Text: “SayWhatIfYoureDumb!” (Say ‘what’ if you’re dumb)
“Pardon?”
“What?”
Happy Tuesday night everyone! Hope your weeks go good. For this weeks strip Zippy comes back! (And Mur is wearing a different color for once). I love the dynamics between these two, Zippy is… not smart, and Mur never really understands whats going on. So silly!
We’ve made it… the bend-and-COLD!-snap!!! Do we ever really feel alive unless we can’t feel our eye sockets anymore?
In honor of the frozen weather, I’ve been appreciating all the accessories and layers in my life that keep me functioning from sun up to way past sun down. As someone born and raised in the flux of deadly winters and chilling winds I’ve always had a plethora of hats, gloves, scarves (you name them) every since I was a kid. I think most people can look back to their favorite pom-pom hat or various kitten mittens in fond childhood memories traipsing around in the snow and sledding over death-defying hills. Although I’ve lived in the cold for the majority of my life, I can never ever get used to it. I blame it on my eczema or my penitent for tank tops or anything else I can use as an excuse but no matter what I do in a mere 2 minutes my teeth are chattering all the way home. Because of this, I’ve been giving extra thanks to the scarves that swaddle me and the hats that flatten my bangs a little too much. Each of them carry a piece of a past self or a loved one who cared enough about my warmth to make or gift me a little something that could carry comfort through a chilly walk home. Fabrics found by my roommate’s mother, hats passed down to me from my boyfriend’s family, and even skills shared to me from my grandma and cousin are woven into each hat, scarf, and mitten I wear. The next time I’m outside (which will be far too soon) I can feel a little bit warmer knowing the love and care I have with me as I scurry through yet another icy wind storm.
To take into our next week:
Ins: Chamomile tea (always), muted purples, actually interesting text books, aloe vera, hair pomade, perfectly fitted hoodies, overalls, a solid hug.
Outs: Nails that are too long, scorching soup, weird hoods on winter jackets, gel eye masks, ignoring when your feet are too sore, eating one too many anchovies straight out of the tin.
I hope everyone is bundling up in their favorite mittens and gators and earmuffs galore as we all try to survive these next few days of tundra. I task you all with finding and appreciating one another’s fanciful winter accessories as there are too few days when we get to wear all of them all at once!
I Took a Picture of an old lady taking a picture, in awe of a naked tree. That tree attracted her admiration because it was stripped of its bark is what I thought, until I realized that tree was just like that, and not diseased or traumatized. Did the old lady taking a picture know that? Maybe I never actually took a picture. I can’t remember, but I remember wanting to, and if I had actually took a picture, I deleted it right away. I remember wondering if it was creepy of me to take a picture of the old lady, too, but what I took a picture of was her taking a picture. - Sappy
Warming up… truly.
New year, new semester, new entry! Huzzah to the jugs of coffee, days of work, and more hours of sunshine to come our way. Although we’re barely a full week into classes, it already feels like a semester to rival all others.
This week I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept and physicality of self. In my figure drawing class this semester we have a self portrait to do every week, a new version of ourselves frozen in the moment we create them. As someone who started as a self-taught artist in middle school, I’ve always used myself as a model in my artwork. It’s the easiest reference to use, right at the ready as long as you have a phone or a mirror. What started just as studies of human anatomy started to grow into modes of self-expression. I started to draw myself not just as what I saw but as what I wanted to see. Somebody confident, or witty, and especially self-assured. I dreamed up fantastical stories and places that I would put myself in as if I always existed there. An ideal within a dream that took place between the covers of my sketchbook. Then, in high school, I decided to move beyond the literal and into the conceptual. For my AP art classes my upperclassman years I explored the events, memories, and ideas that shaped me throughout my youth. From identity, to nostalgia, to crisis I captured it through the explosion of visual language that I started to hone in my teenagedom. It was Covid, of course, so being cooped up inside meant I spent a lot of time with myself, whether I liked it or not. This lead to the creation of self-portraits in forms of crochet sweaters, clay sculptures, a pair of junk earrings–whatever I could get my hands on really . The expansion of self-portraiture that I created in this time pushed not only my perception of self but my understanding of how I could really capture that version of self beyond what is there. Now in college I’ve turned back to traditional self-portraits with a newfound appreciation. I’ve learned how a drawing of your face is more than just your face, it exists as a record of every decision made to create that face. Every line of shadow and scratch of contour is an example of our very impact of choice onto that page. As an artist, and as a person really, every thing I do is influenced by who I am. The idea of self and identity are always shifting and transforming that I find myself fascinated by the very concept (which is absolutely why I have a billion of drawings of myself). I think it’s funny to say I love drawing myself as both a slightly conceited thing and a truly passionate declaration. Through the creation of my self-portraits throughout the years I’ve been able to confront who I am and grow so much of my self-love from those moments of confrontation. To see, create, and capture is to love and how wonderful is to do that through the practice of self-portraits.
To take into our next week:
Ins: Clogs (always!!), sunglasses, oolong tea, accents, cheesy soup, practicing an early bird routine, medium roast coffee, dressing up in costume.
Outs: Sour tomatoes, sore feet, undercooked onions, objectively bad jokes, character assassinations for the sake of plot, not doing wrist stretches, spoiled milk.
Here’s to another lovely year together and to even more witnessing of the small life all around us 😀
Text: “I hate realism…”
I hope everyone had a lovely break but it’s great to be back! Here’s Mur back to their regularly scheduled shenanigans. I love cats and drawing them so so much, so I personally don’t hate realism–Mur seems to disagree!
