ICELAND!

These are some of the thoughts that occurred to me when trudging through Iceland at 8:00 this morning:

1. Where am I? 

2. WHO am I?

3. Why did I decide to come here? 4. How can I be in both suburbia and a tundra at the same time? 

5. Is this REALLY the city center? 

6. Is it possible to literally be BLOWN into a snowbank? 

7. I THINK IT MIGHT BE!

8. Leggings and cowboy boots were a bad choice. 

9. If/when I AM blown into a snowbank, will it ever be light enough so that anyone will notice?

10. WHERE AM I??!

11. I probably shouldn't walk alone through this park in pitch darkness. 

12. You idiot, NO ONE is hanging out in a park in ICELAND in snow drifts and 20 degree weather, no matter how creepy they are! 

13. GOOD GOD, MY FACE IS FREEZING OFF. 

And so on, and so forth.

Here's some pictures of your fearless heroine and the progression of her journey from the bus station on the outskirts of town to... REJOICE! The city center. 

Post-coffee and sandwich rejuvenation.

There IS a town, and an awesome one at that!

It's OFFICIAL!!

The name of this blog is now legitimate because after 3 years on the ground, I am finally wandering again! I told myself I wouldn't travel until I finished college, and would focus on my internal journey instead. Which turned out to be one hell of a ride on its own! But anyhoo, the yearning and simultaneous fear of travel has been building and building, to the point where I was having dreams about planes by night, and moments of panic by day... even though I used to fly so frequently, it now suddenly seemed inconceivable. 

The only way I got through my last flight from California to home was thanks to my dear friend "Barbara," who took me to a bar beforehand, and dropped me off at the terminal many black Russians later. I vaguely remember staggering on board and making instant friends with the people sitting on either side of me, a thirty-something women and middle-aged man. The latter was consoling me by comparing turbulence to the waves on an ocean as I drifted off to sleep on the former's shoulder. Best flight ever! 

So tonight, I tried to re-connect with that emotion, chanting mantras of safety and smoothness to drown out the chatter of anxiety. "The Proposal" and a mini-bottle of vodka helped as well, and before I knew it, we were touching down in the darkness of Iceland! I am now sitting happily and sleep deprivatedly in an internet cafe watching the sun come up, and how I got here was an adventure all on its own. To wandering!

A Female Fauve!

Behold: The work of Emilie Charmy, an artist whose work I came across when reading Women Artists and the Parisian Avant-Garde. Exciting! This is probably the closest I've ever come to wanting to go on to graduate school in art history- to write a thesis about a little known artist and in doing so, bring knowledge about them into the world. Check out this website to see what knowledge there already is, as well as more of her work. 

So, as you can see below, I've been getting really into collage lately. I've also been playing a lot of guitar again, so that makes me happy. I never feel creative enough no matter how much I'm doing... I can't wait to take painting, photography, print-making....

And I am finished with classes in two days! This semester has been so busy, full, hard, enriching, and I am going to feel fully deserving of my college degree once it is officially over!

The Walk to Sunday Breakfast.

Huzzah for Autumnal Wellesley!

In Which Stinkbugs are Evicted, and I Continue to Live in the Art Library

My poetry class was in rare form today. We listened to "Paper Planes" by M.I.A so our 70-ish year old professor could analyze the lyrics, drew a large diagram of people spooning, chased a stinkbug out the window, I broke an electrical outlet, and we all pondered the age old question: "Do mosquitos ever die with honor?" ("Very few," my professor said.)

Yay Sexy Pirates! Boo Library Reserve.

The Universe scares me sometimes with how it likes to fit things together. I took out 20$ the other day so that I can pay a fellow student 15$ for my sexy pirate costume (hooray!) and the plan was to slip the money under her door so I needed a way to get change. Of course, it's midterm season and I've been practically living in the art library- along with about 10 other people, it's kind of fun, actually- so anyway, I've had no time to get to CVS or places where I would normally get change. I considered asking the people at the art library front desk if they could give change, but didn't want to be obnoxious.

Then, today I received an email that one of my books was on reserve and overdue- with a charge of 1.00 an hour. Blasphemy! I rushed right over and made a complaint that no one had told me it was on reserve, and of course it made no difference (bureaucracy!) but they did say it could be halved to 50 cents an hour if I paid right away. And so I gave them my twenty and got five dollars back, and now I can buy my sexy pirate costume. Oh, universe!

"My dear, I would almost rather see you dead." - Mary Cassatt's father upon her admission of wanting to become an artist. 

And Ingres said to Degas...

"Draw lines young man, many lines; from memory or from nature. It is in this way that you will become a great artist." 

VOYEUR SANDWICH by Renoir (1874)

At least, that's what I think would be a more appropriate title. 

voyeurism in the loge.

I am holed up in the library working on a paper about Mary Cassatt and her depictions of women in public, specifically, the Opera, since that's the only place a classy woman of 19th century Paris would have been allowed to go if she didn't want to be thought wildly immoral. 

I have been learning oh so many interesting things, FIRST that it appears she had an ambiguous platonic non-relationship with Degas, who could be charming and thoughtful and once bought her a puppy, but who would then get all grumpy and non-committal, sounds pretty TYPICAL to me! So they both ended up great friends yet died alone and left everything to their maids. I may have made up that last fact, but whatever. Degas was the one who invited Mary to join the Impressionists in 1877, after her work kept getting rejected by the Salon. 

I think it's interesting that even though Cassatt is now better known than Morisot, Morisot had been one of the founding members and already with the group for three years. Both were feisty personalities who held their own amongst all the witty, caustic, word-play loving boys. I can just see it all! 

OH, and fun fact, Cassatt became good friends with May Alcott, as in the model for Little Women's Amy. She was a painter whose work was once exhibited in the Parisian Salon, and she was gallavanting around Europe thanks to the success of Louisa's book... she married a dashing young musician, and it was all wonderful until she died shortly after childbirth. Boo. I always liked Amy. 

What else... women artists were usually rejected by the Salon unless the artist in question had some kind of flirty, flattering relationship with one of the judges. And if a judge did randomly show support for a woman's work, they were usually mocked and derided; "Why? Is she pretty?" 

So that's awesome and totally lends support to the argument of how there haven't been many "great" female artists because women just don't have as much talent. 

Speaking of creepy men, here are some scenes of Parisian opera. Aka voyeur central. Except good old Mary makes it a little more difficult for the viewer to be the voyeur, maybe, I don't know, that's what I'm going to be debating in my paper. 

Cassatt vs. Renoir

in which i do a self-portrait a day!

mary-kate and ashley.

i may or may not have purchased their coffee-table book.