In all my years of schooling, all the years of rushing to turn in college papers, to solve basic Algebra problems, discuss Philosophy and sit through countless boring lectures, it took till this week at this school to solve the basic riddle of the Universe.
All of our genius forefathers did not know shit if they could not make perfect white lines appear on glass edges in photographs. You can have the high end equipment, have taken great photos for years traveling all over the world for years, but the real genius can take an incredible photograph of a spoon.
That shit is not easy.
I think I am prouder of surviving this week than I am over 3 1/2 years of college, maybe because I don’t remember them, or maybe because I saw a grown married man cry by a teacher who can prove Photoshop is incorrect in its percentages of what a Raw image file can contain, that JPEG is for pussies, and I shake now when burning dvds, a trauma now I may never recover seeing as my Macbook can not burn a flippin dvd, for God’s sake.
I have managed to create a new disorder.
DBF. DVD BURNING FAILURE is a disorder I now recognize by blood rushing to my head, rooms starting to spin in slow motion, people’s mouths opening and closing while I feel a deep hand around my throat choking, blood pounding to strange beats any time I hear the sound of any cd or dvd being ejected, even away from school.
I think I may have to start listening to mix tapes from the 80s until I recover.
Yes, besides the disorder, the fact I haven’t slept in days and have complete memory loss have been worth the shitty photos I have taken, the zillion lessons they have brought me.
I also have learned that showing up unannounced to do work alone will put you in the company of hot art directors and copywriters, and so, on top of the shitty photographs, I at least was invited to drink off the pain.
I saw a guy dressed with a scarf and jacket, a rare thing in an art school, gazing up at the sky. He looked like he was memorizing data, mouthing words, his face breaking into confusion, his other hand oddly holding a pen, his body in between these moments would crumple, his head in between his arms.
It was a pattern, and yes, I saw it clearly in five minutes.
“What’s up?’ I asked over the rim of my DVD failing Mac, wondering if he were gay, which when you meet a hot man with a pen in his hand and a lovely scarf, women know to guard their hearts immediately.
“I am obsessed with words.”
Snap. That is the come on line of all time for a girl like me, and so here I was, talking to a copywriter, which I had been wanting to get in their heads, always wondering if my personal ridiculous tales could translate into the advertising world.
I had thought the answer to that would be “NO WAY IN HELL.”
He said he had an ad campaign, that he had to convince with 3 statements how to convince people to START smoking, and so he also had a blog as well, but his was about ridiculous pointless dorky thoughts.
I find late night break rooms to be my favorite place, people hurdled around discussing book bags for children from the village assignment, the ones that will free the child in the tribe to do more homework.
The people all have different backgrounds and ethnicity, even there dogs, yes, dogs are allowed, as long as they look like they just dropped acid. Creatives are the best. And so, here I brain storm with a man asking me about his kid in the jungle, if he could possibly use netting, while he helped me find Barbie sized adult beverages.
My concept of taking Barbie and making her bad ass, turning the good girl image around has gone a little far with the help of art directors, walking by and laughing, turning around to tell me to get needles, coke, rolled up dollar bills, smeared make up.
“Oh, and DEFINITELY get teeny tobasco bottles from Hobby Lobby,” a guy said, barely stopping but rolling past me as I smashed glass to look like barbie had fallen from a chandelier while partying.
Nothing hesitates these people when you need Barbie porn ideas, which is why I belong there. The men of course had great ideas, like to put the video camera in, to tie her hands behind her back in the bath tub scene, since she was obviously into dominatrix, her tiny little pink slippers elegantly next to Kat’s barbie toys I stole.
And so it has been, one adventure after another, laughter in between meltdowns, teachers that inspire or terrify, and the basic promise to myself to just do what is next in line, that I will have an emotional break down if I think about next week.
And so, I shall go finish my homework, my blog missed dearly for its grounding emotional quality it brings, so let the heart pounding begin, which when you hear what I do for homework, it is freakin hilarious.
So far, the assignments for shutter speed and aperture have had me decorating cars and grocery carts, having people spin them or slowly tap them, while a guitar lighter I found that makes sound and lights up has been the silent weapon to help me understand aperture and night settings. I have laughed watching people shoot pumpkins, offer up hand made potato guns, and I have turned my girls into lamps, covering them in lights, asking them to put on ski uniforms to be shot in the tub, for the irony, I said with irritation, Kat not getting the concept.
But, all of this is bullshit, you guys, until I take the perfect spoon, and so, I guess that is when I will be able to break the rules. You have to know them to break them, the only inspiration to do that tedious frustrating lighting to begin with, proving to myself I finally have the right to do what I want fearlessly, instead of happy accidents occurring from time to time.
Until that day, I shall make Barbie porn, dump naked people and shoes into big tanks of water to understand the perfect way to shoot something frozen in action, a creative answer that fuels me like gasoline because this is what I love, and nothing says that like Creatives, up all night writing curse words with sparklers and glow sticks, hoping to capture them perfectly on camera.
A spoon genius.