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brand creation, art identity confusion

I’m starting the 2nd semester of my junior year at PAFA. I’m excited. Especially because I have less classes this time around, which means I will have entire days to myself in my studio to get lost in my head and art projects. This semester I have also promised myself to put more time into entering art shows, contests and applying for grants/scholarships. Some of them, the lil’ contests, might require voting, so when they come up, I’ll definitely post them and hope some of you give me a nudge towards school-cash-money.

Something else I hope to accomplish this spring is to re-brand my illustration based work. That means new name, shiny logo, seperate website, all polished into something I want to be a business. It’s my goal to get this up and running by the time I graduate in 2019. Sounds totally doable to me, which is important. Attainable goals keep my engine running.

The idea to separate my illustrative work from this site, my painting and perhaps even me as an individual person, was a bit hard for me to come to, because it feels like everything I do, painting to design, has a cumulative effect on who I am as an artist. This isn’t not true, but from a professional point of view, I know it’s likely the best decision I can make for myself. This blog will stay the same and remain informal. I will definitely update with everything I’m up to, but I will also have an independent brand identity where I only push my stationery and surface design.

Another bonus to more down time means teaching myself to enjoy reading again, specifically art history books. I’m especially enjoying Symbolist Art in Contextby Michelle Facos. It covers that frenetic part of art history as the 1800s shifted into the early 1900s. It’s been a good book to have on hand as I take an online 20th Century art history class.

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little anchors – examining the objects i paint

Lotsa squares. Burrows. Flattened crawlspaces.

All these symbols, made of plastic, are populating my studio, photographs and paintings.

I’m putting parts of myself in them. They are reliquaries, produced en masse by Hasbro or Mattel, containing sacred bits of little girl Libby.

I’ve given these pieces to those I love. I’ve left them on doorsteps and beneath pillows. I’ve been like a cat that brings dead birds to her masters.

They are little anchors to drop in another’s life. Sometimes their chains get yanked back.

I’ve left paintings in trees with the hope they’d be found. I’ve left messages with chalk on rocks to be washed away. I’ve made others participate in my scavenger hunt.

When I played with Barbies, I preferred building and designing the doll’s house. I wanted to build the spaces they’d exist in. Maybe I’ve always treated life like a diorama.

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lost toys

Sometimes I dream of toys I lost as a child. And I know it’s just age and allergies, but I imagine the heaviness beneath my eyes is from storm clouds ready to burst.

Every feeling comes with a diagnosis and guilt at it’s audacity. Some of us are just raw and learn to like the sting.

I find myself saying I’m sorry for not containing enough light. Winter is on it’s way, and with it, less sun. That always frightens me. I don’t have enough light for myself to bask in and for sure, not enough to share.

I can feel sad over a painting I haven’t painted yet. It’s like mourning over someone you’re afraid you won’t get to meet. When composing a still life, I hate to use purchased objects. I want to find or be given them. Picked flowers or a gifted bouquet, for the meaning. I want them to have stories and to have lived a life before finding their way to me.