with assessments based on state standards.” I ended up getting that job. As many factors, both known and unknown to us, are involved in the process of being considered for hire, I can’t guarantee this method will always bring success, but even if you don’t have the specific experience that is asked for, it’s better to show that you at least have relatable experience, which can make you seen as easier to train into company-specific duties rather than someone with zero relatable experience.

After over a month of planning, filming, and editing, I am pleased to announce that my new experimental art video, The Chimes: A Loving Memory, is finished and now available for viewing in my Videos page - click on the Portfolio link in the navigation bar above, and then click the Videos icon.

If you haven't seen my previous post on the concept of the piece, here is the premise:

The driving force of this project are two central ideas: Sound and the heart. The concept of this experimental art video is the exploration of the psychological and physiological effects of sound on the sensations of love, death, and grief. To illustrate this concept, I created a narrative of a “relationship” between two wind chimes, which differ in size but ring in the same key. The combination of the sound of the wind chimes and matters of the heart serves as a metaphor for a real life relationship. In fact, my primary influence for creating this project and story was an actual experience of being in a relationship with my boyfriend who was terminally ill, and having given him musically-tuned wind chimes as a gift before he passed.

The completion and posting of this video happen to come on a special day - what would have been Don's birthday. This is my gift.

It’s a nice experience to observe nature and create a visual presentation out of it using typical studio media, such as pencils, paint, markers, and so on. But I’ve found that things can get even more interesting when you use actual elements from nature, in nature, to make that scene. With all of the components susceptible to weathering, exposed to wildlife, and at the mercy of people, outdoor installations have a temporary quality to them that makes the statements they proclaim all the more fragile and worth capturing while they last, before they all disappear.

One early spring, I took a trip with my 3-D design class to Papago Park, where I had the opportunity to make an art piece purely out of the objects I found. This process resulted in a work that became one of my favorite pieces to accomplish, titled Desert Trickle.

For a presentation space for this installation, I chose an end of a large drainage pipe, about 2-3 feet in diameter, sticking out from the dirt in a low-lying and almost hidden area in the park. Then, in seemingly random places in the surrounding area, around bushes and entwined clusters of small bending trees, I spotted strange rocks of various shapes and sizes that appeared to have been splashed with splotches of pale blue paint at some time past, and were now covered with a fine coating of dust. This discovery of a visual paradox—the wet blueness of water and dry ruggedness of desert—was, to me, the perfect spectacle to use in my chosen space, so I hunted down and gathered as many blue-marked rocks as I could find and arranged them inside and outside the drainage pipe to create an impression of outflow, from the largest rocks to the smallest, from a few that stand out into the many that spread everywhere.

I enjoyed the opportunity to create Desert Trickle with nature as its theme, and using only natural elements. I think this was an appropriate setting to make the narrative visual.

Although the majority of my original ideas for art-making are provided by my synesthetic experiences and the milieu of memories from life moments from my childhood into adulthood, there are other times when I’m feeling more eclectic and gather ideas from people and places farther away from my immediate surroundings.  As someone who enjoys exploring various art forms and conceptual methods, especially those involving vibrant colors and abstraction, I get inspiration from many artists and find it hard to choose a few to emphasize over all the rest. For this post, though, I will introduce you to one—meet Ginny Gaura.

Gaura is a self-described multidisciplinary artist who graduated from Northern Illinois University with a B.F.A. in Illustration, and started her career as a graphic designer who became successful working at the Chicago Tribune, but later found a greater satisfaction in painting and began devoting her time to creating pieces as an independent artist. Her pieces frequently feature rich colors, powerful lines and brush strokes, and interesting treatments of light that combine to form surreal spaces with some natural elements to guide the viewer in. In addition to graphic design and painting, she also does photography, hand-lettering, and poetry, but my favorite works of hers are the paintings that come from her series Dreamscapes and Spiral Journey. Here are a few below.

In Dreamscapes, I find the softly meandering curves of layered tones of gradually defined color, as well as the visual paths to and from light, very welcoming, as I enter an abstract space I can make my own, while being swathed in colors that trigger synesthetic metaphors—a subconscious home away from home; a sanctuary. Gaura’s meditative approach has spurred me to pay more attention to and investigate further the depths of spaces in my own work.

The natural—namely, botanical—aspects of Gaura’s art have also inspired my work. In her piece Plant Spiral, she places a green, leafy vine into a spiral pattern extending from the middle of the space outward, to signify the concept of growth. Along with Gaura, I too find spirals fascinating and, without even thinking about this piece, I would incorporate a spiral into one of my drawings that I did for a series in which I explored floral development:

Overall, I appreciate Ginny Gaura’s pieces particularly in her series Dreamscapes and Spiral Journey for the ways they use colors and lighting techniques to create inviting conceptual spaces. The compositions of these works really speak to my perceptions and emotions on a level that is pensive and liberating at the same time, and inspire me to artistically express my messages through similar routes.

All too often, I hear a lot about how a career in art is not worth pursuing, as the chances of becoming rich and famous are slim, and keeping up with the various artistic tastes and trends of people and popular culture is costly and draining, among other reasons. But I wonder if those who might feel this way would consider the greater impact that art can have, well beyond the individual and into the world. What is the worth of art, really?

Here's a site that may get them--and maybe even you--thinking. It sure did for me:

http://artsaveslivesintmagazine.com/

This is the official website for an e-zine published by Art Saves Lives International (ASLI) , a non-profit organization based out of the UK that supports the efforts of artists everywhere to call attention to the tough issues our world faces, including:

• Mental illness
• Violence against women
• Poverty and war
• Suicide awareness

Some of the most haunting work I have seen came from the organization's own president, Charlotte Farhan. In time for her upcoming exhibition, she has begun posting work centered on the themes of rape and rape culture. One work, I Am Still Bleeding, is comprised of a painting and a revealing poem about her traumatic experience as a rape survivor.

I think that the more global outlets that artists have, like ASLI, the more opportunities we can have to spark conversations about the challenges we go through as human beings and take us closer to solutions to positively impact our future.

When I try to recall the first time I realized my place was in art, three particular items pop into my mind: a little red plastic chair, a sheet of lined paper, and a pencil. Soon the memory unfolds.

I was about four years old, sitting in that red chair, holding the blank paper in front of me with one hand, and the pencil in the other. On the outside appearance, I might have seemed relatively calm, but inside, mentally and almost physically, a huge rush from an inexplicable source was building. A massive wave of creative energy welled up within me, and I felt I needed to draw something, to release this pervading sensation. For the first few moments, I didn’t know what to draw, but I waited until that big idea would reach the surface. The instant it came, felt like a “eureka” realization:

The number One is dark-blue, male, and married to Two, who’s female, reddish-orange, and feisty yet motherly. They have kids starting numerically from Three and likely extending beyond Ten, where there are also other members of what seems to be a royal family, all of numbers, each with his/her own color(s) and personality.

As I discovered this extraordinarily novel idea, I thought it was awesome and immediately began drawing these numerical “characters.” As I began expressing my visuals on paper, the idea of the lives of these entities got more detailed in my mind, as if my mind was telling a story, and I was trying to catch up with it in documenting the story/stories in my drawing. What I hadn’t realized then—and wouldn’t until I reached age 21—was that I was experiencing my first incidence of synesthesia, a condition in which one sensory perception triggers another (or others) simultaneously and involuntarily. In this instance, my sense of number as a symbol was instantly associated with a sense of color, as well as a sense of personality.
 
Now you might be wondering why I’ve written in length about my synesthesia in this post, when I started off talking about finding my place in art. The reason is because, it was my synesthetic perceptions that spurred me to pursue art seriously in my life. From such a short moment of time at age four, I instantaneously became aware of a wealth of cliché-challenging, abstract, and literally colorful material that I felt would be best expressed creatively, and lead me to learn more about worlds both within me and surrounding me. Concerning art and the art world, I have since gone on to learn other aspects and techniques, and demonstrate new skills as I have acquired them, but it was only because of my first serendipitous, and fateful, occurrence of synesthesia that I would affirm that, “when I grow up, I’m going to be an artist.”