Today was the big art critique for our first multimedia project. Mine went rather well, actually. If I wasn't so lazy, I would upload a pic of it. I think I may have been picked out to be the teacher's gimp, as I am one of only two non-art majors in the class, and the other one is a girl who is really quite attractive. However, I don't have enough evidence to back this up yet, so it's another post for another day.

On the critique itself. I didn't wake up this morning until about 11am. I didn't have to, which makes it all the more sweet. I looked out the window and it was raining as though piss was being poured out of the proverbial boot. I was pissed, but there were still about three hours until I was supposed to arrive at the art building, project in hand. About five minutes before I was supposed to leave, it stopped. Oh sweet miracle of miracles. Then, to make the situation even better, I was able to catch the bus instead of having to make the 1/2 mile walk. I arrived, and I was the first one to be 'critiqued,' which was the second time this week this has happened because I was also "randomly" selected to go first in my digital media class. The majority of the comments were very positive. As a matter of fact, they all were, aside for a couple of nit picky structural things the teacher had to say, but never mind that. I, of course, was a smart ass during my artist statement, I had an answer for every question, no matter what it was. I was smooth, and that's the way I like it. It wasn't long before it was Helga's turn.

You remember Helga? In the last post, I called her Nancy. She got this nickname as a suggestion from a certain deceased artist after I suggested calling her "HLG" (hairy leg girl). Add an e and an a; it just works. Yes, she is still crazy. Yes, her project was about the creative spirits. No, she didn't include her menstruation cycle in the piece. I was kind of disappointed in that. She requested a seperate room to display her work. Her project consisted of a mailbox. She had painted it, and crafted a skull, a bull and some other little knick knacks that she attached to the outside of the mailbox. Inside the mailbox, she put cards inside envelopes, and requested that everyone take one of the envelopes with them. Accompanying the cards was this retena scorching heat lamp of sorts that damn near blinded me when I looked inside the box. She went through the whole spill about how she wrote poems to the creative spirits, called out to them for help, and how they had changed her whole life as of 2 years ago in her artist statement. Yes, she almost started crying again. I was hoping for a bit more drama, that would have made for a better story for you guys and a more interesting class for me, but it just was not to be. Maybe next time.

The Washingtons go to wifey, you know how we get down