Graduation Day

Karim graduated with his Masters of Arts Degree on Saturday. We went to the ceremony as his family, and were treated to an exciting list of mispronounced names, and horn-equipped fans. I choose not to walk in my undergrad graduation ceremony. I just didn't care enough to spend sixty dollars, or what ever it was, for the silly black dress and hat. Maybe it would have been good however. Just one last chunk of academic bureaucracy to cram down before we get kicked into the cruel world. Karim doesn't really know what he is going to do now that he is done learning everything he ever needed to know in order to succeed. Seeing him accept the fake leather folder without a degree on the stage made me quake in my bones for the day I would do the same. Going to grad school was, to be completely honest, a way to run back into the comforting arms of academia. Here are people who are ideal and pure. We can talk about indy-rock and classic art in the same conversation. They aren't up at 6:30 in the morning unless they never went to bed. People judge each other on grades, not who got fifty verses thirty cent raises once a year. The only problem is that it ends.

This freaks me out.

I will have to make a living again. This time in something I really want to do, which is ironically even more scary than the dumb job routine. I will have to work my way out of debt again. Only this time, it is a much bigger debt. I will have to make babies. There will be no more excuses to not make babies, and plenty of reasons to get to it sooner rather than later. I will have to start getting rich so that I can buy an island (with attached castle and harbor for the boat) and then forget about money all together. This grad school hiatus was a successful way to avoid all that and still feel like I am accomplishing something.

One more year and I will either start being what I always wanted, an artist who makes his living making art, or I will have to pursue a MFA in film.

Memes a Gogo

Now that I finally done watching gobs and gobs of 24 and Lost, I feel I have time to reunite with the world. I can go out and round out my Lacoste tan. I can see James Brown shake his sad, old ass in the park. Or I can do this music list thing that Cory tasked me with and then everybody else did so that now I feel I have to in order to be cool. (On a similar subject, I smoked my first-ever-in-my-whole-entire-life cigarette while in France a few weeks ago. I figured that 28 was a great time to finally give it a chance. It made me cry.)

Total volume of music on my computer:
3.5 GB
The other computer has a bunch too. And then there are the gobs and gobs of back up CD-roms.


The last CD I bought:
Ray's Vast Basement - On The Banks of the Time, and By a River Burning Blue
(I bought them both together in Feb.)

I still really want to buy the newest M. Ward, although.

Song playing right now:
Tzigalo -– Some Frenchy Word

This is a French quartet we saw playing in Arles (the place Van Gogh went crazy). They do a Django Reinhart type hot jazz thing. Very refreshing and urbane of me, huh?

Five songs I listen to a lot (or that mean a lot to me):
I was going to farce this whole thing with songs like "“76 Trombones from the Music Man. Oh man, that song is agog with lusty passion."” Butt that would probably be more work than just listing what I actually like.

Leonard Cohen - Suzanne (or maybe Everybody Knows, or The Partisan, etc. etc.)
You are my Sunshine (sung by anybody. It’s that great of a song!)
Mississippi John Hurt - Goodnight Irene (Dr. John does a pretty good version of this too)
They Might Be Giants -– Letterbox (or maybe Hope I Get Old Before I Die, or 32 Footsteps, or Shoehorn with Teeth, or Whistling in the Dark, or If I Wasn'’t Shy, etc.)
Fats Waller -– Ain'’t Misbehaving
Stars Fell on Alabama (Such a great song, but I haven't found the seminal version yet.)
Billie Holiday -– Blue Moon
Bob Dylan -– You Belong To Me (or maybe Rainy Day Women)
Tom Waits -– Cold Cold Ground (or maybe Jockey Full of Bourbon, or Hoist That Rag, or Crossroads, or Cold Water, or Table Top Joe, etc.
Frank Black -– Los Angeles (or Bullet, or Coastline, or I Love Your Brain, or Debaser, etc.)
Johnny Cash -– I Walk The Line
Monty Python -– I Like Chinese
Gonzo - Someday

13 is the new 5.

Five people to whom I am shall hand it off to:
Screw that.

And yet I'll bet the most interesting part of that whole thing is the little bit about smoking for the first time.

Home Again

It is strange to walk around and hear people speaking English. Now I can eavesdrop and actually understand! Still, my first instinct is to say, "Bon jour" or "Merci" in response to chatting. I'm sure I'll lose that soon enough.

So the first thing I did as I got home on Sunday night was participate in Hump Fest 2005. I showed Marigold how they kiss in France. Then I promptly slept the night through. Even with all that motivation to sleep soundly I felt like getting up at five in the morning. I slept at very odd and inconsistent hours in the last two weeks in Lacoste, but still I have to adjust to being six hours earlier. Luckily, Hump Fest continued on into Monday.

Marigold and I, sufficiently de-motivated to do anything too vigorous other than each other, decided to make our way to a matinee showing of Starwars III. The best part about it was that it was a matinee. And that we are finally done feeling like we have to pay attention to anything StarLike - Wars, Trek, or Jones. Lucas has absolutely proven that he completely lacks any subtly when it comes to ANYTHING. I like what the New Yorker reviewer guy said, "It is better than the first two of the new trilogy. But that is like saying dying of natural causes is better than being shot in the face." Some of the most memorable parts were the Wookie conversation scene after Yoda says goodbye, and Natalie Portman and Hayden C. vainly attempting to scare up some chemistry. Did Yoda always sound so lame? Were the droids always such a waste of screen time? I want to watch the original trilogy again to see if the dialog and acting and pacing and scenery, etc, etc, were as bad as this. In my memory even the special effects were much better. Was it the wonder of youth that pulled me through, and now I am a jaded old man? I would like to think that they had a certain camp charm to them that made me forgive and even embrace the thinness of the plot or characters or characters names (Han Solo? General Grievous? Sith? Jar-Jar? Lucas is the dumb-man's Shakespeare). Now the new series seems to be wanting to be taken seriously. When Darth Vader steps off the doctor's slab with big Frankenstein steps and screams, "Noooooooo!" I don't cry at the supreme tragedy that should be overwhelming. I guffaw at the stupidity.

Goodbye Lacoste

I was going to post a great sunset picture collaged with a exiting Lacoste sign to get that combined symbolism and overpowering sentimentality that everybody here is feeling. Butt I don't think that you need that sort of crap. And I had to delete all the pictures on the computers before I leave.

Maybe I should have posted some pictures of the minor car accident we got in today on the way to Arles. We had to do it sometime so we thought, "How about we almost die on our last day in France? Yea!" Anyway, we were sideswipped by a truck turning left. There was only cosmetic damage and frayed nerves so we continued on after exchanging some gobbly gook (French) with the jovial fellows. Here is a true fact for mass consumption: driving in Arles sucks. Another: parking in Avignon sucks. Two of my least favorite activities and especially in France. No more frenchy driving for me.

So in the Pinter tradition whenever something is ending, here goes:
Worst part of Lacoste: No Marigold for nine weeks.
Best part of Lacoste: Learning French. Just kidding, I didn't learn any French. Je suis américain afterall. Really, the beauty of everything: the valley, the mountains, the architecture, the flowers, the history, the grapevines, the sunsets and sunrises, etc., etc.

Teatrio Shmeatrio

Mohamed got back from Venice the other day with the results from the children's book competition. No one from our class made it into the coveted few spots. He said he wasn't too happy with the trend of judging that happened. The results were good, they almost had to be with only thirty pieces going through out of approximately five hundred. I guess that European sensibilities are different from American ones. They appreciate a more sophisticated, non-overworked look with greater emphasis on quality of character or design than quality of rendering or finality. Basically, they like children's books for parents. Artsy parents. When it comes down to it, I would have to agree. I'm going to buy artsy books that just might scare my kids.

I should take heart, although. I was told that my Bernard made it pass the first round (narrowed down to a hundred or so, from five hundred). Also, I am happy with the results. Amazingly, I think that I did a good job. I'll post the six panels on my other site as soon as I get home. And then unpack. Then go to the movies for three days straight. Then relax. Then think about updating the website. Then pet the kitties. Then play some webboggle. Then watch TV . . .

Every Town Needs One

Lacoste, tiny as it is, has the essentials. A bakery, a bar, an art school, a castle, a few toilets. But most importantly it has it's very own Crazy Drunk Guy.

Aristead stumbles around town, barks at people, follows young blond girls, pisses on himself, pisses on our doors, and of course, drinks. He inappropriately comes into our classrooms or cafe, calls us Nazis and then claims that it wasn't him. It's like he has studied the fine art of Town Drunk/Fool. He can frequently be seen passed out, or nearly there, with a bottle of red wine hanging from his claw near the dorm area, where Heather, Lauren, India, Ashley, Madeline, Liz, and Kristin live.

He also can be seen stealing flowers from local's gardens to make an arrangement to give to Anne, our resident 23-year-old blond events coordinator. She might be in love if only he didn't smell like he is peeing on himself right now.

He has his scenario worked out pretty well. What could we do? We don't know the whole situation, his history, and we will be leaving soon anyway. We shouldn't cause any undue trouble. I mean, it's not really his fault. It's a disease and he is more the victim than we are, right? What will reporting him to the mayor do? She doesn't love SCAD so much as it is, so maybe Aristead even works for her. He is her personal SCAD irritant projector.

Anyway, the future students of SCAD-Lacoste have this charming slice of life to look forward to in the coming quarters.

Or maybe he'll be dead. I wouldn't expect him to keep going the way he is for too long. Either way, I don't expect I'll ever know. If he indeed is a robot sent to entertain me and/or annoy me as everyone is, then he has done his job effectively.

Stick Art

I never posted a picture of Patrick Dougherty's stick sculpture, so here goes.

Can you find it? It is the primitive hut looking structures in the upper left. We put together four huts and a connecting flow of sticks using some local willow saplings. Patrick says that the thing could last years on it's own, they're that strong, but SCAD and/or Lacoste will probably remove them this year sometime. At first I was really skeptical that this guy was worth his weight in art. Pictures, especially this one which shows the context better than the actual sculpture, don't give justice to the magic these things possess. You have to walk through it and feel it. It is almost like a real-life Myst set - remnants from some mysterious ancient culture that one day appeared integrated into our own. Here's some more pics, just to be fair:



And here is some grapes, the sunrise, and most importantly Dave amongst the sticks. He keeps a xanga blog, but I don't want to sign into yet another internet site to find it. I could ask him, but he is in Venice, Italy for the Teatrio competition. We will find out the results when him, Mohamed and some others get back on Monday evening. I quiver with curiosity.

Getting There

I am so happy that I am almost done with this quarter. It will be wonderful to get home and be with Marigold, the best person ever in the universe, again. Butt it is more complicated than that as well. It will be sad say, "Goodbye forever!" to some of these people that I have gotten to know. With only about forty-five of us bumping into each other here for the last nine weeks we have seen all our delicate under things (or lack thereof). I guess goodbyes are always awkward.

Many of the Film students have already left for the Cannes Film festival. I am jealous of their opportunity, but I think that would have been too much for me on top of everything else here. So lots of those people I might not see again. Ever. It is strange to think that I am to them just like they are to me – a stranger passing in and out of orbit. Maybe some will stay in a distant orbit. I hope.

Speaking of the film students, I finally saw the short movie that I acted in along with everybody else at the screening last night. I hated myself. My voice, my delivery, my face . . . everything. I want to do it all again, and this time do it right. I know that I couldn’t have been that bad, with all the compliments that I have gotten. Aren’t all those people just trying to make me feel worthwhile, although? Should I trust them or my own inner critic? That dude is pretty harsh, so maybe he should be fired. The director/writer of the thing said he would give me a disc with the movie on it, but then he flew away. Now he is kicking it in Cannes.

Another one!

This is Haynes (He's not retarded, but acts that way sometimes). Aaron is there too. They were my good buddies who also spent the night with me in the Printmaking studio. For the record, we were not procrastinating. We make up the whole of Intaglio Printmaking here and we had a ridiculous amount of work. That D. Clifford is hard-driving task master who personally makes me hate printmaking all together. I am in France. FRANCE! And I schedule naps (if I can) during the beautiful days so that I can stay up all night wiping down copper plates. This is something that I couldn't do in Savannah.

Mr. Dale and I are currently having a Cold War, but there is only one week left after this class. If I can get by with at least a C, I can let bastards be bastards. I know I can get fairly passive aggressive, so I am a bastard too.

So this is results of one of the projects that I just finished working on. It is supposed to be drypoint, but it is more than that. The next project is themed around our reaction to Iraqi war. I had a big ol' plan for that based on the Abu Graib prison scandal and the Thumbs Up sign, but out of frustration and exhaustion just scratched "Fuck War" into the plate. I wanted it to say just "Fuck" but that might have been taken personally by the teacher (and probably meant that way too).

The sun officially peaks over the distant hills at 6:29 AM. This pic is about 5:45.

Sunset Sunrise

I just saw the sun rise over the beautiful Luberon valley this morning. It was too bad it was from the Printmaking studio, but I wouldn't have seen it otherwise. I always meant to get up early enough to really enjoy it, but somehow it never happened. The key was to stay up the whole night through. Usually I took naps at the pivotal hour and that was my sorry downfall.

I emailed my Mom a happy Mother's Day message, but that was it. Am I a bad son? Speaking of, I met my first official American Ex-Patriots yesterday. The two men (my money is on them being extremely gay) said they could not live in George Bush's country anymore. I congratulated them on their choice. Even without all that, who wouldn't want to move to Provence?

Vernissage went really well (it was two days, Sat and Sun) - The artwork looked great, we had record crowds, the weather was wonderful, and I sold a few pieces!

I have to go be a movie star now.

Vernissage

Today was the big day. The day that we have all been leading up to - the end of the quarter show (two weeks early). It was a beautiful day filled with stress and speaking French and hob-nobbing and drinking and success. I was skeptical that many people would show up, but it really happened. We didn't do any counts but I would say that over a hundred people showed up! And I sold some work! So I guess that is my payback for all the hard work I put into the show. Tomorrow is another day of it, butt I don't expect it to be as crowed without the wine-dousing and live band incentive.

I will post some pictures when I get them downloaded from the ol' cam-cam-shizzam-blam-ra. Then back to work because the children's book competition is due by next week and I wanted to do another whole thing with it. I really do bite off more than I can chew. That might explain all the spitting.

Dan Adel!!!

I met Daniel Adel today!

Escargot

This Vernissage business is kicking my ass. I have gotten on average 4 hours of sleep in the last three nights. And tonight looks like another long one. At least, I have my caffeine to keep me warm.

This little bit of escargot was finished early this morning. Actually, it was not really that early - 8:30. Still, I like it. Maybe I am delirious, as I plan to continue to be, but it has something to it.

I have done a ton of stuff that I haven't posted about. I am so far behind that I don't really care to catch up. Butt here is the three second run down:

Marseille (Mediterranean!)
Patrick Dougherty (Building tribal hut-like cocoons out of sticks!)
Fontaine de Vaucluse (thousands of feet deep Vortex!)