Sketchbook Dreams

It's been nearly two years since starting this trek and since my silly art class dream.  I had another goofy dream last night - kind of a sad nightmare really.  Much of the vivid story faded quickly.  What I do remember:

I'm at an elaborate exhibit of student work with a mishmash of classmates - high school friends, college pals, and Sketchbook Skool artists.  Our work is oddly shaped pottery.  Observers file by and I am obviously proud of my creative pots.  Then it's time to pack up and Danny Gregory instructs us, one by one, to collect our pieces.  Oh dear, the order is determined by ability, from fantastic to not-so-good.  I wait...  then chat with my SBS classmate Lynn.  Why, yes, she would indeed like to invite me to join her group of artists, but alas, there is no room right now.  "Keep me in mind, I'd really love that!"  

Turning back to the tables of pottery, I realize three of us are left... the bottom of the class.  I am bummed and suddenly realize how juvenile my pots are.  "Now, do you see why you need to spend more time on this?" Danny stands next to me like a stern principal.  "Yeah... I thought this was good."  A totem pole of tiny pots falls apart as I pick it up.  Sigh. I begin gathering my sad pots.  Then the alarm interrupted my distress.

I've deduced this was a combo of my tumultuous first semester as well as the inner critic voice (aka The Monkey) telling me I'm not talented enough or something.  WHAT-EV-ER.  Back off buddy.  I'm just happy Mr. Gregory was the instructor of whatever pottery class that was.  I bet I had fun in class!  . . . .  Oh, wait!  I just thought of the new exercise program at work ... I'm nearly in last place.  Hey!  Maybe the dream is also about my sucky exercise habits!  Yay!... er... I mean, I need to get going on that.  (And sketching.)

Semester 2 of Sketchbook Skool starts Friday.  Woohoo!  I'm off to finish a bit of leftover homework from semester 1... (and of course, go for a walk).

Dream a Little (art) Dream

blind contour

pen sketch

Yesterday?  Blind contours - Bleh.  A good exercise for eye/hand coordination, but my perfectionist hates the results.  As soon as I finished them, I HAD to sketch the same subject.  See - it's not all happy pretty art in the ole sketchbook.

Five days in & this little venture has now invaded my dreams.  It's part of the journey & variety is a good thing, so . . . The Dream . . .

First day of classes, first semester as an art major (the 2012 me).  Loving my classes - some art, some not.  I enter a large crowded room thinking it's Modern Printmaking.  Exciting!  I'm not really listening to the reading of the syllabus (who does, right?) and instead chat with an old friend while removing everything from my bag searching for a drawing pencil.  I realize we've been split into two groups and I can't hear a thing the tall skinny eastern European instructor says.  He soon moves to our side & stands by an old projector, but I still can't understand him and can't see all that well because of my stupid contacts.  (I'm sure this came from my discovery last night - in reality - that I can see much better while drawing close if I take out my contacts.)

Back to the dream.  Everyone is writing on Etch-a-Sketches or tiny little digital pads with a stylus you have to put together.  I am completely confused.  A fellow student furiously pokes the buttons on her pad, answering questions for some test.  I have NO IDEA how anyone knows what the questions are.  Only then do I realize the name of the class is Qualitative Analysis. (Does that really exist?)  Oh yeah - the math class I had to take to complete my gen eds.  I hear - "It's actually easy & fun if you know a little bit of QA." . . . right.  Magically-appearing paper tests are handed in - except by me.  I leave - going directly to the Art Department to drop QA and get into Modern Printmaking, but the office is dark and I don't remember my advisor's name.

Then the cat woke me up, so we'll never know if I'm in Modern Printmaking or still sitting in QA wishing I had an Etch-a-Sketch.