Oh snap!

From André Breton's Manifesto of Surrealism:

If the purely informative style, of which the sentence just quoted is a prime example, is virtually the rule rather than the exception in the novel form, it is because, in all fairness, the author’s ambition is severely circumscribed. The circumstantial, needlessly specific nature of each of their notations leads me to believe that they are perpetrating a joke at my expense. I am spared not even one of the character’s slightest vacillations: will he be fairhaired? what will his name be? will we first meet him during the summer? So many questions resolved once and for all, as chance directs; the only discretionary power left me is to close the book, which I am careful to do somewhere in the vicinity of the first page. And the descriptions! There is nothing to which their vacuity can be compared; they are nothing but so many superimposed images taken from some stock catalogue, which the author utilizes more and more whenever he chooses; he seizes the opportunity to slip me his postcards, he tries to make me agree with him about the clichés:

The small room into which the young man was shown was covered with yellow wallpaper: there were geraniums in the windows, which were covered with muslin curtains; the setting sun cast a harsh light over the entire setting…. There was nothing special about the room. The furniture, of yellow wood, was all very old. A sofa with a tall back turned down, an oval table opposite the sofa, a dressing table and a mirror set against the pierglass, some chairs along the walls, two or three etchings of no value portraying some German girls with birds in their hands – such were the furnishings. (Dostoevski, Crime and Punishment)



I am in no mood to admit that the mind is interested in occupying itself with such matters, even fleetingly. It may be argued that this school-boy description has its place, and that at this juncture of the book the author has his reasons for burdening me. Nevertheless he is wasting his time, for I refuse to go into his room.


(I have to admit that the reason this passage first caught my eye is that an ex who I now greatly despise was in love with Dostoevski. hahahhahaha)

Your daily moment of zen.

I am making flashcards for my comprehensive exam which is in less than two weeks.
I love Grünewald's Isenheim Alterpiece. I'm mad at myself for not making more of an effort to take a train out to Colmar when I was in Paris to see it in person.

Matthias Grünewald, Isenheim Alterpiece (First View), c.1510-15

Glass + Steel.

An art exhibit installation isn't truly finished until one has accrued a significant number of bruises.















It's always worth it, though. Go check out Glass + Steel at Elmhurst Art Museum.

The things you stumble upon...

This was posted a few days ago on a blog I follow, Old Paint, which posts an old painting every day. I love it, and it opens up a whole new avenue of study for my thesis: examples of adolescents in Italian paintings.

Felice Casorati, Girl on a Red Carpet, 1912

It's like one of Balthus's girls set in an Eduoart Vuillard painting.

I'm being crushed under glass and steel.

Funnily, my latest curatorial endeavor makes me appreciate school so much more and I actually miss being a full time grad student working on 15-20 page papers spending all of my free time reading essays. Not that I don't still have museum aspirations, but I think I'll be much better at it after I finish my degree. Also, I will be able and more qualified to do it full time, and thus will not feel like a total fuck up even though I know it's not entirely my fault.
Despite it all, the exhibit looks great and is different than anything EAM's done before, and I'm now more prepared to deal with the next exhibit which I foresee as being similarly taxing. No more doormat curating.

I just got Anthropologie's latest catalogue in the mail and I want every pair of shoes depicted in it. Though I think it's kind of stupid that "For our August edition, we photographed what inspires us...
real people
real places
you"

Then they show people modeling their clothes in Paris, New York, and London.
Yep, that's me.

A cat is all I need to be happy.

I am up way past my bed time.

I want to be at work at 8 am, even though it will never happen.

The exhibit I'm working on was supposed to be done today (Friday), but it's not. In some ways, it's my fault because I was not very organized with this one. But it was my first exhibit of 3D work that I was in charge of (I hang 2D work very quickly, so I don't need as much time to complete a show), I only work 20 hours a week, and people were late bringing important components in that I needed in order to design around. Also, people brought in things last minute that I then needed to incorporate into the show. Plus I had 3 "superiors" giving me all sorts of different orders yet telling me that I need to take charge.

I'm really amazed that I haven't had a nervous break down. Perhaps that's due in part to my visit to the psychiatrist last week.

I love my job. But I really wish I could have it after I graduate instead of right now. My comprehensive exam is in less than a month and I've hardly studied for it.

Movies lie.

I wish that I could have my hair styled either of these ways whenever I want:

Daisy d'Ora in Pandora's Box, 1929.


Veronica Lake.

Not that it would make my life better or happier, or make me more well-loved...sigh.

Why am I watching this History Channel show about aliens?

I wish I could throw everything away and start over.

Self-imposed insecurity.

I had a...not depressing, but some similar emotion...thought in between dreams and wakefulness this morning. I've been very self-conscious of the fact that the last 3 years is the best (imo, anyway) that I've ever looked. I'm 27, almost 28 - past my prime in the eyes of many people. But we all live longer these days, and thanks to surgeries and treatments and lifestyles, women are expected to look like they're in their 20s well into their 40s...even 50s. I have another 20 years of "maintenance." It was a really weird thing to think about. Even though I've stopped reading women's magazines and paying attention to celebrities long ago, these thoughts still seep into my brain.

Even though only two or three people look at this blog...

...I wanted to share my latest research paper. If you have suggestions, tell me. Don't be afraid to be harsh, I'm learning way too late in my life how to write art history papers.

Transformation.

Balthus. Thérèse, 1938.

I was photographed today by the Chicago Tribune tidying up a sculpture in Elmhurst Art Museum's new exhibit, "Ultra-Realistic Sculptures by Marc Sijan." There's no guarantee that they'll make it in to the paper; space is tight in the arts section. I hope it does, though, because the pictures the photographer sent me are really cool! I'm not allowed to post them online, though. But if they're printed in the paper, I could post a scan of it...

I am in love with this painting. I love it so much that I should marry it.

Jan Toorop, The New Generation, 1892.

My paper is almost finished. I'm just waiting to see Gabe's edits and then I'll email it to my professor. I'll post it to my website when it's complete. It's not perfect, but it's the best I could do in 2 months and 12 pages.

Oh well.

I just ordered this:


http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=23532818
(She has a variety of colors. Très mignon.)

I decided it was okay to purchase it because a. I got quite a nice tax return this year, and b. I'll wear it as part of my bridesmaid ensemble for Carissa's wedding in October.

It's been a strange week. My boyfriend went out of town. It's amazing how one person can affect your life. Even though I knew I'd miss him, I was looking forward to the change of pace...more time for homework, seeing friends I haven't seen because I spend most of my free time with him. But I didn't do any of those things...I did see a couple friends during the week, but they're DeKalbians and I see them less rarely than my other friends. I only read a little, I drank my New Glarus brown ale and cherry lambic that I got in Madison, and I watched lots of movies and episodes of Buffy. At first, I was disappointed in myself. I don't like being the sort of girl who only spends time with her boyfriend and his friends. But it occurred to me that this week's activities are probably exactly what I would have done if I were single...aside from the beer drinking (since I'd have never gone to Madison). I became a hermit last summer, before I met Gabe. And he doesn't like Buffy or horror movies, so I did do something that I don't get to do as often these days.
I think I do want to go out and be social, but I don't have the motivation to do anything about it. I get lost in my own head and my apartment...if no one pulls me out, I don't think about it until after the fact.

I want to love you, Anthropologie, but you're making it very difficult.

I was horrified to open up an email from Anthro and see this:


Who...why...I don't...ugh.

And then I looked at their dresses, and the world was good.

Talking to myself.

I've been struggling with the idea of moving back to Chicago. I'll only be taking one class in the fall that is one night a week, so I'd only have to make the hour and a half commute to DeKalb once a week. It's closer to the museum. It's closer to most of my friends. It's closer to places I like to visit, food I like to eat. I could live somewhere that actually allows me to have a cat.

But money's tight...err, practically non-existent. Rent would be higher, and my living space would be smaller. My small one bedroom is cluttered enough as it is. I hate moving. I'm only guaranteed a job at the museum until they start looking for a new curator...and I don't know when that will be. What if they decide to hire someone else, and I end up with a job that's not close to Chicago? I hate moving. Gabe likes coming out here, so distance isn't an issue. I doubt I'd see him any more than I do now if I were to move to Chicago. It's not like I have much of a social life now anyway, even though I do still have friends here. I probably wouldn't see my friends in Chicago any more than I do the ones who live in DeKalb. It's not going to make much of a difference if a large portion of the people I know move away. I'd like to go to gallery openings more, which I don't have to live in Chicago to do since I stay at Gabe's on the weekends.

Yes, yes...the sensible thing is to stay put. My life would be different living in Chicago, but it wouldn't be any better or worse.

Big Love.

I've never seen Big Love. As a non-active Mormon, I've been mildly curious, but I figured since it's an HBO soap opera, it wouldn't be worth my while.
I heard about this last episode in which they show a temple endowment ceremony...something very secretive which I never experienced. I left the church before I would have been old enough to receive my endowment. Gabe and I talked about it...he felt it was very offensive and sensational for the producers of the show to include a scene of a sacred practice in the show. I didn't really know how I felt about it, so I played devil's advocate in the discussion.
However, the next day, I went to work, and at some point, my co-workers began discussing the episode. None of them had actually seen it, except for one, who watches it regularly. She had thought that the polygamists were "fucked up"...but after seeing that scene, she decided that the regular Latter Day Saints were the ones who were really crazy. My gut reaction was to defend the church, but since I hadn't expected the conversation, nor had I seen the show, I didn't know what to say and just said that the polygamist family were FLDS.
I don't go to church any more because I disagree with certain aspects of it. That doesn't matter to me, but the fact that I drink, have sex with people I am not married to, and do not believe in the Book of Mormon would certainly matter to them. I would rather quit than be ex-communicated for those things. But I do feel protective of the church, and it hurts me when people say bad things about the church which I feel are not bad at all.
In a way, I'm glad that Big Love depicted the endowment ceremony. I think a lot of peoples' distrust of the church is that Mormons tend to be insular. I think if they knew what an endowment ceremony was and what it meant, I don't think the majority of people would consider it a "freaky" thing. And I don't think that that would compromise the sacredness of the ceremony, or more importantly, the sacredness of one's relationship with God.

Claude Monet can kiss my ass.

I am yet again at a party (a bbq hosted by Gabe and his roommates), not interacting with the fellow guests, but alone in a room with a book and a computer. In my defense, I have a cold, and I did have reading to do for class tomorrow. I read the first article on the docket. The second one, though, is about Monet and Impressionism (it's a 19th century studies class), and since I've been to the Art Institute a bajillion times and have visited the Musée d'Orsay in Paris, I feel that I should be exempt from having to read this article. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn about Impressionism.

Grumble.

Yep, I am hating Wednesday, March 11th, mainly for things I didn't even anticipate. I have negative money, my right arm, hand, and shoulder are killing me because of an impromptu 4 hour long handwritten letter campaign at work (which I agree was a good idea...but it would have been nicer to let us do it at our leisure by a due date instead of all at once), which also resulted in blahblahblah.

I have the sweetest cat on my lap, an awesome boyfriend, and a foot spa.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

EDIT: AND I got my favicon working!!!

I must have gotten in on the wrong side of the bed.

I really should not be worried about favicons at 6am. I suppose that's what happens when one can't fall asleep. I've done everything else...my new massaging foot spa, neck massage, making a mix of baby-friendly music for my new mommy friend...and then listening to it, laying in bed with the lights out in various positions.
So now I'm working on my professional website. I figured out how to upload stuff to my .mac account that I made in Dreamweaver instead of using that crap iWeb program. And instead of working on the other pages, I've been trying to figure out why my favicon code isn't working (the little picture that shows up on your browser tabs).
I already know that I'm going to hate today.

I have a doppelganger.

I recently began making a website for my professional work (www.emilybarney.com) and decided to see if it would show up on google. I typed in Emily Barney, and no, my site did not show up (which I'm not too upset about because I'm not happy with it in its current state). However, what *did* show up was a lot of pages that mention another girl whose name is Emily Barney, also 27 years old, and who also lives in the Chicago area.
Creepy.