Art College Interview.

 I always knew that I didn't want to be an artist as a profession but that it had to be a part of my professional life. When I chose to apply to art college I knew that it was only to learn the techniques to be a fine artist, purely representational realism.

As with many things in my life I did it differently; parallel to high school and then completed overlapping with my science degrees. I was busy but happy and did it as a teen with special permission. I was talented and mature and I think they realized that. All of my courses were weekends, evenings or in the summer.

Back then there was no youtube, I had no portfolio admission mentor I didn't know what to submit. The essay part was easy but which 30 pieces which sketchbooks should I submit what were they looking for. I had no idea. Creative and innovative meant nothing and my range was so very limited; animals plants wildlife and I did not want to do anything else. I was not interested in sculpture or design. I did need to learn how to avoid bird on a branch floating on white paper (fine for scientific illustration).

Not me. But I like the image.

My art teacher in high school was not a pleasant person. The wonderful previous one had retired. She had her favorites and only supported the expressionism/emotional art work of the students who were applying to places like Julliard and who wanted to be full time artists exploring the depths of the human soul while I wanted to paint an apple you could pick off the canvas and bite into.

My parents supported their Renaissance kid within reason. My budget was limited. I found out that I should have a cohesive presentation, mount it on foamboard (didn't know what that was or how to do it), attach labels (someone showed me some used in photography) but without someone showing me, I was winging it on my own.

I went to the art store attached to the art college and got very good advice as all the staff are art students themselves. The cost was prohibitive, spending money on supplies and Mi-teintes paper is one thing, wasting it on presentation materials another.

Also not me but what the portfolio
looks like

So black cardboard to mount. Instead of a professional architectural (poster tube) carrier I used the very sturdy (shipping) card board roll the Art paper was rolled up in. Instead of special adhesive, double sided removable painters tape and photo corners to mount. I bought a very large portfolio leather holder with handles that would fit all sizes of paper. (And that was sturdy enough to hold framed work). Everything looked hodge podge and amateurish to my eye.

The interview

Was three hours. With an admission panel of three art instructors. I had waited in the hallway and felt out of place. Everyone was artistic looking. Their presentations professional looking. Everyone had a portfolio document map, which I didn't. All my art work was loose in my portfolio carrier. My work was critiqued in the three hours which I really appreciated.

All of my linocut prints and everything that I did in high school didn't even receive a comment. They were interested in what I'd done at home. She wanted to see my sketch books. I had brought several. There weren't enough studies I was told. My photorealism (perfect copy) also no comment. She really liked three parrots I had drawn from photographs. You're very talented was high praise. This is were you need to continue. What surprised me was the piece I had thrown in at the last minute. It was a panoramic view of a harbor.  I had lined up the image of about 10 photographs, they overlapped perfectly, but the actual rectangular squares did not. It was the piece she like the most.

It was the most relaxed interview I ever had. Mostly because I knew I was going to University. Not sure if it was standard, but they told me on the spot that I was admitted.

Color theory and psychology part 2

 Goethe, another polymath, assigned emotions and characteristics to color. I went to an exhibit and was going to buy a mug from the gift shop with his color wheel on it:

Goethes color wheel

Yellow/orange was good and represented the mind. Red was beautiful and blue was mean. Except that the German word for mean was modern and meant common in the past.

Too much blue sky and ocean? 

Here's a two minute video on it:

https://youtube.com/watch?v=R7rA3XOHRic&t=341s&pp=2AHVApACAQ%3D%3D

As any artist knows there are colors that one likes to work with and it's very individual. Same with people in general. People have their preferences and dislikes when it comes to color; there is no generalized association of emotion with a particular color.

Goethe, a gifted poet, of the early 19th century mindset, had assigned his personal preferences to color in general.

I do not value psychology as a field all that much, while there is a lot of beneficial research and practice it can also cause irreparable harm.

As part of my science related training, I had to observe some patient interviews in child psychology. I had been warned about the supervisor Dr. Ratchet. Basically, sit down observe a 14 year old "troubled" kid, nod, endure it until you're back to science.

After such an interview Dr. Ratchet sat me down to teach and discuss. Out came this kids drawings. They were typical teen boy drawings. Attempts at comic book characters (superheroes are shown in countless violent poses) and copying is the first thing one does.

She wanted my opinion. The only thing I noticed is that even for an untalented 14 year old he was behind.

Dr Ratchet gave me a lengthy color theory speech. He was using a lot of black (batman's outfit IS black.) these colors represented anger  because yellow and orange meant well adjusted happiness and he wasn't using them. According to her, red was angry, (Again Superman...)

Maybe the subject matter was an expression of his anger, but it wasn't due to the colors he was using.

Early 19th century color theory that went nowhere being applied to the future of a 21st century teen... 

Poor kid.

Brief Color theory Part one

 

Various early color wheels

As a child I attended some courses offered through an art museum geared toward teens. It provided a brief intro on mixing colors using acrylic paint. Young and stubborn, I did not like it because the instructor did not permit us to use black. Something that I would later remember when I painted.

High school art teachers focused on creativity and innovation. The paints we used were premixed and the equivalent of 42 colors in a box of crayons. A lot of good habits were undone. We did sketch and paint for light source using only grey black and white, but how many vases next to a cup and apples for stilife practice can one draw?

The later was my last high school teacher, who taught us little, eventhough she was an artist herself. The emphasis was on. modern art, particularly the impressionist. An art period I appreciate but don't like.

Then came art college. Paint color chips from white to black in 36 squares in equal increments. After a weekend of frustration I got a B because one square was slightly off. Color palettes. Here are the colors in grids; next assignment replicate it using cold and warm palette then the same with changing the hues then cold secondary with warm tertiary and vice versa. An entire course for color theory.

Over and over until it became automatic, which was the point.

The lessons I learned were invaluable and lasted a lifetime. I knew before I was accepted that I was not going to be a professional artist. Little to no demand for realism painters, but a "when time permits" professional artist was perfect for me. Not using black because it dulls paintings has remained, as using cold colors to make something recede.

What surprised me is that very few books were used in contrast to science. We used Albert Munsell color theory (20th century) and his wheel, but the book wasn't required reading. 

Albert Munsell

I was interested in learning more but all I could find was Newton's discovery of the color spectrum, (1704 Opticks), and Goethes book on color theory. (1810) They were treated with as much reverance as old news the earth is round. There were many others, but Munsell is the one that is used.

I mention Goethe because he assigned emotions and psychological characteristics to each color.

I will split this into a second post.

Writing challenge #2

  Hello fellow bloggers

I'm creating another writing challenge: I'll start, you continue with a sentence or paragraph in the comments. Only one rule. It has to be positive. It can be mysterious or whatever direction you choose, but it has to be positive.

You continue were the last person left off until there is a short short story. No reason, just fun what type of story can come together as a collaborative project. Continue the story and comment as often as you wish, even after I post something else until the story is finished.

I am limiting the genres: no romance, nothing rude or vulgar, no horror. Fantasy, scifi, mystery, humor is fine.

Michael was gardening and digging holes for the fruit trees he was about to plant. As he dug deeper he discovered an iridescent oval shape. He removed it and showed it to his wife Linda who was pruning shrubs. "What is this?" he asked. "Looks like a dragon's egg" she replied.

Little Snafu but doing better

 Hello Readers

It's me. Well. Friday was not fun. The stressors of the last few months were a bit too much, both irl and through bloggers and I'm not allowing it to happen again. My body reminded me of that.

I wanted to thank everyone for your well wishes, they worked.

I'm exhausted and bored. Spouse is angry and I'm rambling. Blogging is supposed to be fun not stressful.

Here are ten minutes of cats imitating humans, unless it's frilly vintage stickers or capybara or a Penguin race in Japan or whatever other relaxing mindless videos I've been watching.

Cats are always a good thing.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=ZmuHa9l1-Ns

Comment moderation is enabled.

I no longer believe in the good of humanity, but thank decent people for their comments.

This Is Codex' Wife

Codex had a serious health issue. He is resting now. I do not know which blogger upset him yesterday, but he is dealing with long Covid and is to avoid stress as it exacerbates his symptoms. He has been through hell and still cares deeply about other human beings.

I have told him not to start blogging again. He would not listen. He has been nothing but kind, helpful and supportive to many of you. If you are not capable of that, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

His spouse.

Solidarity?

 I'm supposed to do other things. Insomnia is back so I haven't slept well the last few nights. And with it a recurrent memory that has been nagging and pestering me without rhyme or reason for the last decade.

It was back last night. My subconscious tugging at my conscious mind, demanding attention. I'm not at an age where an old brain remembers the early years and not much in between. So why a preteen memory?

One of the high schools I went to was a very good one. I could not appreciate at the time because I had no other reference point. We were a class composed of students from all sociodemographics. We valued eachothers interest; the student who was into photography and gave those who are interested a copy. The other student whose parents bred greyhounds and whippets. The student who went through a semi punk phase. A few crafters. The ones who could draw. Our teachers didn't do this; we did. Random luck of non cliques. When I watched the old john Hughes movies like breakfast club; it represented our individualities, but I couldn't relate to the stereotypes not interacting with eachother.

One day we had a two hour class, with a fifteen minute break. The teacher announced a surprise test after the break. We were scared and shocked. For the straight A students it meant that we weren't prepared enough. For the failing students it could mean failing the year. During the break we discussed what to do. Diane who was politically active told us it's against the rules. Andrew, the tall guy had already failed two school years and couldn't risk it. The more we discussed it the more outraged we became. We decided on a collective walk out, a protest of sorts. An entire class couldn't get into trouble, we decided.

The student who listened was Katie. Daughter of two physicians. Top student, quiet. She had a muscle tone disability and couldn't run. Anytime we rotated through picking a team in phys ed, some of the kids would pick her last, others picked her second so they weren't mean.

How to convince her? She always followed the rules. Are you in Katie? To our surprise she said yes. We worked out that we were going to do it alphabetically. We were going to walk out one by one. It felt great. It felt right.

The teacher came back in after the break. The test was distributed. No one got up to leave. There was nervous shifting. We looked at eachother. Andrew got up out of alphabetical order. No one followed. We waited. Then wrote the test. After the test we had a short break. Andrew had waited in the hallway. He was angry. Where were you guys?

I remember that we were silent as we walked past him. Looking down. Embarrassed. Feeling like cowards. I have not encountered a surprise quiz since. And I forgot about this event that lay in the past. We were kids, obeying authority.

I have a vague recollection that it was against school policy to count the mark as it can destroy someone's future.

Over the last decade I witnessed this behavior in adults. Outrage at various injustices. Inciting and encouraging others to take the fall, then backing away. Adults that behave like frightened children. Not wanting to get involved. 

The Outrage? Never more than a Netflix popcorn movie, fueled by self-righteous hypocrisy.

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